Steve's spent months trying to avoid imagining dirty scenarios, and as a result, he finds himself woefully lacking - especially when it comes to domming Tony, because he's specifically tried to think up as many nonsexual scenes as possible. (There's some terrifying Googling in his near future.)
His kiss, naturally, is somewhat distracted, as he's trying hard to think of something appropriately filthy and failing miserably. "Uh," he says eloquently, and the blush on his cheeks communicates more than words ever could. He plucks the mistletoe from Tony's bangs and tucks it gently into his pocket.
With an exasperated (really? no dirty ideas at all?) but fond (Steve will keep the mistletoe as a memento, he knows) sigh, Tony pins him with a dry look. "You're an artist. Get creative," he deadpans and pulls away, headed for the sliding glass door. Despite his words, as his boots crunch in the snow, he's already considering beginner-friendly scenes: maybe Tony on top, taking orders from Steve on where and how to touch; or Steve tying him up and exploring Tony's body to his little boy-scout heart's content. "Hurry up or I'm startin' without ya!" he warns over his shoulder.
Steve just smirks back at him and ambles slowly through the snow, taking his own sweet time. Tony's threat is toothless: Steve would absolutely welcome walking in on Tony touching himself. In fact, he takes a few minutes to swing back around through the party and steal a small plateful of appetizers before making his way back to his room. He's half-afraid Tony will have changed his mind and left (or never come here in the first place), but Steve steels himself and pushes the door open.
They agree on meeting in Steve's bedroom while Tony is still rubbing together and breathing into his cold hands. Inside, alone, as Tony tosses his duffel coat and gloves and boots aside, all the doubts intertwine with the possible scenes: Steve is just smitten by their proximity and shared history, confusing lust and friendly affection for more; or Tony is just going to jack it all up somehow like he jacked it up with Pepper; or he's still taking advantage of an inexperienced man with a heart too good just to cure his own loneliness. He tries stomping the uncertainty all out (he wants this, wants to try with Steve), but it's kindling in a fireplace: a single spark and it flares anew.
By the time Steve enters, Tony kneels by the bedside, forehead resting on the edge of the mattress. His dress shirt is opened at the collar and wrists, and the vest piece is laid with the duffel coat. He jerks at the door opening, gasping, "M'here," blinking overmuch. "Sorry, I was just--" He massages his temples, hard. He only wanted to clear his head a bit, not assume Steve would dominate him. Steve is still learning what he likes, and Tony should support that, he tells himself. Those nasty clingy thoughts have already jumbled him up. "We don't have to take this angle of approach. Whatever you fancy, if you fancy anything," he drawls.
The scene that greets Steve isn't what he expects (to be fair, his brain helpfully supplied the image of Tony sprawled out naked on his bed, leisurely jerking off), but he realizes he isn't surprised by it. "I thought you were going to get started without me," he offers with a shy smile and a cast aside gaze that implies that this is a kink that could be explored at some point in the future.
Once his own jacket and shoes are off, he crouches down next to Tony. "I'd like you to stay with me sometimes," he admits. Partly because he's still new to all this, and partly for the emotional aspect. (And, okay, because Steve's a hopeless romantic.) "But that doesn't mean I'm not willing to have scenes. I told you, I like them, and I think that incorporating sex, once I figure out what the hell I'm doing, will be-" Is fun the right word to use? "Interesting," he settles on.
Tony's mouth and eyebrow both quirk up, ease draping back across his body. "Interesting," he echoes. Humor fading but ease remaining, eyelashes fanned low in contemplation, he starts slowly with, "Something you might've gotten a lil' mixed up there, though. My fault, partially. Probably. Kept trying to hide bits, physical and otherwise, away from you. But not anymore." He locks his eyes onto Steve's to stress the gravity of this, a little quiver of fear in them: "Steve, from here on out, when I go on my little mental vacations, I couldn't be more with you. You'll be all there is for me." Tony needs that to sink in. The submission won't be just an escape; it will be an act of complete devotion -- mind, body, and soul. He thought on that a lot, on the trust required for something so deep and pervasive. Even after he resolved to try being with Steve, deciding to submit to him was an extra step, one he settled on after the weeks of Steve's patience. Not once did Steve press him for a choice, or even an update on it. Steve said he would wait, so he waited, cut clean and simple. If anything, Tony can trust him to be honest. "You understand?" he finishes.
