"You can use your hands now," Steve mentions idly as he tilts his head back a little to expose his throat. He knows that orders are easier for Tony to process than suggestions, but he doesn't have any orders at the moment - he doesn't really need to be touched. The way Tony's cock rubs against his stomach awakens the first stirrings of desire, and his own dick twitches, but it's not hardening yet (though if he keeps on with this, it definitely will).
"Yes, sir," Tony confirms into Steve's neck, against his skin, and then tucks his head beneath Steve's chin, which allows him to watch his own hand as it travels from Steve's waist to his hairless chest. His fingertips graze one pectoral. He traces the outline of it and then between them, up along the breastbone: a gentle exploration, tinged with awe and appreciation. Next they follow the ridges of Steve's stomach muscles and Tony looses a little moan and a stronger thrust. "Please?" he begs quietly, though he's only half-aware of what for.
Steve lets out a shuddering breath as Tony's fingers travel over him. He has a deep-seated need for touch - even non-sexual touch - that rarely gets satisfied, and having so much of Tony's body pressed against him, having him touch him, fills a hole he tries to pretend doesn't exist most of the time.
As Tony's erection gets harder under his fingers, Steve strokes faster, squeezes a little more. He's not quite sure if he can tell when Tony's at the brink, but that's the sort of thing he'll learn over time, he figures.
Whimpering loudly, Tony brings their bodies flush together, trapping Steve's stroking hand between them. His arm encircles Steve and grips him close, tight, hand spread out on Steve's shoulder blades.
(Steve will learn in time that non-verbal feedback also works: Tony's light touches granted him favor via a faster stroke, so he braves more. The mindless obedience of the first times, him being unable to act without strict instruction, while still holding true to a degree, will transform into anticipatory action. A wave, or even a look, and Tony will understand and perform, as in-sync behind closed doors as on the battlefield. This is new territory for Tony as well, a new dominant partner. He's still charting his way through, careful not to overstep. He only wants to give Steve his best, as much and as many times as he can -- a recognizable echo of the man he normally is, just stripped of all excess.)
Tony begins to ruts against him in earnest. The room fills with the sound of slight friction, skin-on-skin, and his moans and tiny cries, freely given. "C-can I? Now?" he stammers shakily. His balls have tightened.
This is what he's wanted from the very first time they were together, the feeling of giving, not just taking. He's wanted to hear Tony's pleasure, to know the effect he has on him. For the first time, Tony feels like a partner, and not just someone to fuck.
"Yeah," Steve replies breathlessly, the look in his eyes a little awestruck, a little dazed. "Lemme feel you come, Tony."
After a keen of gratitude muffled into Steve's collarbone, Tony rubs against him, squirming. He gasps and then spurts his come between their bodies with panting whimpers that encompass the air around them. Once he's spent, muscles untightening, peace draping back across him, he nudges his head up into Steve's chin.
Steve's no stranger to the feeling - look, he's had some very messy orgasms once or twice - but it's completely different when it's someone else's come hot on his stomach and chest, knowing that he's the one responsible for it. It makes him grin stupidly, nuzzling the top of Tony's head as he gives him a last few lazy strokes, wringing every last bit of stimulation out of him. He dips his head back down to catch his lips in a messy, breathless kiss, his other hand idly rubbing circles in the small of Tony's back.
"That was great," he says finally, a little dumbly. "You're great."
The final tugs bring sips of air, oversensitive, and pull Tony further under into the blissful empty landscape. The kiss opens him up, lips parting for Steve to delve in if he wishes. Finally, the grin and compliments from Steve nurture a swell of quiet pride reflected in the brightening of Tony's eyes; nurture a confidence that nudges him to continue, and even more so improve. "I can do more?" he offers, adoring and eager, so quick to please.
While he doesn't really need anything, Tony has his interest piqued, and Steve, with all his naive inexperience, wants to find out. "More?" He raises his eyebrows. "Like what?" Emotion swells within him at Tony's eagerness to please, at how much he wants to do well for him. "Feel free to demonstrate." And there's a little amused smile at that.
