"Right, the matter at hand, or ... or on hand -- yours, s-specifically, ah," Tony stammers, each jab into his prostate a pleasure so sharp that it hurts. "Oh," he repeats, wincing, scrunching up at his stomach. "Oh, shit," and his entire body contracts and clamps down, a supernova in his nerves that stretches seconds into infinities. Existence whites out.
Tony is already collapsed and boneless on the bed once the world fades back in for him. Dazed, he slowly blinks at the canopy above and tries to regather his wits.
Steve stops once Tony tightens around him, keeping his fingers in him, but no longer thrusting. He knows what it looks like, but-
"What just happened?" he asks Tony after he goes limp. He gives him a few seconds to respond, then prods his hip with his free hand. "Can you come without-" he gestures vaguely at his dick, which is definitely still just as soft as it's been all along. Steve is learning all sorts of things tonight, apparently. It's a whole new world.
One of Tony's feet slipped to the mattress during his climax. Tony aims a lazy but elated smirk at Steve in response. "Gland of glory," he reaffirms airily. "S'called a dry orgasm. That's just the first of 'em, so," the heel still resting on Steve, with Steve's free arm hooked around the leg, nudges him on, "hop to it, soldier."
"Bossy, aren't you?" Steve wrinkles his nose on principle, but he doesn't really mind. Tony seems relaxed and normal now - or as normal as Tony ever gets - and Steve's privately relieved that they can at least accomplish that much without going full D/s.
He regards his cock, already more than hard enough, and frowns slightly. Steve can guess how long he'll last inside Tony, and the answer is a little embarrassing. "Uh," he says intelligently, then elaborates further: "I think I should probably get off first. If that's okay with you, anyway."
"And needy," Tony adds matter-of-factually, unashamed, but then his wide grin fades into a confused frown. You don't just rev someone's engine and bail out before you even drive, especially not right after you changed into the correct gear. "Uh, no? Why do you need to get off first? The salute won't be any smaller the second go."
Steve looks a little abashed. "You haven't noticed that I sorta-" he gestures vaguely. "I kinda get overexcited. If I get in there right now, I'm gonna fire off way too early, maybe even before you get to come again. Probably after hardly any time in there. And I wanna last." He wants to do this right, and he's worried about disappointing Tony. He deserves all the fireworks he can give him.
Tony snaps his mouth shut. Steve wants his first time to feel extra special, because he's a big romantic lug. Tony swallows, his heart swelling and hammering both. "Solid reasoning, I guess," he says, downplaying the importance as he tends to do, and pushes himself up onto his elbows to better place his attention on Steve, who deserves this much at the very least. "Do ya want me to..." He waves a hand at Steve's dick and then mimics jerking off.
"Sorry," he apologizes, "I shoulda done it before I started stretching you out. Then we'd both be ready for it now." Not that his refractory period is all that long, but it's still a hassle. He'll just have to remember that for next time.
"You can watch, if you want." Steve gives Tony a shy look from under his lashes. "You don't have to do anything at all. I'll do all the work." And with the bonus of being able to come all over Tony, which is plenty appealing, even outside a scene.
Tony sighs, almost relieved between the uncomfortable slickness in his ass and the contentment from orgasm about not having to move -- almost, because he'd still contort himself into a sailor's knot if it'd make Steve happy. "Who am I to argue with the man with a plan?" he says lightly before he plants both feet onto the bed, knees pulled up high. "Meanwhile, I got my own plan," he continues. One hand smooths down his own body to between his legs, fingers curling back behind his balls, messing with the lube there. "You can watch me watching you. Gotta keep myself ready, right?"
Steve's mouth goes dry as he watches Tony with wide eyes. "Yeah," he manages to say, although the word ends in a squeak. He squeezes a dollop of lube into his hand, then sets the bottle within reach of Tony, in case he needs more. He's never jerked off with lube before, and the expression on his face when his hand slides over his dick is blissful, a shudder rippling through his whole body. Nope, he's not even going to last long doing this, and he can usually hold out a bit when it's just him and his hand.
Eyes hooded, making sure he meets Steve's, Tony circles two fingers around his hole, slicking them up, before he pushes them in with a squelch. He looses a long, low moan, mostly for show. "Makin' me wait. Borderline cruelty, Rogers, depriving me of that," he quips, smirking, with a nod to Steve's cock. A third finger is added, then, and Tony starts pumping them in and out. He does need to keep himself opened, but truth be told, Tony knows Steve likes it when he acts all seductive and slutty for him, and Steve has expressed interest in watching Tony before. This display should ease Steve from any remaining nerves and also speed along his second erection, which Tony admittedly has a stake in.
After a short while of finger-fucking and watching Steve stroke himself though, Tony slips from giving a calculated performance to tipping his head back and impatiently pleading, "Steve."
