He kisses Tony first, slow and sweet and lingering. His technique is improving by leaps and bounds, at least, and he cups his cheek in a hand like he doesn't want to let go.
But eventually he does, and he leans back in his comfortable ergonomic chair, pushes it back from the desk. "Get- get under the desk, Tony." His voice cracks embarrassingly on the first word, and he has to try again, but after that, it slides smoothly into the right tone, the one he knows he'll obey.
Eyes locked on Steve, Tony slinks around the desk, hip brushing the corner, and slots himself neatly into the enclosed leg space. He scoots back into it on his knees so Steve can roll the chair up. His wrists he locks together on the small of his back: a sign that he won't use his hands without an explicit command. He watches Steve above him, sharp and observant. Last time desperation and loneliness drove Tony under hard and fast. Over a week later, he's rebuilt his defenses. He waits for Steve's motive to show; to be confirmed.
Steve slides the chair back in so his knees bracket Tony neatly. He exhales slowly, trying to rid his body of some of its nervous tension. In the intervening week, he's managed to key himself up in anticipation of their next encounter, which has resulted in both a lot of jerking off and a lot of cold showers. As much as he'd like to be slightly less embarrassing this time, he's not entirely sure that's going to happen.
He glances down under the desk, reaches to trail his fingertips over Tony's cheek and jaw, lingers on his lips for a moment. With his other hand, he undoes the fly of his jeans and works his erection out of his underwear. Scooting closer, he presses the head against Tony's lips, smears some of the leaking precome over the skin.
Most of Tony is hidden by Steve's body and the desk's top, but his bust is visible between Steve's thighs, face overshadowed by the desk. Beneath Steve's fingertips his lips part, his gaze steady, until his eyelashes fan down across his cheeks, a theory confirmed, and Tony obeys, jaw popping open as he widens it to fit.
He wouldn't mind being able to see Tony's face, but there's something about the illicit thrill of this that makes up for it. (Honestly, maybe not watching will help him last longer.) Steve pushes his cock past his lips, shuddering, the muscles in his thighs tightening.
Lips circle shut on Steve's dick, the head balanced on the crest of a tongue. Little wet noises drift up from beneath the desk. Tony creates a short rhythm with just the suction, pulling Steve's cock in an inch and releasing it back out, throat clicking on each release of air, mouth too stretched to silence it and tongue reflexively pressing up into the roof of Tony's mouth. He tries to narrow his concerns to just the musk overtaking him and his mouth stuffed with prick.
His fingers twitch behind his back. They urge to slam Steve's hips forward, to choke himself on the cock like before, but he gets no say here. He gets what Steve gives, nothing more.
Steve's trying to take this slow, to linger on the sensation of Tony's lips and tongue. His fingers tighten on the desk, and he manages to pry one hand free, to slip it under the desk and run his fingers into Tony's hair.
And then the door opens.
Shit, Steve thinks. Why didn't he lock it? Why don't people here knock?
Hidden by the desk's modesty panel, Tony slows his administrations to a stop while James Rhodes, dressed in military blues, steps inside with his hand still on the door handle. Rhodes glances once around the office, quick and efficient. Evidently finding nothing, he curses and then says, "Ah. Yo, Steve. Sorry for the intrusion. I'm lookin' for Tony. You seen his squirrely ass around? Swear he's harder to catch these days than a spooked alley cat."
From under the lip of the desk and his own brow, Tony raises his eyes to Steve, his expression hardened. He presses his tongue into the slit and lightly scrapes his teeth, a threat and dare both.
"Uh." Steve blinks dumbly at Rhodey, tries to scrape together words. The attempt isn't aided by Tony's actions, and he has to close his eyes briefly. He gives Tony's hair a tug - not pulling him off, although he should, what has his life become? - but telling him to goddamn cool it for a moment.
"I know what you mean," and he hopes he sounds vaguely normal. "He's impossible to pin down. He was here 'bout ten minutes ago - you try the workshop?"
The tug admonishes Tony and reminds him of his place; that he has no voice here. He flutters his eyes shut and rests his temple against Steve's inner thigh, lips rotated around Steve's dick, which Tony's cheek bulges from. As he relinquishes control to Steve, the first crusted bits of his psyche are chipped away. His mouth waters like Pavlov's trained dog.
"First place I checked. Nat said she saw him headed here a while ago. Probably drove back already..." Rhodey purses his mouth. He minutely shakes his head, worried.
He takes note of that expression, raises his eyebrows. "Everything okay?" As much as Steve wants to get him out of his office before he notices anything's going on, if something's wrong with his team, he needs to know about it. Even if his cock happens to be in Tony's mouth. "You need to talk?"
