Tony stares at their hands; the grip binds him together. But slowing down feels unfathomable. He throws himself into things heart and soul, giving all, zero to one hundred, little to no in-between. Tony raises his head, steadfast, but Steve will feel a faint tremor in his hands. "Which just gives me more to lose," he returns to Steve's face, eyes heartachingly open and sincere, remembering too clearly dead bodies on moon rock and a shield cleaved in two; and so, so afraid of that coming true. The problem is, he would do anything to prevent it.
For months Tony wrestled with the what and the how. What was it all for? How did he go wrong? For months he reflected on his past and present until he reached the conclusion: he didn't go wrong. He just always was. When pressed, he fell back to making things that hurt people, because that's what he's always done. Truss up the Merchant of Death in pretty shining armor, and he still is what he is.
Steve squeezes his hands when he feels the slight tremor working through them. "You think I don't feel the exact same way?" He's practically an expert at loss by now. Tony and the rest of the Avengers are all he has left. Bucky's out there somewhere, but he might as well be a ghost in spite of all the work Steve's put in searching for him. Tony's there, he's the anchor to things Steve's been searching for since he woke up, and maybe he's thrown himself into things too fast because of it, but he's not very good at following his own advice.
"The charity." Steve shifts gears as thoughts in the back of his head fit into place. "It's not just because that's who you are. It's because it's your penance. You're buying indulgences." What? He's a Catholic schoolboy at heart.
Tony squeezes back, just once, barely there. "It ... helps," he admits. "Not entirely altruistic, I guess." He smiles weakly. "Sorry if that's less hot."
"You're right, it is less hot." Steve leans in and kisses his forehead. "But I didn't need any extra encouragement on that front, believe me." Another kiss, this one lingering on his lips. "I'd be pretty turned on if you really did come up with a sustainable clean water solution, though. You know, in case that's an incentive." That might be the most ridiculous thing he's ever said, but it's not wrong.
"Look, you can- I don't know, run things by me if you need to," he offers, grasping at straws. "I might not understand the science, but I'm a pretty solid moral sounding board."
Tony puffs out his amusement against Steve's mouth. He pins Steve with a thoughtful look, but softened: it helps, too, unloading the thoughts he's struggled with alone onto someone who can understand the burden. Maybe even share it, if Tony dares to hope. Maybe he can still do more good if he has the right captain to steer him. Steve so often views matters in simplified black and white, but maybe -- maybe that's what the world needs. Certainly better than what Tony came up with.
Tony thinks of the whispers from Capitol Hill and of demands from common people for oversight. Justice for Sokovia, written on poster-board and held up outside the gates; heated debates over the internet growing vicious through anonymity, one side crying heroes and the other vigilantes. He thinks of graffiti in middle-eastern countries slashed over the Avengers's name and of rotten vegetables thrown at and splattered across his sentries.
He shuts his eyes against all the horrors and when he reopens them he sees Steve in that towel holding his hands. "Could do worse for a Jiminy Cricket than the paragon of truth, justice, and the American way," he rasps out.
"I understood that reference," Steve retorts with a teasing smirk, brushing a kiss against his jaw. "And I can think of things I'd rather have growing than your nose." Underneath the layer of amusement in his gaze, there's rock-solid honesty and trust and belief, everything he has to offer Tony, if he'll take it.
Steve himself isn't always sure of his own righteousness in this world - he'd believed in SHIELD and been shown the error of his ways - and he's well aware that it isn't as black and white as he'd once thought. But, he thinks, he and Tony always do their best work together. Why not this?
Tony tips his chin up, head aside to expose his neck, without even thinking about it; then his whole chest jerks with a choked laugh. "I take it back. You're actually a menace to society," he says with a tenuous but true smile.
"Just to you." Steve takes advantage of Tony's tilted head to scrape his teeth delicately over newly bared skin. "You look good like this," he says, and he means soft, relaxed, even content. He'd say it's because of a good's night sleep and a healthy breakfast, but Steve knows that his presence has more than a little to do with it. "How much time do we have before your first meeting?"
If that glimpse into the guilt-ridden mess of his brain didn't deter Steve from him, Tony doubts that any weakness of flesh on the wrong side of forty will. Besides, his mind is very willing despite his body's limitations, so he gives in and shuts his eyes. He can still enjoy the journey, so to speak. When he splays open his thighs a tad farther, he barely registers the tablet slipping through and thudding against the tiles. "Wha' meeting? I don' have a meeting. FRIDAY, cancel my meetings," he mutters.
"How important is it?" Steve gets a good lovebite in on his neck, almost like a vampire - enough that he'll be needing a scarf that he does leave the mansion. (But it's January; there's nothing unusual about that.) "You said you cleared most of the weekend." Which doesn't stop him from stroking Tony's inner thigh through the thin fabric of his pants. Look, he behaved himself all through breakfast, he's earned this, or so he tells himself.