"Workin' on it," Steve grunts as his hand pumps up and down. The muscles in his stomach contract as his hips roll up into his hand, and with a strangled moan, all the tension in his body snaps at once. From where he is, it's easy to angle his cock to shoot all over Tony's chest and stomach, and it's pretty clear that his aim is deliberate. Once he opens his eyes again, he looks at the mess on him and grins stupidly. "You look amazing, Tony."
The sounds, slick and obscene, surround them. Without consciously deciding to, Tony wiggles his pinkie in with the three other fingers, plunges them in to the second knuckle at most, and methodically spreads them to coax the muscle looser. Something -- the nerve endings, the intimacy, or it being a simple precursor -- in being worked open strikes him deep and low. When Steve shoots across his body, the first signs of reawakened arousal feebly tingle.
The puddles and strips of Steve's come quiver on Tony's front. Tony whimpers, looking down at them and Steve's satisfied grin. (This is a thing, Tony files away in the back of his head, Steve marking him up with his come; happened when Steve gifted him the collar, too.) He removes his hand, wipes it carelessly on the blankets, and slams his head back onto the pillow as reprimand at his brain for wanting to sink. He's Steve's, the come on him states. While he stays afloat, Tony finds it suddenly difficult to touch himself. He suddenly doesn't want to, not without Steve's say so, a byproduct of that recent agreement. He just wants Steve, all encompassing, inside and out. Tony curls his hands into the covers. "Might be your best work yet," he rasps.
"Guess all that time in art school was wasted, then." The sarcastic tone is softened by Steve's breathlessness, by the giddy look on his face. As if his body senses the immediacy of the situation - or one orgasm simply isn't enough to bleed off all his arousal - his cock remains at half-mast, softened but not soft. "Although my teachers always said to experiment with new mediums."
He eyes Tony for a long moment, weighing the situation in his head, then picks up the bottle of lube. Obviously he's taking Tony's advice on the matter to heart, because while he's still mostly slick, he slathers on more. Deep down, he's still afraid of hurting Tony. Steve scoots closer again, bracketed by Tony's thighs, and grips his cock in one hand to guide it. "Let me know if I'm going too fast," he says softly, which means that Tony's more likely to complain of the opposite. Biting his lower lip, he nudges Tony's hole with the head of his cock, then slowly presses past the ring of muscle.
An overly flirtatious comment about being Steve's willing test subject fades away as Tony stares fascinated at Steve's still-stiff dick. Will the wonders of science never cease? he thinks a little hysterically, just short of intimidated. (Steve might have noticed some of Tony's muscle definition returning from more intensive work-outs the past couple weeks. Hard to not feel motivated after comparing yourself to your super-enhanced lover and coming up woefully inadequate.) Tony counts Steve's libido as a blessing, but for a brief moment, he doubts his ability to keep up. There's nothing to worry about, right? They still reach the same finish line, just Tony is the tortoise and Steve's the hare. Steve has to run more laps to complete his version of the race, even. As Tony switches his self in the analogy to a second hare, except maybe a hare with only two legs, Steve speaks again and lines up. Right. The more urgent, exceedingly delightful present. Concerns about the future can wait.
Swallowing, mentally talking himself up like a boxing coach, Tony nods and hooks his heels back onto Steve's shoulders. At first his body wants to eject Steve, but with the aid of lube and Tony forcefully relaxing, the head of Steve's cock pushes in, the muscle tightening behind the corona. "Oh, fuck, Steve," Tony breathes. "Go. Go."
Steve can't even manage to swear right now; he just lets out a strangled noise as his fingers tighten on Tony's hip. Coming first was absolutely the right idea, because if he hadn't, then this would be enough all on its own. (Someday he'll overcome his hair trigger, really. But right now, everything is new and intensely arousing and the serum boosts his libido to ridiculous levels.)
Inch by inch, he pushes in with an almost agonizing slowness, shuddering at the feeling of Tony around him, hot and slick and tight. He can't remember how to hit Tony's prostate right now, but his only goal for the moment is getting Tony to take all of him. And, incredibly, he does, all the way to the hilt, till Steve's balls brush right up against the swell of his ass. "Holy shit," he manages to gasp out, his shoulders heaving like he's just run a marathon. There's something of relief in the action, not just pure arousal, but the release of pent-up anxiety that's almost as much of a rush as an orgasm. It's okay. He can do this. He's doing this.
Comically, during that whole process, the sound Tony emits lacks any sort of sexiness, more similar to an elephant. Once Steve settles, Tony counts his breaths in and out, reassuring his body that it's okay, they're okay, the heated steel rod shoved far up between his spine and guts is just Steve. It's Steve, every bit filling him up, a circuit finally completed. Slowly, Tony adjusts, and the crease in his brow smooths out. He blinks open his eyes to Steve's awed face.
