Tony clicks his teeth shut. He glowers back at Steve for a time, eyes a little wild, before inevitably, as every time before when they have a stand-off, he concedes first by turning his head away. Eyes down at them, his hands curl into fists in the comforter bundled at his waist. He convinced himself he came to Steve for the punishments he thought he could draw out. But he knows Steve better. That's the problem, because he came back, anyway.
"If that's what you think you really want, Tony, then you can back out of this, no hard feelings." Steve spreads his hands helplessly. Tony, for whatever reason, thinks he deserves to be hurt. That much is blindingly obvious, and Steve might have noticed it earlier if Tony hadn't been hiding himself away. "I'll figure out ways to get you out of your head, but no matter how many buttons you push, I'm not gonna humiliate you, and I'm not gonna hurt you. You might end up doing a hell of a lot of push-ups, but that's as far as I'll take it." And he's pretty sure Pepper wouldn't do what Tony thinks he wants, either, if he's any judge of character at all.
Tony thinks of Pepper, her soft coos, bright smiles, the dusting of freckles beneath her make-up when she leaned in close. He wants to earn her back, but to do that, he needs to be better. Stabler. For her, and for this blue speck in the universe that they call home. This can help with that; can keep him standing long enough to work out the problems. Steve can help. Tony tells himself all this like he told himself he wanted the punishment.
He can't admit that he wants the comfort, the safety in an embrace, without the guilt devouring him from the inside-out. These things he's lost the right to, he feels, after Ultron; after Pepper left.
"Okay," he whispers, voice choked, core shaken. "Done deal. You're the boss. The head honcho. My el Capitan." He's going to shake apart. He can feel it coming, heavy in his chest. "Hey, think you could, uh ... work some of your magic?"
"I can try." Steve sounds a little dubious. There's his original plan, sure, but he's not sure how well it holds up in the wake of their earlier session. "You wanna have your hands tied too? Think that'll help you go under?" He remembers Tony telling him that he likes restraints, and he's absolutely willing to tie his wrists with a ridiculous bald eagle tie if he wants it.
An awkward pause, and then he just blurts out the question he's been meaning to ask for weeks now, ever since the problem first reared its head. "Not that this is related, but, uh. For future reference. What do you want me to do if you get hard?"
"I don't know. Just ignore it. Whatever," rushes out from Tony's mouth and his breathing kicks up. He buries his face in his hands. "Don't wanna think. Thinking is really bad right now."
Steve exhales slowly and climbs out of bed to retrieve the scarf, still on the floor near the wall. This is a genuinely disturbing problem, and one that Tony probably needs a therapist for, not...this. This isn't a solution. Steve isn't equipped to handle someone falling apart like this. But for Tony's sake, he'll try.
He kneels next to Tony on the bed, puts a pair of fingers under his chin. "Look up, Tony." His voice is gentle, but still commanding, the way he needs it to be. When Tony obeys, he wraps the length of silk around his head, then ties a knot in back to secure it. "Now lie back on the bed." I'll take care of you, he promises silently.
He's rewarding himself before he's earned it, Tony feels, and he's not even receiving it from the right person; his thoughts flicker through a kaleidoscope of images, ideas, and impressions, a film reel running rampant, scenes too quick to catch save for the sheen of vibranium or a starless sky. Then, the blindfold covers his eyes and dims the world, and Tony breathes. He lies back and focuses on the cradle of the mattress and the brush of silk on his cheekbones.
The mattress shifts as Steve gets up from the bed again to fetch the fruit from the fridge, stacking bowls on top of each other to carry them. He arranges them on the bedside table, then sits on the edge of the mattress. He studies Tony for a moment, the tension carried in the lines of his body; he'd hoped their session earlier would have a longer effect. Instead, he needs something right away, and Steve doesn't know if it's Tony's mental state or his own bumbling errors.
"Open," he commands, plucking a red grape from the bowl. The flesh is firm beneath his fingers, perfectly ripe and just the right amount of sweetness.
His eyelids quiver behind the blindfold, restless; Tony tries to wrangle in the multitude of thoughts but they bob erratically, so he releases them out of his hands like the fireflies when he was ten. Maria had just stepped out of the car that she and Howard would die in eleven years later, and Tony, young and brilliant and wanting nothing more than to see her smile, opened his glowing hand. The lightning bugs flashed as they wove away. He loved his mother's smile.
Settling slowly, Tony breathes out the most he can into Steve's care. Steve can help, he tells himself. That's why he's doing this. He smells something sweet, and opens his mouth as told.
