Tony's breath catches. "I'm not talking about us right now," he grits out, tensing, because it's supposed to be about the people they protect. If he starts thinking about his friends like that, those closest to him, his family, he—he just can't. He can't go there and stay intact. "Hell, there might not even be an us down the line!" he shouts, growing a bit manic, and God, he's losing it. This is the worst timing. Hold it together, Stark. Deep breaths.
Steve starts to rise from his chair, reaching out to grip Tony's arm. "Calm down," he tells him, keeping his tone steady and even. "Just take a deep breath." He knows this conversation is important to Tony, and he wants him to be able to focus on it. "People want to disband the Avengers?" He gently redirects things back on track - maybe a little less gently than intended, since he's gripping Tony's arm more tightly now.
Huffing, eyes locked onto Steve's hand gripping him, Tony breathes in deep enough that his shoulders lift. He holds it, and then pushes it back out. Calm. Instinctively, he rasps in answer, "I won't let that happen." Everything in him rebels at the thought—for Steve's sake, really. Tony will snarl and snap at anyone who tries to take away the home Steve has found. The knee-jerk reaction passes as his head clears. It's not just for Steve. The whole world needs the Avengers, and besides, disbanding is unlikely. No, that'd come only as a last resort—as long as they, he and Steve, face this before disaster can strike. "I mean, no. No, not disband," Tony clarifies. Here it is, here comes the big one, he hypes himself. Buck up and rip off that band-aid. He meets Steve's eyes again. "There's been ... talk on Capitol Hill about regulation for the Avengers. Nothing concrete yet, but I've ... heard some proposals. None of them ideal. But, Steve," he places his hand over Steve's, and he really starts rolling, gaining traction, "I think we should work with them. Hash something out, head the worse stuff off at the pass. It's bound to happen with or without our input. We've operated without red tape for years. To hell with laws and sovereign borders, we're the Avengers, right? We're the heroes. After New York and Hydra, people were too afraid to tell us no, but that's changing. They want accountability, and no one should be above laws, especially not us." His own grip tightens. "Tell me you understand."
Steve closes his eyes for a second. There hadn't been any accountability during the war, just goals to be accomplished. That's what he's used to - going in and getting the job done, no matter what it takes. But if he takes a step back and examines what they do in the framework of this new society, then, yeah, he can see where Tony's coming from, even if he doesn't like it, even if he doesn't think their hands should be bound by politics. What if someone needs help and the President wants to withhold it for whatever reason? He's not part of the petty power games Washington plays, and frankly, if someone told him no because of that, he'd just do it anyway, and damn the consequences.
Relief whooshes out of Tony. Steve isn't stonewalling him. Steve is listening, like Tony hoped (like he knew). "We can work that out," he says, almost woozy with the relief, but that was just the first hurdle. He curls his fingers around Steve's hand, a full hold instead of just resting on top: the reassurance that Tony is with him and a plea for Steve to not pull away both. "We still have leverage in this. We get on it now, we have a better chance of writing something up more on our terms."
"I trust you," Steve says simply, and he does. He's not any good at the wheeling and dealing of politics, the twisty state of mind needed to work through things like this. Steve's bull in a china shop attitude has never made him any political friends, whether in the past or now. But Tony, he knows, can do this; business and politics are just about kissing cousins, and he has no doubt that Tony can wrangle what they need from Congress or the Pentagon or whoever. Steve is more likely to make enemies if he tries to do this kind of thing, and while Tony can backtalk politicians when it suits him, Steve also knows that he can play the game if he has to.
The last piece of something unravels in Tony under Steve's gaze and trust. Slowly, a closed smile breaks through, warm and loose; it deepens his laugh lines and crow's feet. Tony ducks his head with it as if he's shy. (He kinda is, when facing and feeling such affection.) Loving Steve back seems to be only a matter of time. "Lemme pull some strings. Meet some people. I'll get us an audience," Tony whispers contentedly and strokes his thumb along the back of Steve's hand. This went better than he could have expected. To have Steve simply place his trust in him like that, like how Tony does in him when he's in subspace—that's huge. That's a real partnership, like the one Tony had with Pepper. The real deal.
