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."
Steve keeps thrusting mindlessly as Tony tightens around him, though he starts going deeper again, burying more of his cock in him. He focuses entirely on the ache of arousal goading him on, the way he feels like a bow being bent before it's fired. Though he vaguely notices Tony's cock pressing against his stomach, he doesn't think much of it, and he doesn't register the words he says. The only thing that exists is the snap of his hips back and forth, back and forth steadily - and then, suddenly, quick, stuttering thrusts as his cock pulses and everything inside him looses.
Some seconds later, he shudders to a breathless halt. His cock is soft and oversensitive inside Tony, but his hips, used to the rhythm, want to keep moving, and it's hard to focus. "I- gimme a moment," he slurs. Slowly, carefully, he pulls out of Tony, frees his hands from the deathgrip they have on his hips, and topples over onto the bed like a felled redwood. "Just catching my breath."
Pulling out produces a croaked groan from Tony, whose face is knitted into a soft grimace from the soreness left behind, both in his ass and from the ten fingerprints on his hips, and the unpleasant fullness of Steve's come inside. That's the real main difference from toys, he decides, a tad delirious, undecided if passing on a condom proved a good idea or not, but it's from Steve, so Tony clenches to hold everything in. The come leaks out, anyway, trickling.
His skin still hums with desire, especially now that he's finally grown hard again, and his hole gapes and aches emptily. He looks to Steve collapsed by his side. Tony knows Steve can get hard again; he's not concerned there. (Maybe one day they can test Steve's limit.) But he'd like the process sped up, so he rolls over. "At attention, soldier. We're not done," he says, hoarse, nudging Steve onto his back. Then, he covers Steve, half on top and one knee braced between Steve's legs, careful not to brush the oversensitive cock while rubbing his full length against him, and kisses Steve hard and open on the mouth.
After a moment Tony smoothly drags Steve's hand along his skin, never leaving it, to press the fingers into his crack, where Steve can feel his come running out and down the back of Tony's thigh.
Tony knows exactly how to manipulate him, Steve realizes though a haze of bliss. He should probably be concerned about this, but he can't quite bring himself to care, not when Tony's draped over him and rubbing his cock agains his thigh.
Everything feels like a dream to him, and while he would be perfectly happy to stop here, Tony's determined to rev him up again. Steve groans into his mouth, feels the sticky wetness on Tony's thigh with a certain smug satisfaction. He grabs a solid handful of Tony's ass and squeezes, arching up against him. The cuddling and pillow talk can wait - Steve's well aware that Tony's had more orgasms than him, and if nothing else, he can't let that stand.
With a last lick at Steve's lips, Tony shakily straddles Steve's hips so his hole rests over Steve's cock, lightly nestled against his ass at first to ensure Steve doesn't experience discomfort or pain. (Not everyone appreciates overstimulation like Tony does, he's very aware.) Idly he explores Steve's body with both hands, eyes heavy with affection.
"How much more you got in ya?" he rasps. Experimentally, he shimmies his hips against him. "I actually trained with a dildo this past week. Kinda want my mileage outta that."
Steve whimpers at the brush against his still soft cock, but doesn't try to push him away. It straddles the edge of overstimulation, just shy of too much. "Can't let you come more than me," he huffs. "Though I might decide that dry orgasms're cheating." He kneads at Tony's ass for a moment till his words sink in.
"You fucked yourself?" Steve arches his eyebrows. "Hope you followed the rules." He has no doubt Tony did, and that he's telling him about it to push him.
Tony sighs dreamily as Steve kneads his ass, which teases his hole. His limbs move okay, loose and trembling, but he's able to sit up so that means Steve hasn't fucked him enough yet. He begins gently rocking his taint and balls against Steve. "Weeell, I didn't touch myself or come, so," he says and smirks, "yeah. To a tee," but then with a wicked gleam in his eyes, Tony leans forward and softens his expression and voice, small and sweet. "Is that all right, sir?" he asks, quelling the smirk.