That little wrinkle of concentration returns. Tony drops his eyes in thought; normally so quick with ideas, here he struggles through the same weightless space that lulls him into this state. Eventually, when he sees the streaks of semen on Steve, he shifts, scoots down on his hip, leans his forearms on the bed so his face levels with Steve's torso, and licks a long, wet line across it, his bottom lip dragging after, wiping his own spend off Steve's skin.
Steve shudders, both at the sight and the feeling, and his cock starts to stiffen again. He has to admit that he's imagined coming on Tony before, marking his stomach or his back - something more deliberate than what he did that morning they were together. But he's never imagined licking it up before, and that's clearly an oversight. He runs a hand through Tony's hair, silently encouraging him to keep going.
Approval granted, Tony cleans every spot of come, eyes shut with only peeks between the lashes to check his progress. Each dripping line he gathers slowly on his tongue, like a cat licking its owner, around every needed angle and curve and ridge of Steve's middle. He breaks apart sometimes to swallow, but continues until Steve's skin is free of all remaining come, not a drop left unattended, the same thoroughness and care he brings to any project.
Once he feels he finishes his task, Tony rests his temple on Steve's hip, breath slow and even, eyes on Steve's new erection. "Is tha' good?" he asks, needing the affirmation before moving on.
Steve shivers and shudders from time to time while Tony's licking him clean; he's never had anyone be so thoroughly attentive with their tongue before, and his abdomen is sensitive, especially around his navel. It means he's plenty hard again by the time Tony's done, and he has to blink out of an aroused daze when he speaks.
"Fantastic," he assures Tony, and he caresses the nape of his neck with his fingertips.
Steve's hardened dick brushes Tony's throat in this position, rests on his clavicle, but Tony just basks in the light caress on his neck, lying there all curled up against Steve's hips and legs. He can't assume what Steve wants, not yet. So he waits, loose in every limb, but at Steve's every beck and call.
"Come up here." Steve pats the bed next to him with his free hand. "On your side, facing me." Not that he wouldn't happily come rutting against Tony's ass again, but right now, he wants to be able to look at him - wants Tony to be able to see his face. He keeps one hand on Tony's shoulder as he moves up, just to stay in contact with him. He's noticed that Tony likes having a physical connection, and honestly, Steve does, too.
Tony follows without hesitation. Lying there, hands curled on the pillow, he stares back at Steve with nothing else on his mind, so close that Steve's cock balances atop his inner thigh.
"Good." Whether inadvertent or not, Tony seems to have anticipated his plans. Steve rests his hand on Tony's hip, adjusts himself slightly, and starts rocking against him. He feels a little self-conscious at first, but the friction of his cock rubbing against Tony drives those thoughts from his mind, and he tilts his head slightly to kiss Tony again, hot breath puffing between them.
Almost on automatic, the same way he accepts the kiss open-mouthed, Tony spreads his thighs, back arched and hips pushed forward, so that Steve can thrust through the gap. Once Steve settles in, Tony closes his thighs again around him, a hot seal. Not explicitly ordered, but Steve has in a sense already given his permission: he wants to rock against Tony's body, so Tony enhances specifically that. Tony wants to do anything and everything more to pleasure him.
Steve finds himself shifting to throw one leg over Tony's hip to bring them closer, and he buries his face in his neck again, too distracted to keep kissing him for the moment. He wraps an arm around his lower back to give him some leverage as he thrusts. He doesn't quite know what he's doing, but instinct serves well enough - in this case, one of the most basic of all instincts. "Tony," he mumbles against his neck. He wonders what it would be like to have his cock buried inside him, to feel muscles squeezing him. But this is good enough for now, just feeling Tony's body against his, the freedom to touch all the skin bared before him. The vulnerability Tony trusts him with, both physical and psychological.