"Sorry, bad choice of words," Steve apologizes with a grimace. It's something he's aware of already, even if he hasn't known of the complexity involved till now. There's never been any other way to interpret that laser focus, though, or the way Tony relies on him for every little thing, the way he trusts him to do what's right for him. "I do understand, I promise. I just meant- y'know, not being in subspace. And if I want you mentally there, I'll make it clear before it's too late." Hopefully, anyway, but he thinks he's getting better at reading Tony's body language before he slips under. It's there now, a little bit, what Steve thinks of as softening around the edges, relaxing into his trust and care.
"You can let go tonight," he adds. "As little or as much as you want." He's not even sure Tony has levels of control, not consciously. From what he's seen so far, there's a descent, and then he just bottoms out, no pun intended. And Steve's fine with that; he's made it this far, and as nervous and awkward as he is, he's more than willing to keep going.
Breath leaving him in a rush, Tony says, "Oh, thank Christ," and smirks, self-deprecating, flopping a hand up. "You wouldn't believe the mess up here right now."
"Isn't it always?" Steve teases good-naturedly. His fingers are already working on undoing the rest of the buttons of Tony's dress shirt. "Seriously, though," he adds, "I'm sure you need it." He brushes a kiss where Tony's jaw meets his neck, already freer with his physical affection. "Just let me take care of you."
Tony tilts his head back, throat bared, Adam's apple bobbing under and near Steve's ministrations. He should probably not let Steve bear the burden of complete control, but Steve doesn't think it's -- he's a burden. (Right?) Eyes fluttering shut, Tony tries to quiet his mind like a lion tamer apprehensive of the day he's finally devoured. "Enjoy unwrapping your present," he mumbles. "Sorry there's no bow." The first hint of a slur shows through.
"I think I'll manage," Steve murmurs against his skin. He sucks at the pulse point just at the base of his throat until a reddened mark shows against the pale skin, and then gives him a gentle nip, just for good measure. Tugging the rest of his shirt out from where it's tucked into his pants, he finishes unbuttoning it, letting it hang open.
"You're lucky I've never been one for ripping the wrapping paper." But he tugs playfully at the collar of Tony's A-shirt anyway.
His cock twitches with the first stirrings of arousal. Tony shudders and swallows. Mind still bombarding him, he shifts his focus to Steve; he's never been able to take himself under, anyway. "Firewood, on the other hand..." he says slyly and shrugs off the dress shirt. Smoothly, he pivots on a knee and straddles Steve's lap, his hips flush against Steve's stomach. Forearms resting on Steve's obnoxiously broad shoulders and the bed at his back, Tony smirks and raises an eyebrow down at him, playfully expectant.
"You aren't exactly firewood, either," Steve retorts. He wraps his arms around Tony's waist and rises to his feet, picking him up with ease, then depositing him on his back on the bed. It's a good sight, he has to admit as he surveys Tony, although it could be better. "Take your clothes off, Tony."
Effortlessly lifted by Steve, Tony cants his hips forward once, arousal spiking even though his eyes briefly flare and thighs tighten in surprise. Still reeling (never had a bed partner capable of manhandling him like that), his hands remove his belt and undershirt on automatic before he abruptly stills, his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his trousers and briefs. No going back after this one, he thinks, and then tightens his jaw, clearly torn. He doubts himself so much these days.
Steve's stepped back to start shedding his own clothes, his shirt already half-unbuttoned to expose the cotton t-shirt under it. "All of 'em," he says firmly, a hint of steel in his voice. "I want to be able to look at you." The grin he gives Tony is something that comes somewhere near wolfish, or at least more wolfish than puppyish. "And touch you."
The button-down shirt comes off, and he strips out of his jeans and underwear before he sits down on the bed in just his t-shirt, the cotton straining at the muscles of his chest and shoulders. He eyes the belt thoughtfully, then picks it up, running the leather through his hands.
Is this the right choice? he's thought a lot. Would this action start a series of events that result in more loss than good? He used to know; used to be able to follow the flowchart to a sound conclusion. Then, Ultron happened. Ultron was supposed to be the answer, but instead he rent all answers apart. Now, after Ultron and without Pepper as a guiding light, Tony questions every major decision he makes. He questions even his own purpose, but the steel in Steve's voice yanks all that out of his hands, which twitch back to life. Reanimating with a shaky breath, Tony shucks off the last pieces of his clothing. Just for a little while, he can trust Steve with those decisions and to know what's best.
