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[gotup]

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[myheartglows]

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.

[gotup]

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.

[myheartglows]

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."

[gotup]

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."

[myheartglows]

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.

[gotup]

"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.

[myheartglows]

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.

[gotup]

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.

[myheartglows]

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.

[gotup]

"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.)

[myheartglows]

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.

[gotup]

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?"

[myheartglows]

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."

[gotup]

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.

[myheartglows]

"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."

[gotup]

"Keep sweet-talking me, Stark." Steve bumps Tony's shoulder with his other knee. "You're doing a great job of winning me over." The Brooklyn accent is thick in his voice right now, right along with the sarcasm. "I'm starting to think talking isn't the best use of your mouth."

[myheartglows]

Tony lifts his head to give it a challenging tilt, his smirk and eyes playful, and returns with, "You'd be the only one who thought it ever was." He may have lowered his guards, but their dynamic is still characterized by challenge, far more than his and Pepper's ever was. Tony just can't help himself.

[gotup]

"Only 'cause your lips look pretty, sweetheart." Steve drops his hand a little farther, caressing Tony's jaw. "And sometimes I like the sound of your voice." Mostly when he's talking dirty, it's true, but also when he gets excited and shifts into rapid-fire science mode and the real Tony Stark shines through.

And, okay, he likes that sarcastic bite, too. Maybe the 'sometimes' isn't as much of a necessary modifier as he thought it was.

[myheartglows]

A strangled noise catches in Tony's throat, those big eyes aimed up at Steve. Their relative positions, the nickname and touch, and Steve's thickened accent are all wrecking havoc on Tony's body and head. He should really, really stand up. "When I'm begging, right?" he manages to say.

[gotup]

Steve's fingertips linger at the base of Tony's throat, pressing lightly where the buckle of the collar would sit. "Among other things." Not the direction he'd been planning on taking this, but he's good at improvising. His cock takes an interest, too, twitching against his thigh. "But, yeah, I like it when you say my name just the right way."

[myheartglows]

Steve's touch there brings about the impression of the collar's buckle like a physical thing. Tony swallows thickly past it. You're a Stark, he hears. Act like it. "So, would you ... prefer to be called by name when I'm all loopy? I just kinda started out with the generic honorific." Eyes dropping, he frowns at himself. "I should've asked this earlier, how you want to be addressed. Rookie mistake." God, he's so bad at this.

[gotup]

"I actually like my name better." Steve sounds a little apologetic. It's not that being called sir throws him out of the moment, it's just strange. It reminds him more of the army than anything else - and, truth be told, he's never felt like the kinda guy who needs to be called sir, no matter how much authority he has. He's just Steve, a kid from Brooklyn.

He presses down a little harder. "It's okay, though. We're both learning." He's convincing himself as well as Tony. Figuring out how to be an effective dom is like trying to find his way through a maze blindfolded, and Tony adds a whole other dimension to that.

[myheartglows]

Tony nods very slowly. The press of Steve's fingertips is doing its job, whatever it is, and that's a problem. Tony gasps, "Right. Which, hey! Reminds me," and with his hands clapped onto Steve's thighs pushes himself up. (If he goes slower than needed, giving enough time for Steve to push him back down, then he's just old, that's all.) Being on his own two feet again helps clear out that pesky brain-fuzz. "Lesson time. Today's topic: public play," he finishes saying and checks his mug, which gives an excuse to separate from Steve in favor of the coffee machine. Steve can too easily send him under. It's an embarrassment.

[gotup]

Steve doesn't try to push him back down - in fact, once it's evident that Tony's clambering up again, he offers a hand to help like the Boy Scout he is. While Tony's getting more coffee, Steve snags a second chair and drags it over next to him, positioning it so that they're facing each other.

"Is that where you try to hide under the tablecloth while you suck me off?" he drawls lazily. "'Cause I don't think the two of us are gonna get away with something like that, Tony." Steve's tone is sarcastic - obviously he doesn't really think of that as a viable possibility, and, in fact, it would be pushing the envelope a little too far for him. It's one thing to do it in front of just one person, with Tony well-hidden by the modesty panel of his desk, but a crowd? Not so much.

[myheartglows]

Both relieved by and disappointed at the ease of his escape, Tony pokes the buttons of the coffeemaker. His little Dad-demon frowns and judges him from over his shoulder. He snaps his head to Steve. "What makes you think I'd be the one hiding?" Tony asks, personally affronted, but he soon looks away, the curve of his bare back tensed. (Of course he prefers to be the one under the table, and there's nothing wrong with that, right? Get up, boy, he hears.) As the coffee fills, he drums his fingers on the countertop. He doesn't have much of a lesson in mind to give.