Soft and loose, movable, malleable, Tony's body rests, uninterested in anything more -- sexually -- for himself (the male refractory period: nature's cockblock, he calls it), except for an occasional gasp when Steve's pelvis slaps against his oversensitive cock and balls. He's glad to do this for Steve, though. He wants to. Steve's reverent mumbles, his steadfast grip, all of this satisfies Tony on a level that an orgasm can't. Dreamily, he sighs and closes his eyes. Right now, nothing else in the universe matters as much as this, Steve against him and the things that Tony can do for him: the back of his hand, the knuckles, skimming Steve's collarbone, maintaining touch; the tightening of his thighs on Steve's every pull out as reassurance; and beneath those, spoken through his eagerness, the plea for Steve to stay. Tony can be so good for him if Steve just stays.
Steve keeps pumping his hips steadily, faster and faster, and then the pace becomes ragged, off-beat. His internal tempo is thrown off by the jagged spikes of desire pushing him, his relentless need. He strains for one last thrust, all his muscles taut in anticipation of that last little bit of stimulation, and then, with a muffled cry, he comes, giving himself over to pleasure, feeling nothing in that moment but Tony.
His limbs feel heavy and weighted, his mind like it's in a thick, syrupy haze, but he brushes breathy kisses against Tony's throat. "You're so good," he manages to say, "so wonderful." His words are a little slurred, a little slow, but clear enough to be understood. "Just give me a moment and I'll take care of you."
The semen drips in trails down the back of his thighs and pools in the dip of the blankets beneath them. Tony shifts with a sigh, his thighs still embracing Steve's cock and the semen cooling, sticking to his skin. Tony likes the feel of it, of Steve, on him. He likes being marked. "You don' have to. M'okay like this," he says.
"Okay, but you're sleeping in the wet spot," Steve teases him - although it's not like he doesn't have extra blankets to change the bedding before they go to sleep. Right now, though, he just wants to nestle against Tony and enjoy the intimacy of the moment.
(Of course he assumes Tony's going to be spending the night with him, now that things between them have been straightened out. It's something he doesn't even think about on a conscious level.)
Eventually, the need to Be A Good Dom reasserts himself, once the afterglow dwindles a little, and Steve pulls away from Tony with a sigh. "Just a sec," he promises him, and kisses his forehead. He fetches a bottle of water from the refrigerator and a box of tissues from his bedside table, and sits on the edge of the bed as he uses the latter to clean Tony gently, spreading his thighs apart with one hand and wiping him clean with the other. There's a pause while he tries to figure out the best way to move Tony, and he settles on just picking him up with one arm and tugging the blankets aside, then depositing him on the sheets. The top layer he peels off entirely; he'll get another coverlet later. There's still a lighter blanket, and that should be enough to keep Tony warm for now, especially once Steve climbs in with him. Which he does, settling in behind him like the big spoon he is.
"You want a drink?" he asks. He leans over Tony and snags a Hershey's Kiss from the nightstand, unwrapping the foil and placing the chocolate against his lips. "C'mon, I'm gonna ruin your diet. Don't tell anyone."
Throughout all of Steve cleaning their mess and fixing the bed, Tony's dark eyes stay on Steve's person, sometimes on his face and sometimes loosely on his hands as he works. (Before, those eyes might have wandered, Steve inconsequential compared to the high.) Tony helps where he can by lifting a leg or turning just so. When Steve settles in behind him, when he comes back and stays, Tony releases a long breath and melts again into the hold, appeased. Like this, without his own head telling him otherwise, he can believe it when Steve calls him good. He can trust that this is right. He could come back, could clear out the soft fuzz cradling his thoughts, but he chooses not to. Steve will take care of him, he thinks; take care of everything.
Tony follows Steve's hand as Steve reaches over him, but keeps himself snug under the blanket. "Yeah, please," he rasps, a little parched, but accepts the chocolate without hesitation.
Steve untwists the cap of the water bottle, holds it up to Tony's lips and tilts it till he stops drinking, then replaces the cap. He leaves the bottle within easy reach, just in case Tony wants more. "I could spend all winter like this," he admits. The cold might not bother him physically, but it has a certain psychological effect on him, and snow just makes him think of that mountain pass, how he'd tried so hard to keep Bucky from falling. It's a season he'd gladly skip if given the choice.
