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.
In his more conscious mind, Tony feels the acute difference in this subspace versus the first with Steve. The first: a blank landscape, beautiful and serene, like undisturbed snow. But this -- this space is warmer, more inviting, made to feel rather than look at, like sunshine on his face. A place to linger in, despite his many fears.
Tony traces his fingers along the back of Steve's hand, arm atop Steve's around his waist. "I don' need anything," he says idly, and then twines their fingers together.
"Yeah, I know." That's what makes Tony so hard to shop for. He doesn't really need anything, and he can buy anything he wants. "But I wanna give you something. You deserve it." He deserves more than Steve, probably. Steve squeezes Tony's fingers, then rests his chin on top of his shoulder, putting him in Tony's line of sight. A gentle smile curves his lips. "Though if you want kisses, I can deliver."
A soft, sweet smile spreads across Tony's face. He turns into his pillow to hide it. Once Steve plops his chin down and adds his offer of kisses, he can catch a peek of the smile before it grows and Tony practically stuffs his whole face into the pillow, and even then, Tony's deepened crow's feet and lifted cheeks still show.
Steve just laughs delightedly and lightly drops a number of kisses on whatever exposed skin he can reach by tilting his head up. "Early delivery," he jokes before he relents and settles back down behind Tony again. For the first time in longer than he can remember, he feels happy instead of weighed down by his problems, by his entire goddamn life. Being here with Tony just feels right. It's too soon to say it to Tony, he knows, but Steve loves him. There's no doubt in his heart about that.
Tony snorts some laughter, muffled in the pillow, and hunches his shoulders like the kisses tickle him. He's come back enough, lured by Steve's teasing and the aftercare signaling the scene done, to feel abashed by the affection -- but not enough to protest it. He's always more opened afterward, softer, halfway in and halfway out.
Steve relents. Tony lifts his head, half-turned, and says with a hint of his normal humor, "None on the mouth? Tha's disappointing." He wriggles onto his back. Easier access.
"Shouldn't've hidden from me, then." Steve wrinkles his nose as he points out the obvious. "Hard to kiss your lips when they're planted on a pillow." But he acquiesces to Tony's unspoken request easily enough, draping over him like a human blanket, and then kisses him on the mouth, slow and sweet and lingering. "Better now?" he murmurs, still close enough that their lips brush when he speaks.
"I thought ya liked overcomin' challenges," Tony starts to say, but trails off as Steve kisses him. His fingertips brush one of Steve's sides during it. His eyes stay shut when it ends. "Mhm. Much."
"Good." Steve grins down at him. He likes it like this, but he'd be happy with any position that keeps him in full contact with Tony. Pulling back, he rests his head on Tony's chest with a sigh of contentment. "Does this mean you're gonna be coming by more often?" Steve would prefer much more often, but he doesn't want to look too clingy and scare Tony off.
Neck bent to look, Tony suddenly, vividly remembers Pepper's head lying on his chest, strawberry blonde hair draped across, her body softer in every curve, the twin pressure of her breasts mashed between them. Steve's voice breaks the illusion and sharpens all the differences: broader, bigger than Tony, hard muscle and heft between the legs. Doubt pierces him again, one of the many downsides of slowly coming back. Tony shakes it off. He wants to try.
His arms lower to his sides. Eyes shut, Tony strives to just appreciate the heat and heavy weight of Steve on top of him. "When I can, yeah," he answers roughly.
Steve frowns and rolls off. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that he did something wrong, not with the change in Tony's body language. Curling up against his back seems safer, something he's never had any objection to. "Well, yeah, I know that." But he also knows Tony's been avoiding his problems by staying away. Maybe he's pushing for too much too soon. God, he's bad at this sort of thing.
Suddenly bereft of Steve's steadfast weight, hurt spikes through Tony. He tries to rationalize that Steve just feels more comfortable on and by his side, but the nasty gremlin that whispers he's hurting Steve with his inability to completely move on persists, which prompts the avalanche of all the other demons. He's gonna mess this up, he already has, he could never be enough for Pepper and he'll never be enough for Steve, he doesn't deserve either of them, he...
He breathes in deeply. Begins erecting the walls around the compartments of his brain again. Each thing in a manageable place, the worst shoved back and down for survival.
"I mean, yes. I will. More regularly, at least. Or you could risk a ticket driving down to the city. Generally more date-worthy places there... Or we could meet in the middle sometimes. Relationships are about compromise, as -- as far as I've learned. Uh..." Tony rubs his fingers into his worried forehead, hard.