Naked, cock still slowly rising, he sneaks a glance down Steve's body, then to the belt, and shifts his hips uncomfortably. Finally, as he stares at the belt, that beautiful blankness creeps in at the edges.
He's keyed up with anticipation even before Tony finishes disrobing; once he takes the last of his clothes off, Steve drinks in the view before him. Tony isn't perfect, but he wants him anyway - the scars, the grey hairs, the softening belly, all of it. And knowing that Tony's hard because of him, that he can finally reciprocate, that's the best part of all. Steve's already mostly erect - has been since he came in, since he spent the walk to his room imagining what starting without him might entail - and he knows that he has to take the difference in their libidos into account.
That's where the belt comes into play. As much as he wants to touch Tony right now, Steve knows it's best if he gets a quick orgasm or two in first, so he can settle down and focus. He pulls his shirt off and tosses it somewhere, then picks up the belt again.
"Get up on your knees and put your hands behind your back," he orders. Once Tony complies, he loops the belt around his wrists and secures it, then leans back against the pillows. He's on his back now, his thighs spread open invitingly. "I want you to get me off without using your hands."
Tony snaps his head up, dazed and uncomprehending at first; while Steve bound his hands Tony sank until things grew fuzzy. But as his gaze travels to Steve's erect, uncut cock, humor and mischief spark anew in him. "Huh. Tha's a conundrum," he says, softly slurring. He shimmies forward between Steve's legs and bends down, core and thighs strained without the use of his arms to stop a face-plant. "Maybe the tried and true method?" He licks the tip.
"Always a good choice." Steve strives to sound dry, but his sentence is punctuated with a soft gasp as Tony licks him. He's interested in seeing the technique Tony uses (possibly for his own future reference) when he can't just resort to letting him fuck his mouth. Reaching down, Steve rubs his fingers through the stiff strands of Tony's hair. "And it keeps you quiet," he teases gently, humor glinting in his eyes and showing in the way his lips quirk.
With a soft groan and hazy eyes, instead of returning any jab, Tony wraps his mouth around the pink crown peeking out of the foreskin. Every intention to tease has whited out, by the thought of Steve keeping him quiet, into a blanket yes in his brain. He fits what he can into his mouth without breaching into his throat, tongue holding Steve's dick in place, and suckles. Despite the position testing his legs and shoulders, he suckles slowly, lazily, like he'd be content with Steve's dick gagging him the whole night. When Tony's dick fills and brushes his stomach, a whimper vibrates around Steve's cock and Tony tries to shove him farther in, choking himself, unheeding of his own limit, too far gone already for what self-preservation he has.
The leisurely pace Tony sets is nice at first - certainly nice to watch with Tony blissed out with Steve's cock in his mouth, and he's never had the opportunity to really watch from this vantage point before - but Steve quickly finds himself wanting more as his cock gets harder. He pulls Tony's head up a little, keeping him from choking himself, softly brushing fingers over the nape of his neck in a caress.
"Faster," he groans, his hips tilting up a little. He twines his fingers through Tony's hair and helps him set a pace, tugging and pushing until he picks the rhythm up.
Moving Tony, who becomes so pliable, melting into the push and pull, feels effortless even for someone of normal strength. He doesn't just follow the instruction; he anticipates it from the grip on his hair, more in tune with Steve's wishes than before. Steve turns into not just the anchor point, but the entire reason for Tony's existence. Once Steve selects the pace, Tony maintains it, bobbing at the neck to lessen the strain on his limbs. He starts adding little tricks, lips tightening on a pull up and loosening on the way down, the flat of his tongue pressing along the shaft. He's sloppier than if he were in his right mind, lacking the precision, but it brings its own pleasure, him being hungry for Steve's cock, so eager to obey the order of getting Steve off that he throws his whole self into the task, sighing and drooling, the good kind of mess.