Being hand-fed while blindfolded, Tony suggested that back in their first string of texts, didn't he? He bites into the grape. After a moment he groans contentedly; he hasn't eaten.
Steve had thought about feeding him something after their first round (all those aftercare guides kicking in again), but he'd seemed so content to just curl up and sleep it off. He should probably try and make sure Tony eats more in general; surely that can't help his mood. Longingly, Steve thinks of the date that had flickered across his mind what seems like ages ago. Something nice and normal and romantic. Joke's on him, though, because Tony's not even interested in him, not like that.
This time, he chooses a raspberry and swirls it in a creamy chocolate dip. A little of the dip gets on his fingers, but he pays it no mind. Placing the berry against Tony's lips, he wonders if he needs to keep giving him commands, or if he'll take hints from the cues he's given.
Tony accepts the raspberry immediately. The smell of chocolate invades his senses and before he even begins chewing, before he even thinks, he slides his lips around the fingers above him one or two at a time. He loses himself a little, suddenly ravenous, lips searching for any trace. When he tastes chocolate he sucks it clean. When he tastes only skin he moves to the next until there's only the raspberry, which he sighs and groans around as he chews. God, he hasn't had chocolate in so long. After swallowing, Tony opens his mouth like a baby bird straining for more.
Steve can't help chuckling quietly at Tony's reaction to the chocolate, even as his cock twitches at the way he sucks at his fingers. Abandoning the fruit for a moment, he picks up the bowl of chocolate dip and coats his index and middle finger with chocolate nearly up to the second knuckle.
"There's no fruit this time," he warns Tony, "so don't go biting down on my fingers." But his fingers are just within reach of his lips, and the scent of chocolate wafts up from them. This is probably a bad idea on his part, but he wants to indulge Tony's enthusiasm. It's something he rarely sees these days.
Tony sucks around the fingertips, sniffs once to discover more, and takes the length of them into his mouth. He slips his mouth clear of the fingers, only half-aware of whose; he licks his teeth and savors the taste. Pepper sometimes fed him, one time at the dinner table on date night. A single nail from her wiped the corner of his mouth. She kissed his forehead. This is Steve, though, Tony knows in that hazy way as he drifts. He opens his mouth for him just the same.
Steve doesn't try to stifle the groan that slips free as Tony sucks his fingers. Yeah, this is a bad idea; it's hard to think of anything but Tony sucking him off. But he coats his fingers in chocolate and offers them to him again nonetheless. He hadn't been aware of Tony's sweet tooth before, but it's definitely something he'll keep in mind for the future.
Drifting comes easier this go-around, whether because of the violent need to escape his thoughts or a more familiar scenario, or maybe -- maybe he finds himself trusting Steve more after their talk. Whatever the case, Tony melts into the sheets as Steve provides for him. Steve will handle everything. With a soft grunt Tony finishes licking the second offering of chocolate-coated fingers and requests, "Fruit?" Then, like he needs to explain for it to be granted: "M'hungry."
Though he's sorely tempted, Steve doesn't offer commentary on Tony's erratic meal schedule. He does wish he had more to offer than just fruit, though. One of those little meat and cheese boards with fruit on the side, maybe.
This time, he picks a bowl of cubed Granny Smith apples, dipping it in caramel to add some sweetness to the tart of the apple. He keeps his fingers neat, but a stray drizzle of caramel ends up in Tony's beard. Once Tony accepts the apple, he reaches for the napkin he has and dabs the bit of caramel away.
His head turns in Steve's direction, where Tony feels the mattress slope down. As he swallows a second time for saliva and the leftover juices, his closest arm spreads out, seeking until the back of it brushes a hip or a leg, something to reassure him that someone is close by. The careful brush of the napkin leaves him wanting the contact.
"Hey," Steve says softly. He reaches out to twine his fingers with Tony's briefly, guiding him to the outside of his thigh. With his other hand, he keeps feeding him fruit, piece by piece, varying the selection and trying different combinations of fruit and dip to see what Tony prefers (although he keeps going back to the chocolate). It's nice to be able to pamper him like this, he has to admit.
Once Tony's had enough, Steve takes the rest of the fruit back to the fridge, then sits down next to him and unties the blindfold. "Ready for bed?" he asks as he brushes a few strands of hair back from his forehead, his touch tender.
Tony blinks against the flood of light. "Nnh," he grunts, belly warm and relaxed deep to his core, and lazily runs a hand over his face. He could snap himself out of it enough to drive home, but he doesn't want to. "I need t'brush m'teeth and shower," he admits forlornly. "C-come with? Jus' -- just inside the room."