Leaning across the desk, Steve catches the corner of Tony's mouth in a kiss. Of course he trusts him - trusting people is what Steve does, and nowhere is that more evident than with Tony.
"Any chance of squeezing some pleasure in now that we've got business out of the way?" God, he loves the way Tony looks like this, relaxed and open. It would be so easy to have another weekend of debauchery, to seclude themselves for a few days and wring every drop of pleasure from their time. Even a night would suffice. (He's going to be absolutely insatiable once Tony moves in; it's only a matter of time.)
They should probably talk more, lay out some of the legislation Tony's heard about and get Steve's opinions, but ... eh. Later. Caught between I'd give you anything and oh, boy, playtime, Tony mirrors Steve, tilting forward and angling his head, a breath away from a kiss. "I brought the collar," he murmurs suggestively. "I'd love to get on my knees for you right now, if you're so inclined. A lil' dessert before dinner, yeah?"
"You think I'm gonna say no to that?" That tone of voice is enough to get his cock to stand at attention, even without what Tony's actually suggesting. Steve huffs a laugh, his breath puffing against Tony's mouth. "You better make sure the door's locked this time." Even though the rest of the team is theoretically occupied, he's still not taking any chances. They got lucky last time; doesn't mean that'll happen again.
Tony steals a kiss with a smack and then stands, whirling to the far side of his chair from Steve, a cat and mouse where the mouse wants to be caught but finds enjoyment in the chase. "Don't wanna move this to your bedroom first? Impatient boy. Naughty, naughty," Tony chides and slings his suit jacket over his shoulder with smugness and swagger. He feels tall, and it's not just the heels on his shoes.
Steve just grins and leans back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. "You're the one who said you wanted to get on your knees right now. I'm just trying to give you what you want." And if it happens to be what he wants as well, then even better. He does his best to look innocent, wide blue eyes blinking up at Tony, a wolf in sheep's clothing.
Tony stopped considering Steve at all innocent around the time he clamped Tony's nipples and flogged his dick. Nonetheless, with Steve's refusal to get up, Tony feels his brain slip. Sure, he said "right now," but he meant "right now" in relative terms, meaning once they reached somewhere comfortable and private. Yet Steve sits there pretty, sticking to his guns, so either they're starting play already, or Steve just enjoys being a pedantic little shit. Time to test which.
"Your generosity knows no bounds," Tony drawls, and then sits one thigh on the edge of the desk, head turned over his shoulder in his best demure maiden impression. He's learned he can't out-stubborn a dominant Steve (or any Steve, to be honest), but Tony has other tools in his arsenal. "Oh, sir, can we please move to the bedroom? It has a nice bed and pillows for me to bite and everything," he says, tone reedy and totally fake.
"Have you ever bitten a pillow when I've fucked you?" Steve rolls his eyes at Tony's tone, which is just enough to rub him the wrong way - and, unfortunately, only make him more obstinate. "Maybe I just want to bend you over the desk after you suck me off, or ride me while I sit nice and pretty in my chair." He gives Tony a brittle, false smile. "Maybe I want to make you come all over that expensive suit and wear it through the halls when you leave." He doesn't, but he knows how to push Tony by now.
Called out on the pillow-biting, Tony hides his smirk into the lifted shoulder. Maybe he just hasn't had a reason to keep quiet yet, he'd retort, but he's concluded that yup, that's Steve in Dom mode all right, so time to switch gears. "You want to just use me and parade me? How barbaric," Tony titters, calling Steve out right back, but he slips off the desk and drops his jacket onto it in a heap all the same. "Left inner pocket," he instructs in his normal tone.