Endeared, Tony smiles and chuckles. He reaches up. "C'mere, baby," he whispers and tugs at Steve's wrist to lean down, slot his broad shoulders behind Tony's knees, and kiss him.
"You- you feel incredible." Part of him can't believe he's actually surrounded by Tony like this, and his heart swells with a sudden rush of emotion. He has to lean in and kiss him to hide the look on his face, but some it spills over into the tenderness of his kiss.
"I should probably move." Steve grins against Tony's lips. "That's how this works, right?"
With his knees pushed to his chest by Steve's bulk, body bent in half, Tony should be nicely angled for Steve to at least glance across his prostate even if he fixates more on fucking Tony as deeply as he can. "Right. But be gentle. S'my first time," Tony jokes, muttering, right back against Steve's mouth; he's kept the kiss closed-mouthed, a sweet press of his lips. Laying his head down and gripping Steve's elbows, thumbs massaging circles into the muscles, Tony intently watches Steve's face, his edges soothed.
From hereon, he leaves the pace up to Steve. He's come twice already -- once wet, once dry -- so without that urgency, despite arousal newly twinging, Tony wants this to be about Steve's experience foremost. Or at least until Steve drives him mad with his dick. All bets off, then.
"When's it all right to fuck you till you can't walk the next day?" Steve pretends to wonder out loud. "Second time, or third?" His inner troll is rearing its head, and it sounds more like Tony'll be lucky if it doesn't happen this time. Shuddering, he rocks his hips back slowly, experimentally, feeling the slick glide of his cock.
"Lemme know when I hit it again, okay?" It's a needless request; he'll probably be able to tell all by himself. Screwing up his face in concentration, Steve tries to thrust back in at a slightly different angle, pushing aside how goddamn good it feels for a moment. He feels like he could do this forever, like he actually fits somewhere for once (more figuratively than literally), like for once, everything is all right.
"Second, third, fourth, and every time thereafter," Tony singsongs, encouraging the possibly worst parts of Steve Rogers, but he's reaping the benefits of that currently. The unyielding drag of Steve's cock pulls out shivers; the thrust in lights up his spine. The main difference between this and toys, Tony's discovering, is the heat. He can feel the way their bodies join so completely that the mental image is rendered like a 3D x-ray in his workshop. Involuntarily, he clenches. "Glanced it there," he notes. "For the record, my day tomorrow doesn't consist of too much walking."
"I'm not carrying you around," Steve grits out. "But if you draw me a map-" He pauses to thrust back in, harder this time. "-I'll go get the food when it's delivered." Steve keeps changing his angle experimentally, and once it seems like he's got the right spot, he sticks with it; this is the part he feels a little more confident with. His body knows what to do, and sliding into a steady rhythm is instinctive. For a moment, there's no sound but the harsh noises of their breathing and the obscene slick noises as Steve thrusts in and out. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, and he stares down at Tony in between the bracket of his legs, his gaze soft and wondering. It's still hard to believe that he's actually doing this.
Any witty response is punched out of Tony, the words scattered to each poster of the bed, just a "Yeah?" coming through. He devolves into whispered incoherence as Steve fucks him. Sometimes he says Steve's name and sometimes it's just quiet babble. Each hit against his still-sensitive prostate builds arousal until his cock fills halfway, barely brushing Steve's upper belly with how they're locked tightly together, Tony's legs stretched up and back. Face turned into the pillow and eyes shut, Tony plants his hands, wrists up, flat against the headboard. His arms flex to push his body down onto Steve's cock every thrust, meeting Steve with a sharp smack of skin, panting now, mouth open.
With a breathy whisper of "Steve," Tony's thighs begin to tremble, another dry orgasm lacing through his brain. "C'mon, baby, more, I need more," he babbles. "I wanna be ruined by you."
Steve's not totally sure what ruined means in the twenty-first century, but it's the tone of Tony's voice - breathy, desperate, pleading - that matters more than the words, and it's easy enough to guess what he wants from context. He huffs out a short, breathless laugh and lets some of his tightly held control slip free. His thrusts are a little shallower, but faster, harder - and, most importantly, aimed right at Tony's prostate. He knows exactly where it is now, and he hits it with the same unerring accuracy that he uses whenever he throws his shield. It's all muscle memory, in the end; show him something once, and he'll do it perfectly (or almost perfectly) from then on out, and it means that Tony is utterly at his mercy.
Tony locks his arms straight, body shoved up hard against Steve's, so he can focus solely on Steve moving inside. "That's it, that's good, Steve, oh, fuck, fuck me, please," spills out in a slurred string. Soon enough, everything coils tight and then snaps again. He whimpers, writhing, muscles clamping around Steve's cock, his own rising fully. His mind implodes into something muted and soft, his body and Steve floating together in empty space, like he's gone under.
