"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.
"Stop doing that," he fires back wryly, although Steve knows that telling Tony to stop making bad jokes is a bit like telling him to stop breathing, and just as likely to happen. His hips keep rocking up as the stimulation continues, thrusting into empty air, and finally his cock starts to harden again.
Smiling, Tony mercifully drops the joke to pay careful attention to the massage. His mind is being yanked in different directions all at once, most of them downward, from the heaviness of his cock and emptiness of his hole to the tingling itch of Steve's come dried on his front and caked on his thigh. The set task helps him to stay present, but his thoughts still pulse with I'm Steve's, I'm Steve's, I'm Steve's, and his voice rumbles in his chest. "I really need you," he admits.
When Steve hardens, Tony caresses him with his other hand in delicate, guiding upstrokes like a potter building up his clay. "M'gonna ride you, okay? I'll do the work this time, baby."
"P-perfect," Steve stutters. His arousal is a bit like an avalanche - once it starts, it grows rapidly, especially with Tony massaging his prostate and stroking his cock at the same time. "I'll just sit back and relax," he adds, trying to sound sarcastic and falling short of the mark. How could he relax with Tony on top of him, gloriously naked and hard? It's like a wet dream come to life, something he never thought he'd have in reality.
Beautifully efficient and tunnel-visioned, at the point where his body's need overrides the desire to impress, Tony stops the massage and slathers a fresh coat of lubricant onto Steve's cock in a single stroke. The excess he wipes over his own. "Hold out for me for as long as you can," he requests gruffly with a comforting touch to Steve's hip and climbs up. On his knees, spread out before Steve's view, pulling apart his ass cheeks and guiding Steve's cock in, Tony finally, slowly, fully sinks onto him. "Steve," he groans, overwhelmed by different sensations and emotions, and hunches forward. He balls his fists on Steve's stomach to hold himself upright.
Steve keens as Tony slides onto him, a long, desperate noise louder than anything that's slipped out of him so far. All of his senses are overwhelmed - his emotions are overwhelmed - and he just stares at Tony with wide eyes. He can't form any words; his entire world has narrowed down to Tony, the weight on top of him, the heated grip around his cock, the look in his eyes as he hunches forward. He shudders, and it ripples through his body like a small earthquake, changing the landscape. His emotions, somewhere between possessing and being possessed, feel much the same way; Steve settles somewhere in the middle, where they merge into one seamless entity, everything melting and muddling around the edges in a glorious fuzzy puddle of arousal.
"We're all right," Tony gasps to Steve and himself, one hand stretched up to Steve's chest as if to squeeze Steve's shoulder but stopping short, in danger of falling forward from the tremors. He meets Steve's eyes, a direct gaze. "We're gonna be all right," he gasps again with increased strength, emboldened by being half of a whole, even if he feels physically like he's quaking apart. He's let Steve in at last -- in more ways than one. His home, his body. His heart. For the first time in months, rather than analyzing his past for wrong turns or being crushed by the weight of his present, the future a nebulous and frightening entity, Tony looks forward. He's found his future in the man from the past. The irony isn't lost on him.
Collecting himself, Tony leans back onto his hands, body tilted and ass rocked back to ensure Steve hits the right spot. His cock juts out. "Sitrep," he pants. "Tell me if you're okay."
Steve laughs. He's so much better than okay. The weight of Tony on top of him is like an anchor, what he's been looking for since he woke up in the twenty-first century. He's solid and warm and real and fuck, Steve thinks he's in love. Which isn't exactly a revelation, since he's been well aware of his non-platonic feelings for Tony for quite some time now, and, hell, they're dating. But this is the first time he's been able to feel it as a bone-deep certainty and know exactly what it is, to face it and not pretend it's something less. Steve isn't the sort of man who loves lightly, who does anything lightly. It should worry him, but here and now, all he feels is happiness.
Okay, happiness and arousal.
"I'm great," he says after a pause that's just a little too long, but the grin he gives Tony is one of pure unadulterated bliss - not that Steve's a good liar at the best of times, but especially not right now, not with Tony. "You- you're perfect."
Tony briefly ducks his head, lashes lowered, almost bashful, before he wryly yet fondly says, "Now tell me that when I'm not playing the buns to your hotdog. In the meantime, where were we?" Eyes shut, he rotates his hips to feel Steve at every point of contact; and then with his thighs and a sigh, he lifts an inch and slides back down.
"Lot better than anything you'll get from a street cart," Steve retorts with a smile and those pure Brooklyn vowels. Not that he hasn't eaten his fair share of street cart food, but in his defense, he pretty much has a vibranium stomach and-
And when Tony moves, his stomach twists. It's a whole hell of a lot more intense than a blowjob; Tony's muscles are tight around him, every last inch. Steve's chest rises and falls, his fingers dig into the sheets, and he wants more. "Keep it comin'," he urges.
"Keep it or keep you coming?" Tony asks slyly, already setting a steady pace: slow when lifting up, but quick and direct when smacking his ass down. Every time, his thighs tremble.
Soon enough, Steve's rocking his hips up to meet Tony's ass when it comes down. He tries to push the pace a little, but it seems Tony's determined to draw this out - and he can't blame him, honestly. "Yes," he grunts, simple and direct. In the back of his mind, a vague idea begins to form about turning the tables on Tony during a scene someday, and he wonders if it would work.