"Me? I'm great. It's him I'm worried about. Cutting himself off like this, it ain't good. Just..." Rhodey raises his hand. "If you see him, tell him to come to me. Make some shit up about needing my suit fixed."
"Yeah, I've noticed." Steve's lips twist into a grimace. "He's hard to get through to. But I'll tell him if I see him. Maybe we can manage something between the two of us."
You know, once he's done having his dick sucked. By Tony.
Tony has since unsealed his mouth just to breathe easier, hot gusts puffing along the topside of Steve's dick. "Thanks, Steve. Really. I'll leave you to it," Rhodey says and turns. The moment after the door clicks shut, Tony suckles on Steve's cock, sloppy because of the odd angle. The corona glances across his molars and Tony chokes on a whine, unhinging his jaw wider to avoid them. His lips tremble around Steve's flesh, strained.
"Shit," Steve groans once the door clicks shut, audibly this time. "Oh, god, I gotta lock the door next time." He scoots the chair back a little to give Tony more room, runs his hand through his hair in a brief caress.
"Deeper," he orders finally. "Let me fuck your mouth." Steve spreads his legs wider, as wide as he can manage under the desk, bracing his feet flat on the floor.
His lashes fluttering, eyes rolling back, Tony straightens his head out and pushes it forward on command. Steve's cock tickles the back of his throat and a pitched whimper vibrates through, stomach heaving. He battles the gag reflex down and spreads his knees, bracing himself, lurched forward with his hands still locked at his back, like he's ravenous for Steve's prick; like it's all he ever wants. Steve will slide wet and easy from the saliva gathered at the corners of Tony's mouth, his lips wrapped around Steve in vice and covering his teeth. Those thin lips will conform to every bump and ridge and vein, every slick pop in and out of Steve's thrusts, head slightly bobbing from the force despite his efforts to hold still, until they swell and his cheeks ache.
"Yeah," he breathes, though it's more than half a moan. "That's it." His cock slides down Tony's throat till he can't take any more, till Tony's nose brushes coarse hair. Steve gives him a moment to adjust to the intrusion before he starts rolling his hips forward. It takes a few thrusts to get the trick of it; it's not quite the same angle as when he'd been standing. It feels different on his dick, the pressure in slightly different spots than before.
Steve lets his chin drop to look at Tony - what little he can see of him. There's something about the way he looks, utterly debauched, cheeks hollowed around him, drool in his beard and all, that turns him on more than anything else. "Bob your head," Steve tells him, and it's a little harder to force the words out. The hand that isn't in Tony's hair grips the armrest, white-knuckled.
Tony complies in short little jerks and bursts, crackling gasps scraping by Steve's cock. He stutters, moving only by his neck, before he settles into the pace and mirrors Steve's thrust so that he pulls back as Steve pulls back and they meet again together. Steve's pelvis smashes Tony's nose, ragged breaths whistling in one nostril; and Tony sinks and sinks more each time and then he's gone. He's floating. He's light-headed. Black spots dance at the edge of his consciousness and he doesn't care. He welcomes them.
In his jeans, the hard line of Tony's cock juts out, stretching to his hip, like a steel rod carelessly shoved down their front. Tony barely feels it, or much of anything.
Steve tenses suddenly, then holds Tony's head still with the grip he has on his hair, tugging roughly at the strands. He bucks erratically into his mouth, fast and hard and then his climax sweeps over him in a rush and he's seeing stars as he shoots down Tony's throat. His knees hit the desk, but he doesn't care; he's focused only on his pleasure at the moment.
And then it passes, and he sags limply in his chair. "Stop," he remembers to gasp out as he catches his breath. He slowly pries his fingers free, and a few strands of dark hair come with them.
Something resembling a moan gargles out in serrated pieces during Steve's orgasm. Woozy, Tony wobbles on his knees as he's freed and he lulls his head and eyes back, wrecked voice shuddering as he tries to swallow. Some excess spit and semen lodges in his throat and he chokes and gargles until painfully the blockage falls. He slumps forward then, body bowed, wheezing, too breathless to even cough, scalp throbbing, with his hands obediently held back. Slowly, he brings his eyes up to Steve. His jaw hangs loose enough for a finger to slip in and a tear track already dried and sticky streaks down one side of his face, which holds nothing but reverence.
Steve basks in the post-orgasmic glow for a minute, but then he remembers about the whole aftercare thing. Tony's still under, still pliant and dependent on him, and he can't just leave him hiding under his desk. He pushes the chair back from the desk with his feet. "C'mon out from there," he coaxes Tony gently. "Stand up." He's discovering that he needs to be literal with his orders, because Tony will only do exactly what he's told - no more, no less.