Tony grunts, the sharp, brief pain at his neck just enough to entice his brain into going blank. "Can't remember suddenly, so ... probably not very?" For all his futurist ways, he very much lives in his immediate present, which Steve is monopolizing. Honest to God he cannot remember what he was supposed to do.
Gently, Steve licks the red marks left behind, soothing the hurt away. Then he bites again, a little lower, and his hand works its way closer to Tony's cock. "You wanna go under?" It seems absurd to talk about here in the brightly lit kitchen, with the scent of breakfast hanging in the air, a place that feels more like the time Steve's used to than anything since he's woken up, but god, Tony's like an addiction, and Steve can feel the need for a hit coursing through his veins.
With you, always, is the knee-jerk response, as easy as one-two-three on some deep subconscious level, for nearly as long as Tony has known Steve Rogers. Not to this level of submission, no, but leadership and guidance? Since the moment they looked up at that wormhole as a cohesive team on the streets of New York, Tony full of begrudging respect, which turned into flat-out respect soon enough. "Don' have to," he says dreamily, and like in a lightning strike Tony realizes he's halfway there already, same as last night: an endearment or kind word from Steve paired with a touch and Tony rolls over.
He stiffens everywhere except for his cock. If he were more readily aroused at the moment, getting a grip might've been tougher. "'Less you want me to be," he says, stronger. With narrowed eyes, Tony looks down his nose at him. "But you'll have to work for it. Can't have you thinkin' you can take me under willy-nilly."
There's just a snort in response to that. Steve can't figure out if Tony's trying to get him to rise to the challenge by baiting him - entirely possible - or just being Tony. But he's feeling lazy right now, as much as he'd like to watch Tony choke on his cock while kneeling on the tiles in front of him.
He tugs down the collar of Tony's t-shirt and bites him one last time, square on the collarbone. "Later, then." Which is totally at odds with the way he pulls back from Tony and tugs the other man's shirt up, but Steve is a bundle of contradictions. More importantly, he wants to feel Tony's skin against his, soak his body heat up like a sponge. "Maybe after dinner."
Even as he lifts his arms for Steve to pull off his shirt, Tony peers at him. Really gonna have to find a balance between their libidos, preferably closer to Steve's level. To continue an earlier analogy, Tony may be the gimped hare of the two of them, but he'll be damned if he's the gimped hare who doesn't MacGyver himself a rocket-powered wheelchair. "Maybe during dinner," he retorts after his shirt clears his head, the peer replaced by faux innocence.
"Oh yeah?" Steve's hands linger somewhere around Tony's navel, fingers brushing over the neatly manicured trail of hair leading to the waistband of his pants. "Are you thinking of something? And are we going to get banned from the restaurant?" Not that Tony's money can't get them un-banned from most places. Hopefully.
Tony threw the idea out there to test the waters; they're still very much in the kink discovery process for Steve. Pleasantly surprised, though, he answers, "Wouldn't be the first time." He spares a glance to his still very soft cock, which Steve seems intent on, and leans in for a kiss with his finger hooked into Steve's towel as a distraction.
Steve is predictably easy to distract; while he's kissing Tony, he spreads his legs and scoots closer. "What the hell," he mutters against Tony's lips, and just tugs him into his lap so Tony's pressing right up against him.
"Why don't you tell me what it is?" he coos, "And I'll decide whether it's worth getting Natasha to bail us out if we get arrested for public indecency." Not that Steve wants to be that indecent. Maybe just a little indiscretion to spice things up, then the main event when they get home.
With a surprised grunt Tony straddles Steve's lap, effortlessly manhandled, which sends arousal thrumming through him despite all expectations. (Oh, the things they can do with Steve's strength.) "Solid proposal, but later," he rasps, eyes big and glassy with desire, Steve's openness to public play adding fuel to the fire. "We already got a crime in progress: my mouth isn't currently attached to your person." After a beat, he squeezes his thighs around Steve's hips and whispers, "Move me somewhere more comfortable, strongman," smiling, into another kiss.
"This isn't comfortable?" Steve arches his eyebrows and rocks his hips. It sure feels comfortable to him, his erection snug right up against Tony's ass. He doesn't even need to fuck him; it would be easy enough for him to just come from Tony grinding against him. But Tony, of course, has an oral fixation, and Steve absolutely loves to watch him suck cock, so he's amenable enough to picking Tony up and setting him on the floor. He lets him get settled between his thighs, and then Steve undoes his towel.
Soon enough, he's sagging limply against the chair, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. Steve cards his fingers through Tony's hair and smiles down at him where he's nuzzling his thigh. "Why don't you come back up here?" he suggests, his voice still thick, still enamored with the idea of Tony straddling him. (He's pretty sure he'll never not be up for that.)
