Steve waits for several minutes before he whispers Tony's name - not loudly enough to wake him if he's sleeping, but to see if he's awake. When there's no response, he adds a whispered, "Good night," then hangs up the phone and, thankfully, falls asleep quickly himself.
On his waking breath the next morning, Tony stretches his arm out. He reaches for someone, some amalgamate of Steve and Pepper in his sleep-addled brain, but only feels more bed sheets. Clarity seeps in and he opens his eyes to muted, grey sunlight, just rising, through the closed curtains. He groans and hugs the pillow closer until something hard and cold slips over and down his arm. Right. His phone. Their little sexy time last night with the promise of something more soon. That happened.
Sitting up, Tony rubs his eyes clear of gunk. Among the wealth of things on his itinerary, he thinks he should let Steve know he's okay. The lug worries and takes aftercare way too seriously. Probably killed the big softie not being able to tuck Tony in snug as a bug in a rug. They need to schedule their next date, anyway. There: a practical reason to text. He opens a message.
Good morning, America. Breaking news right now is that Tony Stark slept great and Steve Rogers has a dirty dirty mouth. Are these two phenomenon related? Stay tuned.
When Tony wakes up, Steve's already in the office, taking care of some paperwork before a training session he has scheduled with Sam and Rhodey. His phone buzzes, alerting him to a text, and he finishes the requisition form he's on before setting it aside to read. The text makes him blush again, thinking of everything he'd said last night. Frankly, he's still not sure how he managed all that.
Not sure. Honestly poor decision-making on your part, Tony sends, smiling, freshened up for the day. On his way to the kitchen for breakfast and in a fit of whimsy, he slides down the grand staircase's banister on his butt. He feels solid. Ready to persevere through every challenge and hardship, even the painful knowledge of his past failures.
That describes most of my life, more or less. Steve takes a healthy sip from the coffee mug sitting at his elbow after sending the text, then starts typing another. Did you mean what you said last night, about coming down for a visit? As nice as their little session had been, it's only making him miss Tony all the more.
Coffee brewing, Tony considers staging a humorous photo of him, overly sultry, blowing a banana from the fruit bowl, but opts for fixing eggs on toast instead. Yeah, sure, he types, and pauses. He looks around the kitchen from the checkered tiles to the bay window above the table. How would it feel seeing Captain America ghosting around these floors and intermingling with old memories of resentment and a fresher sense of inferiority? Mashing his past and present together like that?
He's getting ahead of himself. Maybe they'll just meet for dinner and a walk through Central Park or at the Tower. Tony adds, Did you mean what YOU said about not diddling myself without you? and sends.
Steve pauses. That had been something he'd said in the heat of the moment, and truthfully, he's not sure that he should ask that much of Tony, if he should intrude so much on his life. Is it fair to ask something of Tony that he can't do himself?
Only if you're okay with it, he sends finally. It's not as dominant and assertive as he'd been last night, but he's not playing that role right now.
Tony brushes his thumb across the word bubble. It's one thing to fully hand himself over during times of his choosing, another entirely to give even a small part of himself twenty-four seven. It reeks of commitment -- like putting a ring on it, a wise woman once said, but instead of an engagement, it's a cock ring. Tony frowns at his own analogy and jumps when the coffee machine dings. As always, the back of his brain continues ticking through various points. He sets the phone aside for later. There are other, more pressing matters to concern himself with, such as charity work and continued relief efforts, Congress's tiff with him, and successfully hijacking his own hippocampus.
Fed and sipping his coffee on the way down to the basement, Tony reads over Steve's message again: only if you're okay with it. Ultimately it's his choice, right? He has the power here. It's not weak-willed, or whatever, which just leaves the question of whether or not he wants to let Steve that far inside his heart. Inside his body, relatively easy; inside his head, easier with time. His heart, though, after his last attempt failed so spectacularly? Yes, the thought flashes by. In that briefest moment, before he can think, he taps out two letters and presses send.
The message simply reads, Ok. Tony stares at it. He just signed away his right to jack off, which isn't a problem so much at his age, but his body still experiences unexpected desires and he still likes it. Hurriedly he adds, But you have to be ready at the rise of my cock if I really need you.
Steve's used to the pauses in Tony's texts by now, so he doesn't worry when he takes some time to get back to him. He's in the gym by the time his phone buzzes again, stretching his muscles out as he warms up. Finishing his current set of reps, he finally picks up the phone and glances at it with a half-smile.
I don't think that'll be a problem. Not with the little wave of pleasure that rolls through him just from reading a slightly salacious text. As long as he's not in the middle of something else, Steve can get hard at the drop of a hat, especially if Tony's involved.
As he checks with FRIDAY about his schedule, waking all his systems up, Tony feels short of breath, which is ridiculous because he's nowhere near unfit enough for stairs to have winded him, especially descending. When he finally types back, he types manically, a visible word vomit, with hardly any stopping to consider his words. Sat or sun could work. Also in hindsight maybe naming my baby nlui Friday when I need to discuss scheduling and days of the week with her was a slight misstep. You hungry for anything in particular? Besides me. I have yet to see you fully fucked out. Great, now I'm picturing you as a raunchy energizer bunny. I should delete this. Nvm I'm sending this, comes through in one big block.
Steve sits down on a weight bench and stares at the phone in his hands, a slightly bewildered look on his face. This is the sort of thing he'd expect from Tony when he's exhausted and rambling, but he knows he's reasonably well-rested. Which means, Steve realizes, perhaps a little belatedly, that he's nervous about the prospect of him coming to visit, that having Steve in his home is a vulnerability he's not quite comfortable with.