"Might be barbaric, but you like it." Steve's smile is predatorial, with far too many teeth. He reaches inside the discarded jacket pocket and feels the smooth leather against his fingertips. "You wanna be paraded before you've been used?" Pulling the collar out, he lets it uncoil and dangle between thumb and forefinger. The leather is a bright stripe of blue down his forearm, standing out against the fabric of his shirt.
"Before and after, if you're that proud to show me off," Tony states simply, then bites his lip through a smile and walks backwards, toward the office door, keeping Steve in sight. "But I'm willing to bet you aren't. Nah," he says, voice dipping into a low rumble, "you're too possessive for that." His heel soon thunks against wood. He leans back against the door, feels with one hand behind, and purposely locks himself in with the hungry tiger.
Steve knows that Tony's manipulating him, but for now, he's happy to let that continue, at least until Tony starts pushing him. Rising from his desk, he catches the collar up in his other hand, pulls it taut between them as he crosses the room in long, confident strides. When he stops, it's just short of touching Tony - denying him that much, at least, as much as part of him wants to pin him up against the door. His fingers are gentle as they brush against Tony's throat, wrapping the collar around and buckling it snugly.
"Mmhm," Steve agrees, his lips following the line of Tony's jaw before he kisses him properly, hungrily, his tongue pushing past lips and teeth into Tony's mouth. His hands settle on his shoulders, palms flat, not yet pushing him down, but hinting at the possibility of it.
With just his upper back against the door, Tony's body is angled so that Steve needs to lean over and into Tony's space. "Doesn't even try to deny it," Tony tut-tuts, throat bared for Steve. The moment the leather hugs his neck, sitting atop his shirt collar and tie, he grows all the way hard, the collar and Steve's proximity the corresponding stimuli to trigger him, and for the first time in a long time Tony's not ashamed at the Pavlov's dog comparison. Steve loves and trusts him. The message has finally punched through: Steve sees him as his equal. All opposing arguments in Tony's head fade into background noise, because now, finally, what Steve thinks matters the most. If Steve sees something worthwhile in him, then it must be there, even if Tony can't see or find it himself.
Humming into the kiss, Tony follows Steve's lead, mouth opened and teasing Steve's tongue with his own, pressing back. His hands stay down and low, palms flat against the door (a learned, unconscious habit from Pepper, from the early times she instilled patience into him). While he tries his damned best to keep to his allotted space and not cross whatever arbitrary boundary Steve established, as the kiss carries on Tony can't help a little squirming, some rolling of his hips or arching of his back, barely brushing his body into Steve's, asking for more contact.
Steve's lips curve slightly when he feels Tony squirm beneath him - yes, he's smug, but god, it's still an incredible feeling to know that he's wanted, that he can drive Tony crazy with desire. It gives him that boost of confidence he needs to slip into the right mindset for domming Tony.
"I'm starting to think it's a good thing you didn't make any actual plans for dinner." He nips at Tony's bottom lip, kisses him again, long and slow. There are too many things he wants to do right now; all the ideas crowd to the front of his mind, and he can't focus on one long enough before something else occurs to him. God, he's fucking hopeless.
He closes his eyes for a moment and inhales deeply through his nose while his lips are still pressed against Tony's. One step at a time, he tells himself, and he pushes down on Tony's shoulders. "Down, boy," he tells him, humor evident in his tone. Tony might want more contact, but he's not going to get it yet.
Eyes fluttering open, Tony intones, "Bow-wow," slyly, smirking, already sliding down the door, his suit vest slipping up in the back with a scratchy whisper against wood and lifting the collar. The whole way down, he's locked his eyes onto Steve's, tracking up and up with his head tilting along—he's the point of this, see. Steve is the point, not any upcoming sex or time spent under. Steve, and whatever Tony can do to show and share with him how good he's made Tony feel. Still, after checking there's room between them and then shifting forward onto his knees properly, Tony glances to Steve's crotch (such a convenient height, that), amends his joke with, "Chica wow," and waggles his eyebrows. Steve's not the only hopeless one here.