Contentedly, Tony meets Steve's eyes past the lovely landscape of super soldier crotch, abs, and pecs. "'Cause I like the view," he says cheekily, not moving an inch.
Well, okay. He'd probably feel the same way if he were on his knees looking up at Tony, so fair point. "Your knees won't thank you for it later," Steve offers wryly, but he keeps petting Tony's hair. "You want anything?"
When Tony said, "Somewhere more comfortable," he meant a carpet or rug, but when Steve plopped him down and Tony faced off against that cock again, he appropriately decided screw it and dove in mouth first. Now he's too satisfied to care, especially with the fingers against his scalp. He'll stretch and massage his knees later. "How 'bout another cuppa joe?" he drawls, cheekbone resting on Steve's thigh, and chuckles. That probably wasn't exactly Steve's question, but Tony is still flaccid despite an interested twinge here and there. "M'gonna need it if I wanna keep up with you. I mean, Christ, Steve, you're constantly ready to pop. It's fantastic and ... exhausting. Hell, if I were twenty years younger, this would be a wet dream come true."
It wasn't not Steve's question, as used to aftercare as he's become. Tony might not be under, might not be about to experience subdrop, but he still feels responsible for taking care of him. "I think you'd need a lot more than that to keep up with me." Steve snorts. He knows Tony's limitations exist, but apparently, he vastly underestimates them - in his mind, Tony should've had more than enough time to recover from last night, and he doesn't understand why he's not ready to go again.
He doesn't immediately get up to retrieve the coffee; Steve figures that they're both content where they are right now. Once Tony's knees start to complain, he'll help him up and get him something to drink. "You mean I'm not a wet dream come true now?" He's almost insulted by that.
"You're right, I'll invest in some new equipment," Tony murmurs, mainly to himself, then peeks open his eyes with a lazy smirk. "You got the wet part down, at least."
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For months Tony wrestled with the what and the how. What was it all for? How did he go wrong? For months he reflected on his past and present until he reached the conclusion: he didn't go wrong. He just always was. When pressed, he fell back to making things that hurt people, because that's what he's always done. Truss up the Merchant of Death in pretty shining armor, and he still is what he is.
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"The charity." Steve shifts gears as thoughts in the back of his head fit into place. "It's not just because that's who you are. It's because it's your penance. You're buying indulgences." What? He's a Catholic schoolboy at heart.
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"Look, you can- I don't know, run things by me if you need to," he offers, grasping at straws. "I might not understand the science, but I'm a pretty solid moral sounding board."
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Tony thinks of the whispers from Capitol Hill and of demands from common people for oversight. Justice for Sokovia, written on poster-board and held up outside the gates; heated debates over the internet growing vicious through anonymity, one side crying heroes and the other vigilantes. He thinks of graffiti in middle-eastern countries slashed over the Avengers's name and of rotten vegetables thrown at and splattered across his sentries.
He shuts his eyes against all the horrors and when he reopens them he sees Steve in that towel holding his hands. "Could do worse for a Jiminy Cricket than the paragon of truth, justice, and the American way," he rasps out.
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Steve himself isn't always sure of his own righteousness in this world - he'd believed in SHIELD and been shown the error of his ways - and he's well aware that it isn't as black and white as he'd once thought. But, he thinks, he and Tony always do their best work together. Why not this?
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He stiffens everywhere except for his cock. If he were more readily aroused at the moment, getting a grip might've been tougher. "'Less you want me to be," he says, stronger. With narrowed eyes, Tony looks down his nose at him. "But you'll have to work for it. Can't have you thinkin' you can take me under willy-nilly."
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He tugs down the collar of Tony's t-shirt and bites him one last time, square on the collarbone. "Later, then." Which is totally at odds with the way he pulls back from Tony and tugs the other man's shirt up, but Steve is a bundle of contradictions. More importantly, he wants to feel Tony's skin against his, soak his body heat up like a sponge. "Maybe after dinner."
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"Why don't you tell me what it is?" he coos, "And I'll decide whether it's worth getting Natasha to bail us out if we get arrested for public indecency." Not that Steve wants to be that indecent. Maybe just a little indiscretion to spice things up, then the main event when they get home.
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Soon enough, he's sagging limply against the chair, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. Steve cards his fingers through Tony's hair and smiles down at him where he's nuzzling his thigh. "Why don't you come back up here?" he suggests, his voice still thick, still enamored with the idea of Tony straddling him. (He's pretty sure he'll never not be up for that.)
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He doesn't immediately get up to retrieve the coffee; Steve figures that they're both content where they are right now. Once Tony's knees start to complain, he'll help him up and get him something to drink. "You mean I'm not a wet dream come true now?" He's almost insulted by that.
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