"Mm." Steve leans up to meet his lips, teasing them open and slipping his tongue inside. "I wanna watch you sometime," he murmurs. "You can work yourself open, drive yourself crazy. Maybe I'll let you come once before I fuck you." His eyes are dark, the pupils rimmed with slim blue iris. His cock twitches where it's trapped between them. "You're good at loopholes, Tony. I'll have to remember it." He does, in fact, think of it during scenes, but his proposition had been off the cuff, and he hadn't expected Tony to push at it (which he realizes now was a mistake).
He swats at Tony's ass playfully - there's not even much of an impact. "Consider that your punishment," he says dryly.
Tony shudders. The dazed look that passes over his face hints that actual subspace may be easily called up. The swat breaks him out of it. "That's cruel and unusual," he laments. He can't even fuck himself without Steve's approval, which concludes that particular test, though the complete denial drains blood straight south.
He rocks down harder, urging Steve to stiffen, because Tony suddenly really needs that cock inside of him again already. "Please catch your second wind soon," he begs.
"I'm workin' on it." Steve bites his lower lip. "Use your fingers on me, Tony. Just for a little bit. Wanna see what it feels like." He definitely wouldn't mind more, but that's clearly not what Tony has in mind. He scrabbles for the lube, somewhere on the bed, and wraps his fingers around it. Tony seems like he's about to sink, and the best way to keep him afloat is to have him do something that requires concentration - theoretically, anyway. Steve can't swear to that theory.
"Okay," Tony agrees readily (another sign he might be sinking: the ease of his acceptance of Steve's request and of the bottle handed to him). As he squeezes lube onto his fingers, he pauses, eyes clearing. For maybe the first time, Steve can clearly see red blooming across Tony's cheeks.
"You all right?" It's a little strange to see Tony actually blushing - Steve does enough for the both of them, but he doesn't think he's ever seen it happen to Tony, of all people. "You don't have to do it," he starts awkwardly, then stumbles a little. He means it - he wouldn't ever make Tony do anything he's uncomfortable with - but so far he's been so flippant about everything that this is throwing Steve off, too.
He went under for a few seconds there, Tony has realized; he nearly tied his own ankle to the anvil on the sea floor. Even now, when he snaps his head up to Steve, the desire to please and reassure and be good claws at him and he can't tell if that's his submissive part or just him. He was supposed to joke about it, not actually space out. He's supposed to be in control of it, and he slipped without even knowing. "No, no, it's fine," he answers, strangled. "I want to. I'm just..." Scrambling for an excuse, anything to misdirect Steve from his minor identity crisis and embarrassment, Tony blurts out, "You keep your pipes clean, right?"
"My pi-" Steve blinks before the euphemism catches up with him, and then he just snorts awkwardly. "If I'd known I was gonna be doing this, I would've." Or maybe not; it probably still wouldn't have occurred to him. If he'd given it any thought at all, it would have been to figure that a little mess is part of the whole process. Suddenly, he glances down at his fingers - his very clean fingers - and realization crosses his face.
"It's okay," he reiterates awkwardly. "We can, you know, find another way to rev my motor up again." Steve isn't bothered by the prospect, but he can see where it might bother someone who hasn't been covered in everything a warzone has to offer.
Tony sags with relief, but not for the reason Steve might believe, though he's holding himself tighter again, more in check than right before. He's not ashamed of his submission. He's not, not with Steve; wasn't with Pepper either. It's just to the rest of the world and himself, that part goes fundamentally against everything that he should be: strong. A man made of iron. In the end, Tony blames the slip-up on arousal and multiple orgasms turning his brain to mush.
He scoots down, spreads Steve's legs to either side of him, and hunches over Steve's hips, almost possessive. His eyes stay on Steve's. "There's another way to put that particular pedal to the metal," he purrs as two of his lubed fingers circle Steve's rim. "Wanna know it?" He leans down just enough to puff hot air onto Steve's cock.
Steve is confused by Tony's internal struggle, but he doesn't ask about it. He might bring it up sometime later; there are more important things at hand right now. He's actually a little embarrassed that he's not hard again yet - his stamina is usually better than this. Never mind that he usually doesn't even bother to push past two orgasms when he's jerking off, he knows he should be able to come again. He can feel the arousal prickling along his skin, and his cock occasionally twitches, but it's not stiffening just yet.