Steve lets one hand slide from Tony's shoulder and trace his jaw, feeling the hair prickle under his fingertips. His fingers stop at Tony's lips, but he doesn't give any indication of wanting them sucked or licked; he just lets them rest on the smooth skin as he thinks about how good those lips look sucking his cock. He smiles down at Tony, and as lust-filled as his gaze might be, there's no mistaking the emotion in those wide blue eyes, either.
At least until Tony decides to be silly, and then Steve finds himself rolling his eyes. "You ever think there's a reason why you end up with your mouth full all the time?" But the words are softened by the way he runs his fingers through Tony's hair, by the besotted look in his eyes.
Affectionately Tony leans his weight into Steve, arms still unused by his sides, chin smushed into Steve's stomach, and head craned all the way back to smile quietly up at him. "There is a correlation between that and you," he hums, words already slurring and soft. He looks content to just stay there and be petted.
God, Steve simultaneously wants to fuck and cuddle, and he isn't sure which side to listen to. His plans get revised yet again, and he hooks his fingertips into the collar, tugging gently. "C'mon. We're going back to my room." The others should still be busy - and if they aren't, that's their problem, not his.
With a perplexed frown Tony first protests, "But I just got down here and comfortable," and then pushes himself up, because Steve's room equals Steve's bed, at least. Once on his feet, Tony flaps a hand at the collar, visibly collecting himself. "Guessing this stays on and obvious? Bit of parading after all?" he assumes.
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(That definitely isn't what Tony wants to hear.)
"What kind of regulations?" he asks finally.
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"Any chance of squeezing some pleasure in now that we've got business out of the way?" God, he loves the way Tony looks like this, relaxed and open. It would be so easy to have another weekend of debauchery, to seclude themselves for a few days and wring every drop of pleasure from their time. Even a night would suffice. (He's going to be absolutely insatiable once Tony moves in; it's only a matter of time.)
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"Your generosity knows no bounds," Tony drawls, and then sits one thigh on the edge of the desk, head turned over his shoulder in his best demure maiden impression. He's learned he can't out-stubborn a dominant Steve (or any Steve, to be honest), but Tony has other tools in his arsenal. "Oh, sir, can we please move to the bedroom? It has a nice bed and pillows for me to bite and everything," he says, tone reedy and totally fake.
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"Mmhm," Steve agrees, his lips following the line of Tony's jaw before he kisses him properly, hungrily, his tongue pushing past lips and teeth into Tony's mouth. His hands settle on his shoulders, palms flat, not yet pushing him down, but hinting at the possibility of it.
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Humming into the kiss, Tony follows Steve's lead, mouth opened and teasing Steve's tongue with his own, pressing back. His hands stay down and low, palms flat against the door (a learned, unconscious habit from Pepper, from the early times she instilled patience into him). While he tries his damned best to keep to his allotted space and not cross whatever arbitrary boundary Steve established, as the kiss carries on Tony can't help a little squirming, some rolling of his hips or arching of his back, barely brushing his body into Steve's, asking for more contact.
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"I'm starting to think it's a good thing you didn't make any actual plans for dinner." He nips at Tony's bottom lip, kisses him again, long and slow. There are too many things he wants to do right now; all the ideas crowd to the front of his mind, and he can't focus on one long enough before something else occurs to him. God, he's fucking hopeless.
He closes his eyes for a moment and inhales deeply through his nose while his lips are still pressed against Tony's. One step at a time, he tells himself, and he pushes down on Tony's shoulders. "Down, boy," he tells him, humor evident in his tone. Tony might want more contact, but he's not going to get it yet.
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At least until Tony decides to be silly, and then Steve finds himself rolling his eyes. "You ever think there's a reason why you end up with your mouth full all the time?" But the words are softened by the way he runs his fingers through Tony's hair, by the besotted look in his eyes.
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