He banishes the thoughts by reaching up and stroking Tony's hair gently. It's okay, he tells himself, and although he doesn't believe it, the motion of stroking soothes him. Steve leans in closer, presses his nose against the nape of Tony's neck. The familiar scent of Tony grounds him like nothing else can, and the vise around his heart eases. "I'm gonna have to find something a lot more impressive to give you for Christmas now," he jokes.
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As Tony's erection gets harder under his fingers, Steve strokes faster, squeezes a little more. He's not quite sure if he can tell when Tony's at the brink, but that's the sort of thing he'll learn over time, he figures.
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(Steve will learn in time that non-verbal feedback also works: Tony's light touches granted him favor via a faster stroke, so he braves more. The mindless obedience of the first times, him being unable to act without strict instruction, while still holding true to a degree, will transform into anticipatory action. A wave, or even a look, and Tony will understand and perform, as in-sync behind closed doors as on the battlefield. This is new territory for Tony as well, a new dominant partner. He's still charting his way through, careful not to overstep. He only wants to give Steve his best, as much and as many times as he can -- a recognizable echo of the man he normally is, just stripped of all excess.)
Tony begins to ruts against him in earnest. The room fills with the sound of slight friction, skin-on-skin, and his moans and tiny cries, freely given. "C-can I? Now?" he stammers shakily. His balls have tightened.
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"Yeah," Steve replies breathlessly, the look in his eyes a little awestruck, a little dazed. "Lemme feel you come, Tony."
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"That was great," he says finally, a little dumbly. "You're great."
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Once he feels he finishes his task, Tony rests his temple on Steve's hip, breath slow and even, eyes on Steve's new erection. "Is tha' good?" he asks, needing the affirmation before moving on.
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"Fantastic," he assures Tony, and he caresses the nape of his neck with his fingertips.
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His limbs feel heavy and weighted, his mind like it's in a thick, syrupy haze, but he brushes breathy kisses against Tony's throat. "You're so good," he manages to say, "so wonderful." His words are a little slurred, a little slow, but clear enough to be understood. "Just give me a moment and I'll take care of you."
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(Of course he assumes Tony's going to be spending the night with him, now that things between them have been straightened out. It's something he doesn't even think about on a conscious level.)
Eventually, the need to Be A Good Dom reasserts himself, once the afterglow dwindles a little, and Steve pulls away from Tony with a sigh. "Just a sec," he promises him, and kisses his forehead. He fetches a bottle of water from the refrigerator and a box of tissues from his bedside table, and sits on the edge of the bed as he uses the latter to clean Tony gently, spreading his thighs apart with one hand and wiping him clean with the other. There's a pause while he tries to figure out the best way to move Tony, and he settles on just picking him up with one arm and tugging the blankets aside, then depositing him on the sheets. The top layer he peels off entirely; he'll get another coverlet later. There's still a lighter blanket, and that should be enough to keep Tony warm for now, especially once Steve climbs in with him. Which he does, settling in behind him like the big spoon he is.
"You want a drink?" he asks. He leans over Tony and snags a Hershey's Kiss from the nightstand, unwrapping the foil and placing the chocolate against his lips. "C'mon, I'm gonna ruin your diet. Don't tell anyone."
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Tony follows Steve's hand as Steve reaches over him, but keeps himself snug under the blanket. "Yeah, please," he rasps, a little parched, but accepts the chocolate without hesitation.
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He banishes the thoughts by reaching up and stroking Tony's hair gently. It's okay, he tells himself, and although he doesn't believe it, the motion of stroking soothes him. Steve leans in closer, presses his nose against the nape of Tony's neck. The familiar scent of Tony grounds him like nothing else can, and the vise around his heart eases. "I'm gonna have to find something a lot more impressive to give you for Christmas now," he jokes.
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