"I wouldn't mind going on dates," Steve admits, a little shyly, and his arm finds its way around Tony's waist again. Yeah, he's a sucker for romance, but it's not like he's had a whole lot of it in his life before now. He chuckles softly as a thought occurs to him. "You just want the comforts of home, don't you? With all your fancy skin care creams and...whatever. Can't rough it here too often." Even though his stomach is still knotted with nerves, he kisses just below and behind Tony's ear. It seems that he's easy with physical affection, given the chance.
"You know nobody'd ever give me a ticket if they pulled me over, right?" he points out. "Half the time, people think my license is a fake." Although he can't blame them, Steve can't help but think he'd try for something a lot more ordinary with a fake ID.
"Caught me red-handed," Tony barely interjects, quietly, easing into the mattress again from the physical contact. He rests an arm opposite on Steve's, a placebo to think he could stop Steve from ever removing it. The easy affection surprises him, to be honest. To Tony, Steve always seemed distant, restrained, nigh untouchable -- or that was just his perception, he supposes, impressions from stories in his youth that painted Captain America as a man above the rest. Turns out, while Steve is all that, he's also a giant troll, stubborn asshole, complete snuggle monster, and a sad and lonely dude.
Head turned, Tony pins him with a dry look. He fights a smirk to maintain it. "You won't squeak by on your good-American-boy looks forever, ya lawless hooligan. Mark my words."
Steve just looks totally bland, although there's a definite sparkle in his eyes that proves the humor fighting to get out. "And how many tickets have you gotten in your life, huh?" He bets the answer is somewhere around zero, between being famous and oozing charm (and occasionally flirtation). It's definitely not because Tony follows all the rules of the road.
Twining their fingers again, Steve allows himself to relax a little more. "If anyone actually writes me a ticket, I'll gladly fess up and cough up the cash. I've got no problem with that." And while he might not have Tony's wealth, he has six decades of back pay to rely on, and the fact that he doesn't actually pay any living expenses or rent.
"Like I'd just let you mar your perfect record," Tony huffs. "What kinda lover would I be if I didn't cover your dumb ass? That's including the inevitable hospital bills for a cracked cranium."
"I notice you didn't answer my question, Stark." Steve's heart beats a little faster when Tony calls him his lover, and he can't keep the goofy smile off his face. He doesn't even bother to defend his own driving skills or point out that his head would probably be fine in an accident; he just burrows in closer to Tony.
"What, about any tickets? Why?" Tony squints at Steve with faux suspicion, but Steve's goofy smile catches on, contagious. Tony's turns out smaller. "You better not be gunning for blackmail in something so unimpressive. I've already handled, count 'em, two sex tape scandals... So, minor traffic infractions? Not a blip on my radar."
"Just curious, is all." He runs his fingertips idly over Tony's hip, enjoying the freedom to touch as he pleases. "I'm not exactly a blackmail kinda guy." To put it mildly. Natasha might manipulate people like that, but Steve? He's not sneaky and underhanded enough.
"Shame. Could maybe make for some fun roleplay." Mirth lights up Tony's eyes. "Ooo, how 'bout you as the hardknock cop tempted by me, the irresistible prostitute?"
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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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Tony traces his fingers along the back of Steve's hand, arm atop Steve's around his waist. "I don' need anything," he says idly, and then twines their fingers together.
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Steve relents. Tony lifts his head, half-turned, and says with a hint of his normal humor, "None on the mouth? Tha's disappointing." He wriggles onto his back. Easier access.
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His arms lower to his sides. Eyes shut, Tony strives to just appreciate the heat and heavy weight of Steve on top of him. "When I can, yeah," he answers roughly.
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He breathes in deeply. Begins erecting the walls around the compartments of his brain again. Each thing in a manageable place, the worst shoved back and down for survival.
"I mean, yes. I will. More regularly, at least. Or you could risk a ticket driving down to the city. Generally more date-worthy places there... Or we could meet in the middle sometimes. Relationships are about compromise, as -- as far as I've learned. Uh..." Tony rubs his fingers into his worried forehead, hard.
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"You know nobody'd ever give me a ticket if they pulled me over, right?" he points out. "Half the time, people think my license is a fake." Although he can't blame them, Steve can't help but think he'd try for something a lot more ordinary with a fake ID.
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Head turned, Tony pins him with a dry look. He fights a smirk to maintain it. "You won't squeak by on your good-American-boy looks forever, ya lawless hooligan. Mark my words."
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Twining their fingers again, Steve allows himself to relax a little more. "If anyone actually writes me a ticket, I'll gladly fess up and cough up the cash. I've got no problem with that." And while he might not have Tony's wealth, he has six decades of back pay to rely on, and the fact that he doesn't actually pay any living expenses or rent.
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