Steve is surprised by the difference between this and the other blowjobs Tony's given him, and exactly what he meant by "more with you than ever" sinks in. Before, it had just been a need to lose himself, to offer himself up as a hole to fuck. Now, he truly submits, and all he wants is to please Steve, and it's fucking amazing. "Oh god, Tony," he gasps. He feels his balls start to tighten, and his muscles follow suit, tensing in anticipation. "S-so good," he manages to get out. "So fucking-"
The end of the sentence turns into a moan, and he rocks his hips up into Tony's mouth, his last shred of coherent thought desperately trying to keep from choking him with his cock as he comes, spurting hot against the back of his throat. Everything blurs around the edges, then gradually comes back into focus as he catches his breath.
Tony moans, low and long, around Steve's orgasm, fulfillment from the praise spreading throughout his body, making him light. His hips roll downward in sympathy and lust, cock hard, but he follows Steve's softening dick down, concerned foremost with him, never letting him or the come slip out. The weight of Tony's head and torso rests fully on Steve's hip and leg, body balled up, to give his thighs the rest. While Steve catches his breath, Tony keeps suckling on the head, careless, dazed eyes glancing up beneath his smoothed out brow. Saliva and semen pool together inside the cheek with the tip of Steve's dick.
Steve trails his fingertips lazily over Tony's swollen cheek. "You can swallow," he says breathlessly, realizing that they're at the point where he needs to tell Tony to do everything again, that he won't act without a clear, direct order. He tugs Tony's head up off him with his other hand, giving him a dazed smile. "Come up here, next to me."
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His kiss, naturally, is somewhat distracted, as he's trying hard to think of something appropriately filthy and failing miserably. "Uh," he says eloquently, and the blush on his cheeks communicates more than words ever could. He plucks the mistletoe from Tony's bangs and tucks it gently into his pocket.
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By the time Steve enters, Tony kneels by the bedside, forehead resting on the edge of the mattress. His dress shirt is opened at the collar and wrists, and the vest piece is laid with the duffel coat. He jerks at the door opening, gasping, "M'here," blinking overmuch. "Sorry, I was just--" He massages his temples, hard. He only wanted to clear his head a bit, not assume Steve would dominate him. Steve is still learning what he likes, and Tony should support that, he tells himself. Those nasty clingy thoughts have already jumbled him up. "We don't have to take this angle of approach. Whatever you fancy, if you fancy anything," he drawls.
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Once his own jacket and shoes are off, he crouches down next to Tony. "I'd like you to stay with me sometimes," he admits. Partly because he's still new to all this, and partly for the emotional aspect. (And, okay, because Steve's a hopeless romantic.) "But that doesn't mean I'm not willing to have scenes. I told you, I like them, and I think that incorporating sex, once I figure out what the hell I'm doing, will be-" Is fun the right word to use? "Interesting," he settles on.
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"You can let go tonight," he adds. "As little or as much as you want." He's not even sure Tony has levels of control, not consciously. From what he's seen so far, there's a descent, and then he just bottoms out, no pun intended. And Steve's fine with that; he's made it this far, and as nervous and awkward as he is, he's more than willing to keep going.
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"You're lucky I've never been one for ripping the wrapping paper." But he tugs playfully at the collar of Tony's A-shirt anyway.
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The button-down shirt comes off, and he strips out of his jeans and underwear before he sits down on the bed in just his t-shirt, the cotton straining at the muscles of his chest and shoulders. He eyes the belt thoughtfully, then picks it up, running the leather through his hands.
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Naked, cock still slowly rising, he sneaks a glance down Steve's body, then to the belt, and shifts his hips uncomfortably. Finally, as he stares at the belt, that beautiful blankness creeps in at the edges.
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That's where the belt comes into play. As much as he wants to touch Tony right now, Steve knows it's best if he gets a quick orgasm or two in first, so he can settle down and focus. He pulls his shirt off and tosses it somewhere, then picks up the belt again.
"Get up on your knees and put your hands behind your back," he orders. Once Tony complies, he loops the belt around his wrists and secures it, then leans back against the pillows. He's on his back now, his thighs spread open invitingly. "I want you to get me off without using your hands."
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"Faster," he groans, his hips tilting up a little. He twines his fingers through Tony's hair and helps him set a pace, tugging and pushing until he picks the rhythm up.
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The end of the sentence turns into a moan, and he rocks his hips up into Tony's mouth, his last shred of coherent thought desperately trying to keep from choking him with his cock as he comes, spurting hot against the back of his throat. Everything blurs around the edges, then gradually comes back into focus as he catches his breath.
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