"You gonna borrow more of my clothes to sleep in?" Steve teases him with a sly smile. As much as he'd like to take a shower with Tony - as much as he's had his secret little fantasies about it - he's fine with sitting outside and waiting for him.
Standing up, Steve offers him a hand to help him out of bed. "C'mon, then."
Tony returns it in kind, but his comes out smaller, a little adoring in those round eyes. "Rather your libido soil yours than mine in the mornin'," he says as they both pull him up. All his thoughts he can still find but they're past a transparent barrier behind Steve. After steadying himself, Tony squeezes Steve's hand once and then drops it.
Steve blushes, somewhere between sheepish and embarrassed. At his age, he probably shouldn't wake up with an erection quite as often as he does (pretty much every day). "I'll just take a shower if it happens again," he says quietly. Preferably a cold one.
With the way Tony looks at him, he wants to lean in and kiss him, but he doesn't; instead, he leads the way into the bathroom and puts the lid of the toilet down so he'll have somewhere to sit. "You want me to wait outside while you take your clothes off and get in the shower?" Steve isn't particular about nudity - between art school and the Army, he can watch others, even people he's attracted to, get naked simply for the sake of getting naked without batting so much as an eyelash.
The t-shirt pops off over Tony's head like a cork from a wine bottle, as tight as he likes to wear them. He chucks it onto Steve's lap with a lazy smile. "And let you miss out on me strippin'? Nah," he says and steps past to one of the shower stalls. No where near shy of his body, he slips off his jeans and briefs. Steve only gets the view of his bare ass before Tony enters the stall and the fluted obscure glass blurs him into a peach blob with a dark patch for his hair.
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He can't admit that he wants the comfort, the safety in an embrace, without the guilt devouring him from the inside-out. These things he's lost the right to, he feels, after Ultron; after Pepper left.
"Okay," he whispers, voice choked, core shaken. "Done deal. You're the boss. The head honcho. My el Capitan." He's going to shake apart. He can feel it coming, heavy in his chest. "Hey, think you could, uh ... work some of your magic?"
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An awkward pause, and then he just blurts out the question he's been meaning to ask for weeks now, ever since the problem first reared its head. "Not that this is related, but, uh. For future reference. What do you want me to do if you get hard?"
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He kneels next to Tony on the bed, puts a pair of fingers under his chin. "Look up, Tony." His voice is gentle, but still commanding, the way he needs it to be. When Tony obeys, he wraps the length of silk around his head, then ties a knot in back to secure it. "Now lie back on the bed." I'll take care of you, he promises silently.
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"Open," he commands, plucking a red grape from the bowl. The flesh is firm beneath his fingers, perfectly ripe and just the right amount of sweetness.
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Settling slowly, Tony breathes out the most he can into Steve's care. Steve can help, he tells himself. That's why he's doing this. He smells something sweet, and opens his mouth as told.
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This time, he chooses a raspberry and swirls it in a creamy chocolate dip. A little of the dip gets on his fingers, but he pays it no mind. Placing the berry against Tony's lips, he wonders if he needs to keep giving him commands, or if he'll take hints from the cues he's given.
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"There's no fruit this time," he warns Tony, "so don't go biting down on my fingers." But his fingers are just within reach of his lips, and the scent of chocolate wafts up from them. This is probably a bad idea on his part, but he wants to indulge Tony's enthusiasm. It's something he rarely sees these days.
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This time, he picks a bowl of cubed Granny Smith apples, dipping it in caramel to add some sweetness to the tart of the apple. He keeps his fingers neat, but a stray drizzle of caramel ends up in Tony's beard. Once Tony accepts the apple, he reaches for the napkin he has and dabs the bit of caramel away.
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Once Tony's had enough, Steve takes the rest of the fruit back to the fridge, then sits down next to him and unties the blindfold. "Ready for bed?" he asks as he brushes a few strands of hair back from his forehead, his touch tender.
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Standing up, Steve offers him a hand to help him out of bed. "C'mon, then."
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With the way Tony looks at him, he wants to lean in and kiss him, but he doesn't; instead, he leads the way into the bathroom and puts the lid of the toilet down so he'll have somewhere to sit. "You want me to wait outside while you take your clothes off and get in the shower?" Steve isn't particular about nudity - between art school and the Army, he can watch others, even people he's attracted to, get naked simply for the sake of getting naked without batting so much as an eyelash.
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