He groans as Tony blows on him, spreads his thighs wider, and, yeah, there's some definite increased bloodflow now. "Now you're just teasing me."
Instead of pressing in, Tony traces those fingers up to Steve's taint. "If I were really teasing you, I wouldn't deliver," he points out, quiet as he prods into the taut skin and up in thorough search, goal-oriented (current: rile Steve back to hardness and then hop on and ride till morning), "and fortunately for you, I'm a fan of large packages." With a goofy smirk, knowing full well how terrible that was, Tony digs two knuckles into one spot and massages them in little circles. In turn and in time, the external stimulation should work its magic.
Steve groans, and it's not the erotic kind of groan. "I can't believe you went there." Where Tony's fingers are, in fact, feels a little strange, but he trusts that Tony knows what he's doing, apart from making truly godawful puns. "Are you gonna dress up as a sexy UPS driver next? Because you could really pull off those brown shorts."
He stops talking suddenly as he feels something, his hips twitching automatically. "Shit," he swears, hands fisting in the sheets. "Keep doing that."
Tony shoots a more sultry, smug smirk Steve's way, proceeding as requested, though the needful tremble in his voice and limbs detracts from it. "Ding-dong. Delivery," he says.
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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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Some seconds later, he shudders to a breathless halt. His cock is soft and oversensitive inside Tony, but his hips, used to the rhythm, want to keep moving, and it's hard to focus. "I- gimme a moment," he slurs. Slowly, carefully, he pulls out of Tony, frees his hands from the deathgrip they have on his hips, and topples over onto the bed like a felled redwood. "Just catching my breath."
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His skin still hums with desire, especially now that he's finally grown hard again, and his hole gapes and aches emptily. He looks to Steve collapsed by his side. Tony knows Steve can get hard again; he's not concerned there. (Maybe one day they can test Steve's limit.) But he'd like the process sped up, so he rolls over. "At attention, soldier. We're not done," he says, hoarse, nudging Steve onto his back. Then, he covers Steve, half on top and one knee braced between Steve's legs, careful not to brush the oversensitive cock while rubbing his full length against him, and kisses Steve hard and open on the mouth.
After a moment Tony smoothly drags Steve's hand along his skin, never leaving it, to press the fingers into his crack, where Steve can feel his come running out and down the back of Tony's thigh.
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Everything feels like a dream to him, and while he would be perfectly happy to stop here, Tony's determined to rev him up again. Steve groans into his mouth, feels the sticky wetness on Tony's thigh with a certain smug satisfaction. He grabs a solid handful of Tony's ass and squeezes, arching up against him. The cuddling and pillow talk can wait - Steve's well aware that Tony's had more orgasms than him, and if nothing else, he can't let that stand.
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"How much more you got in ya?" he rasps. Experimentally, he shimmies his hips against him. "I actually trained with a dildo this past week. Kinda want my mileage outta that."
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"You fucked yourself?" Steve arches his eyebrows. "Hope you followed the rules." He has no doubt Tony did, and that he's telling him about it to push him.
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He swats at Tony's ass playfully - there's not even much of an impact. "Consider that your punishment," he says dryly.
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He rocks down harder, urging Steve to stiffen, because Tony suddenly really needs that cock inside of him again already. "Please catch your second wind soon," he begs.
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"It's okay," he reiterates awkwardly. "We can, you know, find another way to rev my motor up again." Steve isn't bothered by the prospect, but he can see where it might bother someone who hasn't been covered in everything a warzone has to offer.
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He scoots down, spreads Steve's legs to either side of him, and hunches over Steve's hips, almost possessive. His eyes stay on Steve's. "There's another way to put that particular pedal to the metal," he purrs as two of his lubed fingers circle Steve's rim. "Wanna know it?" He leans down just enough to puff hot air onto Steve's cock.
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He groans as Tony blows on him, spreads his thighs wider, and, yeah, there's some definite increased bloodflow now. "Now you're just teasing me."
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He stops talking suddenly as he feels something, his hips twitching automatically. "Shit," he swears, hands fisting in the sheets. "Keep doing that."
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