The repeating jabs of pleasure that shoot right to Tony's balls and brain scramble whatever they were just talking about. What was Steve's "yes" for? Eh, who cares. Tony's caked in Steve's semen and their skin satisfyingly claps together. He has Steve all to himself for a full weekend, too. "Okay. Okay," he pants, tone airy. "I hereby ... permit you to bend me over any available surface over the course of this weekend." Head falling back, he tries to stroke himself, just a little, but the other arm still holding him up trembles terribly. He snaps his hand back down and pitifully whines.
Blissful nothingness tugs at his edges again. Tony resists it, but wonders whether it's truly an altered state of mind or just the complete security he feels right now.
"We might need some more lube." Hell, if Tony tries to keep up with Steve's libido, he's going to need a cushion to carry around afterwards. And probably during, for that matter, because the way his hips roll up is anything but gentle. If he weren't so aroused, he might snicker at the sound their skin makes when it slaps together, but all he can think about is the way his cock is buried in Tony's ass.
Steve notices the way Tony reaches for his erection but doesn't quite make it. "You need some help there?" He raises his eyebrows, waggles them invitingly.
"More lube, got it, s'on the list," Tony mumbles, near nonsensical. Another dry orgasm is creeping up and sapping his strength. He tries to push through it and keep pistoning himself on Steve's cock, but he can't ignore his baby-deer shakiness because that's all he is now from the continual bursts of endorphins, yet still he chases after more like a true addict, as long as it's with Steve -- Steve, who is a giant, beautiful dick of a troll. With his head tipped back, Tony doesn't catch the eyebrow waggling, but the voice and words are hints enough. "Oh, I dunno," he says, somewhere between a growl and a laugh until, "do I need to revoke your all-access paaa-ass!" he shouts at the end when his body snaps and stills and tightens around Steve's cock. Precum beads through his slit, his balls heavy, only teasing at the edge. Tony collapses backwards onto one forearm against Steve's leg, mindful enough to contort and keep Steve inside him more or less upright. He swallows past a throat dry from panting. He feels he might shake apart into the air molecules around them.
Steve tries to swear, but it comes out as a garbled moan, his brain incapable of forming actual words when Tony tightens around him. All his nerve endings light up like a Christmas tree as his body instantly leaps the rest of the way up the theoretical mountain. Muscles coil and tense as he arches his back, a whimper catches in his throat, and then suddenly, blissfully, after what seems like an eternity, everything releases. Fabric rips as his fingers clench (Steve is apparently not kind to bedsheets), and he whites out for a moment.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," he mumbles when he comes to, his eyes still staring up at the ceiling, gaze wholly unfocused. It might be blasphemy, but sometimes the situation calls for it. This is one of those moments. He tries hard to drag his attention back and ends up just floating in a blissed-out haze.
Tony groans helplessly. He tries to lift up his head in protest (feels the flood inside again, feels it seeping out around Steve's softened cock), but it just flops back down, limp on his neck. "Please don't go," he slurs, all higher cognitive functions like wit ground to a halt. "I still need... I need to..." His cock still stands pink, full, and leaking. He clenches around Steve to keep him in, like that'll keep him hard. "Jus' one more round. Please. Please fuck me, Steve!"
It's become a sweet torture, his skin thrumming with need but his bones and muscles already giving up, his mind a storm of sparking chemicals. Tony has always pushed the limits.
"I'm trying," Steve growls in between clenched teeth. His muscles feel like limp noodles, but somehow he summons up the strength to start thrusting up into him again. Shuddering from overstimulation, he pushes past the barrier of too much. Tony needs him to do this, and he can't let him down. He can't break his trust. Steve tells himself that over and over, and it gets easier; his hips rock faster and harder. In response to the friction (or maybe Tony's begging, or maybe both), his cock slowly fills again.
"You- you look gorgeous," he pants. "Oh, god." Tony's like a work of art in his arousal-blurred mind - a pornographic one, but still beautiful, something he never thought he'd see, never thought he'd have in front of him like this.
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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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When Steve hardens, Tony caresses him with his other hand in delicate, guiding upstrokes like a potter building up his clay. "M'gonna ride you, okay? I'll do the work this time, baby."
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Collecting himself, Tony leans back onto his hands, body tilted and ass rocked back to ensure Steve hits the right spot. His cock juts out. "Sitrep," he pants. "Tell me if you're okay."
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Okay, happiness and arousal.
"I'm great," he says after a pause that's just a little too long, but the grin he gives Tony is one of pure unadulterated bliss - not that Steve's a good liar at the best of times, but especially not right now, not with Tony. "You- you're perfect."
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And when Tony moves, his stomach twists. It's a whole hell of a lot more intense than a blowjob; Tony's muscles are tight around him, every last inch. Steve's chest rises and falls, his fingers dig into the sheets, and he wants more. "Keep it comin'," he urges.
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Blissful nothingness tugs at his edges again. Tony resists it, but wonders whether it's truly an altered state of mind or just the complete security he feels right now.
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Steve notices the way Tony reaches for his erection but doesn't quite make it. "You need some help there?" He raises his eyebrows, waggles them invitingly.
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"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," he mumbles when he comes to, his eyes still staring up at the ceiling, gaze wholly unfocused. It might be blasphemy, but sometimes the situation calls for it. This is one of those moments. He tries hard to drag his attention back and ends up just floating in a blissed-out haze.
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It's become a sweet torture, his skin thrumming with need but his bones and muscles already giving up, his mind a storm of sparking chemicals. Tony has always pushed the limits.
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"You- you look gorgeous," he pants. "Oh, god." Tony's like a work of art in his arousal-blurred mind - a pornographic one, but still beautiful, something he never thought he'd see, never thought he'd have in front of him like this.
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