When images and sounds resharpen, Tony is shivery and hard. Steve's come has dried on his skin in lines and patches, which will soon itch (the largest pool, still half-wet, has dribbled down his ribs from the writhing), and his hair has been rubbed flat on the crown, but Tony lazily smiles. "That's number three."
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Tony is already collapsed and boneless on the bed once the world fades back in for him. Dazed, he slowly blinks at the canopy above and tries to regather his wits.
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"What just happened?" he asks Tony after he goes limp. He gives him a few seconds to respond, then prods his hip with his free hand. "Can you come without-" he gestures vaguely at his dick, which is definitely still just as soft as it's been all along. Steve is learning all sorts of things tonight, apparently. It's a whole new world.
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He regards his cock, already more than hard enough, and frowns slightly. Steve can guess how long he'll last inside Tony, and the answer is a little embarrassing. "Uh," he says intelligently, then elaborates further: "I think I should probably get off first. If that's okay with you, anyway."
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"You can watch, if you want." Steve gives Tony a shy look from under his lashes. "You don't have to do anything at all. I'll do all the work." And with the bonus of being able to come all over Tony, which is plenty appealing, even outside a scene.
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After a short while of finger-fucking and watching Steve stroke himself though, Tony slips from giving a calculated performance to tipping his head back and impatiently pleading, "Steve."
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The puddles and strips of Steve's come quiver on Tony's front. Tony whimpers, looking down at them and Steve's satisfied grin. (This is a thing, Tony files away in the back of his head, Steve marking him up with his come; happened when Steve gifted him the collar, too.) He removes his hand, wipes it carelessly on the blankets, and slams his head back onto the pillow as reprimand at his brain for wanting to sink. He's Steve's, the come on him states. While he stays afloat, Tony finds it suddenly difficult to touch himself. He suddenly doesn't want to, not without Steve's say so, a byproduct of that recent agreement. He just wants Steve, all encompassing, inside and out. Tony curls his hands into the covers. "Might be your best work yet," he rasps.
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He eyes Tony for a long moment, weighing the situation in his head, then picks up the bottle of lube. Obviously he's taking Tony's advice on the matter to heart, because while he's still mostly slick, he slathers on more. Deep down, he's still afraid of hurting Tony. Steve scoots closer again, bracketed by Tony's thighs, and grips his cock in one hand to guide it. "Let me know if I'm going too fast," he says softly, which means that Tony's more likely to complain of the opposite. Biting his lower lip, he nudges Tony's hole with the head of his cock, then slowly presses past the ring of muscle.
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Swallowing, mentally talking himself up like a boxing coach, Tony nods and hooks his heels back onto Steve's shoulders. At first his body wants to eject Steve, but with the aid of lube and Tony forcefully relaxing, the head of Steve's cock pushes in, the muscle tightening behind the corona. "Oh, fuck, Steve," Tony breathes. "Go. Go."
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Inch by inch, he pushes in with an almost agonizing slowness, shuddering at the feeling of Tony around him, hot and slick and tight. He can't remember how to hit Tony's prostate right now, but his only goal for the moment is getting Tony to take all of him. And, incredibly, he does, all the way to the hilt, till Steve's balls brush right up against the swell of his ass. "Holy shit," he manages to gasp out, his shoulders heaving like he's just run a marathon. There's something of relief in the action, not just pure arousal, but the release of pent-up anxiety that's almost as much of a rush as an orgasm. It's okay. He can do this. He's doing this.
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Endeared, Tony smiles and chuckles. He reaches up. "C'mere, baby," he whispers and tugs at Steve's wrist to lean down, slot his broad shoulders behind Tony's knees, and kiss him.
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"I should probably move." Steve grins against Tony's lips. "That's how this works, right?"
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From hereon, he leaves the pace up to Steve. He's come twice already -- once wet, once dry -- so without that urgency, despite arousal newly twinging, Tony wants this to be about Steve's experience foremost. Or at least until Steve drives him mad with his dick. All bets off, then.
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"Lemme know when I hit it again, okay?" It's a needless request; he'll probably be able to tell all by himself. Screwing up his face in concentration, Steve tries to thrust back in at a slightly different angle, pushing aside how goddamn good it feels for a moment. He feels like he could do this forever, like he actually fits somewhere for once (more figuratively than literally), like for once, everything is all right.
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With a breathy whisper of "Steve," Tony's thighs begin to tremble, another dry orgasm lacing through his brain. "C'mon, baby, more, I need more," he babbles. "I wanna be ruined by you."
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When images and sounds resharpen, Tony is shivery and hard. Steve's come has dried on his skin in lines and patches, which will soon itch (the largest pool, still half-wet, has dribbled down his ribs from the writhing), and his hair has been rubbed flat on the crown, but Tony lazily smiles. "That's number three."
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