While he's waiting for Tony to obey, Steve puts everything back in order and then stands up himself, reaching for the bottle of water he's got sitting on the corner of his desk.
With a relieved, quiet groan, Tony crawls out on all fours. He staggers once, but stands as told, which fully reveals his state: dreamy face, ruined mouth, trapped erection, and all. "Was I good?" he rasps.
Steve's gaze flicks to the erection, but he doesn't say anything about it, doesn't try to do anything. Instead, he closes the distance between them and kisses Tony on the lips, lingering, reassuring.
"You were fantastic," he murmurs. He drapes an arm around Tony's shoulders and leads him to the couch, tugs him down onto the cushions. Pulling the blanket off the back, he wraps it around both of them, arranges Tony so he fits into the curve of his body. "I love it when you suck me off, Tony." Steve uncaps the bottle of water and holds it up to Tony's lips, tilting it so the water laps against his skin. "Drink."
As he's led and on the couch, Tony presses close, unconsciously seeking the contact and nuzzling Steve's shoulder. He shifts his hips on the cushions with a low, uncomfortable whine but sinks into the warmth and rolls his head along that broad shoulder to watch Steve, doe-eyed. The water he accepts readily. He swallows with difficulty, whimpering (some of it trickles into his beard), until the water glides soothingly down and he melts into Steve's care.
Steve smiles as Tony drinks the water (who doesn't need aftercare now, Tony?) and once he's had enough, he caps the bottle. He can just reach the minifridge if he leans over slightly, and he opens the door and takes a small container of grapes out. Maybe he's stashed them in there for this particular situation, or maybe it's just one of the snacks he keeps around. They've already been taken off the vine, and it's easy to pluck one out and place it against Tony's lips. "Eat," he tells him.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
But eventually he does, and he leans back in his comfortable ergonomic chair, pushes it back from the desk. "Get- get under the desk, Tony." His voice cracks embarrassingly on the first word, and he has to try again, but after that, it slides smoothly into the right tone, the one he knows he'll obey.
no subject
no subject
He glances down under the desk, reaches to trail his fingertips over Tony's cheek and jaw, lingers on his lips for a moment. With his other hand, he undoes the fly of his jeans and works his erection out of his underwear. Scooting closer, he presses the head against Tony's lips, smears some of the leaking precome over the skin.
"Open your mouth."
no subject
no subject
"Suck."
no subject
His fingers twitch behind his back. They urge to slam Steve's hips forward, to choke himself on the cock like before, but he gets no say here. He gets what Steve gives, nothing more.
no subject
And then the door opens.
Shit, Steve thinks. Why didn't he lock it? Why don't people here knock?
no subject
From under the lip of the desk and his own brow, Tony raises his eyes to Steve, his expression hardened. He presses his tongue into the slit and lightly scrapes his teeth, a threat and dare both.
no subject
"I know what you mean," and he hopes he sounds vaguely normal. "He's impossible to pin down. He was here 'bout ten minutes ago - you try the workshop?"
no subject
"First place I checked. Nat said she saw him headed here a while ago. Probably drove back already..." Rhodey purses his mouth. He minutely shakes his head, worried.
no subject
no subject
no subject
You know, once he's done having his dick sucked. By Tony.
no subject
no subject
"Deeper," he orders finally. "Let me fuck your mouth." Steve spreads his legs wider, as wide as he can manage under the desk, bracing his feet flat on the floor.
no subject
no subject
Steve lets his chin drop to look at Tony - what little he can see of him. There's something about the way he looks, utterly debauched, cheeks hollowed around him, drool in his beard and all, that turns him on more than anything else. "Bob your head," Steve tells him, and it's a little harder to force the words out. The hand that isn't in Tony's hair grips the armrest, white-knuckled.
no subject
In his jeans, the hard line of Tony's cock juts out, stretching to his hip, like a steel rod carelessly shoved down their front. Tony barely feels it, or much of anything.
no subject
And then it passes, and he sags limply in his chair. "Stop," he remembers to gasp out as he catches his breath. He slowly pries his fingers free, and a few strands of dark hair come with them.
no subject
no subject
While he's waiting for Tony to obey, Steve puts everything back in order and then stands up himself, reaching for the bottle of water he's got sitting on the corner of his desk.
no subject
no subject
"You were fantastic," he murmurs. He drapes an arm around Tony's shoulders and leads him to the couch, tugs him down onto the cushions. Pulling the blanket off the back, he wraps it around both of them, arranges Tony so he fits into the curve of his body. "I love it when you suck me off, Tony." Steve uncaps the bottle of water and holds it up to Tony's lips, tilting it so the water laps against his skin. "Drink."
no subject
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)