It doesn't have to be this weekend. My social calendar isn't exactly teeming with obligations.
He's just not even going to address the bulk of that, except- And please stop drinking coffee before your heart explodes.
Tony glances at the mug halfway raised to his mouth. He frowns and slowly sets it down. You don't have Natasha spying on me, do you? Is that how you'll enforce the no diddling rule? Here I thought we were using the honor system.
...do you really think it's that hard to guess how over-caffeinated you are?
But you're right, we're using the honor system. If Nat's spying on you, then that's her own business. He doubts it, though; she doesn't seem to be especially interested in Tony in that way. Although Steve suspects she's figured out where his own feelings lie, judging by a few comments she's made to him.
In an unseen act of rebellion, Tony drinks as much of the cooled coffee as his mouth can stand in one gulp. So if I told you right now that I've engaged in hand to gland combat without your seal of approval, what happens?
Theoretically, I come up with a way to punish you the next time we're together. I don't know what that is because I'm not very good at inventing creative punishments on the spot like this. Give me some time, I'll delve into the seamy side of Google again. At least he's being honest. Steve knows - barely - that orgasm denial is a Thing, but he's not sure yet how to turn it from pleasure into a punishment outside of not allowing Tony to come at all. He just has to blindly hope that, given time, he'll figure something out before Tony willfully disobeys him.
(And he knows he will, because he's Tony, and he has to test all his boundaries.)
Oh you poor soul, what hardships you face, Tony fires off and immediately regrets it, but he can't apologize, because that'd entail admitting something's wrong or that he's scared. He slouches forward and presses a fist to his mouth. Pointless to freak out about this new rule, really. He already chose yes.
Steve just writes it off as Tony being his usual sarcastic self and rolls his eyes. I just don't want to end up with a search full of chastity belts again. Those things look scary. Which is really more than he should admit about anything ever and he needs to find some way to change the topic.
Tony risks peeking at his phone when it chimes. No argument seems forthcoming. What he said, Steve thinks it's not a big deal. None of this has to be a big deal. Sometimes a new way to have kinky fun is just that, not some larger proclamation of togetherness. (But Tony wants it to be. That's what terrifies him.) He crams those neuroses into their specialized compartments. Steve is goober personified and Tony is okay. Right. So Saturday @ 1? he types. Meet at the tower, spend the afternoon out, and maybe if you're a gentleman I'll invite you back.
All of that sounds good to me, but what if I'm not a gentleman? Steve asks in what, for once, isn't the world's worst attempt at flirting. In reality, he knows they'll be in the spotlight the entire damn time, and if he tries to feel Tony up, it'll be trending on Twitter in less time than it takes a real bird to tweet. He can accept being in the public eye, but some things are just a little too personal to let everyone in on them.
Different schematics and data feeds display on the busy monitors around him (gone a little old school, didn't feel like the complete renovation for his holograms here), but Tony keeps his head ducked, his attention absorbed by their texts and the tiny phone screen. Well, in the unlikely scenario that ever happens I'll let you know. It'll be a surprise to the both of us.
Touche. I'll see you Saturday, then? As much as he wants to keep talking to Tony, Sam and Rhodey are going to be here soon, and Steve doesn't want to have to explain anything at all to them. Besides, Tony probably has his own work to do.
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Sitting up, Tony rubs his eyes clear of gunk. Among the wealth of things on his itinerary, he thinks he should let Steve know he's okay. The lug worries and takes aftercare way too seriously. Probably killed the big softie not being able to tuck Tony in snug as a bug in a rug. They need to schedule their next date, anyway. There: a practical reason to text. He opens a message.
Good morning, America. Breaking news right now is that Tony Stark slept great and Steve Rogers has a dirty dirty mouth. Are these two phenomenon related? Stay tuned.
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Why do I ever encourage you?
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He's getting ahead of himself. Maybe they'll just meet for dinner and a walk through Central Park or at the Tower. Tony adds, Did you mean what YOU said about not diddling myself without you? and sends.
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Only if you're okay with it, he sends finally. It's not as dominant and assertive as he'd been last night, but he's not playing that role right now.
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Fed and sipping his coffee on the way down to the basement, Tony reads over Steve's message again: only if you're okay with it. Ultimately it's his choice, right? He has the power here. It's not weak-willed, or whatever, which just leaves the question of whether or not he wants to let Steve that far inside his heart. Inside his body, relatively easy; inside his head, easier with time. His heart, though, after his last attempt failed so spectacularly? Yes, the thought flashes by. In that briefest moment, before he can think, he taps out two letters and presses send.
The message simply reads, Ok. Tony stares at it. He just signed away his right to jack off, which isn't a problem so much at his age, but his body still experiences unexpected desires and he still likes it. Hurriedly he adds, But you have to be ready at the rise of my cock if I really need you.
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I don't think that'll be a problem. Not with the little wave of pleasure that rolls through him just from reading a slightly salacious text. As long as he's not in the middle of something else, Steve can get hard at the drop of a hat, especially if Tony's involved.
What's this weekend look like for you?
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It doesn't have to be this weekend. My social calendar isn't exactly teeming with obligations.
He's just not even going to address the bulk of that, except- And please stop drinking coffee before your heart explodes.
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But you're right, we're using the honor system. If Nat's spying on you, then that's her own business. He doubts it, though; she doesn't seem to be especially interested in Tony in that way. Although Steve suspects she's figured out where his own feelings lie, judging by a few comments she's made to him.
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(And he knows he will, because he's Tony, and he has to test all his boundaries.)
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