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.
Steve just grins at Tony before he sweeps him into his arms in a bridal-style carry. Sure, he could settle for a bit of parading, or he could go all out, and right now he's feeling more than mushy enough for the latter.
He turns his head to kiss Tony while he fumbles for the doorknob, shifting Tony's weight slightly to free one hand, and they're out in the hall by the time he comes up for breath. Steve doesn't worry about closing the door behind them; someone will grab it later. He's too wrapped up in Tony.
Thrown for a loop (mentally and physically, to be honest), Tony squawks and flings his arm around the nearest stable element, which happens to be Steve's neck, while the kiss cuts off Tony's followup look, a bewildered almost-smile that rounds one cheek. Out in the hall, after the kiss, his suit jacket and phone forgotten on Steve's desk (let the imagination of whomever finds it run wild), Tony quietly studies Steve's face. Prior experience tells Tony he should still be on his knees in Steve's office, halfway to Steve's dick down his throat, but maybe—well, there are different variables here, he guesses. For one, he's not acting like a right brat about submitting, and two—and point two hits Tony in a jolt, but two—this marks the first time they'll really scene or have sex since Steve's impromptu pop-culture love confession, a single instance of sexting aside.
Steve looks so happy. Tony makes him happy, and he hasn't even really done anything, but why argue with results? How I learned to stop worrying, Tony huffs to himself and sinks into Steve's hold, relaxing against him. He and Steve might, on the outside, be a prime example of why the M.A.D. doctrine persists, but so far, so good, right? Steve trusts him. Steve loves him. Tony lo—trusts him right back. At least for now, Tony can push aside any and all trimmings and just enjoy the literal ride.
Granted, patience is not his strongest virtue, and he's pretty sure Steve's jawline was chiseled by Michelangelo in heaven, so the moment they pass through Steve's bedroom door Tony nuzzles that jaw, squirming in Steve's arms. He brushes both his lips and beard up along it and ends with a tiny lick, just the tip of his tongue, on Steve's earlobe.
Steve feels a surge of smug satisfaction (among other things) when Tony wraps an arm around his neck - he always relishes catching Tony off-guard - and he practically radiates it through the kiss and through the way his lips stay curved in a goofy smile the whole short walk to his bedroom. He loves the way Tony relaxes in his arms, the way he feels against his chest; it's one of those perfect moments where everything comes together in just the right way.
And then they're in Steve's bedroom - this time, he makes sure to kick the door shut - and Tony's lips find his jaw, and god, just that tiny lick makes his dick twitch in his pants. He sets Tony down on the bed carefully and sits next to him, cupping his cheeks in his hands, stroking his thumbs over that carefully trimmed beard before he closes the distance between them and kisses him again. He wants to kiss him till he's breathless, wants to whisper his love in between kisses. Steve wants, practically overflowing with the sensation like a bowl brimming with water, and he wishes he could share it with Tony.
"They can't get our new rooms done soon enough," he murmurs in between kisses. "I need to be able to do this all the time."
Eyes turning dreamy with his face between Steve's hands, Tony kisses leisurely back with just a small tease here and there, like a nibble on Steve's lower lip. He's stretched out on the bed, leaning back on his hands, body open. He's stopped trying to control where this is headed and how fast it heads there, the teasing nibbles and looks more questions, requests, than anything. "I will occasionally need to get out of bed, stallion," Tony reminds him breathily, close to Steve's mouth, even as he spreads his thighs in invitation, another hinted request: can he have contact of the full-body kind now, please?
Steve pulls his legs up onto the bed and shifts closer to Tony, not quite touching, but still close. "Like the shower?" Another kiss. "Or in the kitchen?" He gives Tony a small nibble of his own, lingering a little longer. "Or while watching a movie?" Now he presses close, and a sigh of contentment escapes as he shudders, pleasure rippling through his body. "I'd like you to soap me up sometime," he confesses softly. "Have your hands all over my body, cleaning me off and taking care of me. You'd be good at it, wouldn't you?"
Back when Steve got beat up by the Wrecking Crew, Tony led him to a bath to clean off the blood and grime after patching him up. He only washed Steve's hair then—with Steve's back all messed up, best to limit excess pull on those muscles—and he washed it while full of witty admonishments (words a playful scold, but hands so deft, gentle, thorough), but Tony still entered a peaceful trance doing it. Once other words died down and it was just the light sloshing of water and sudsy scrubbing, Tony whispered, "I like this sorta thing," and then more boldly continued, "and being pampered, being pampered's great, but this is nice, too. I, uh... I like being able to ... take care of. People," he finishes, quieter again, the words loaded with admittance. They hadn't really talked since that time over text about Tony's personal likes and dislikes. He was trying to open up: an olive branch and sacrificial offering of himself to make up for the terribly vulnerable spot Steve had bared to him the night before. As you wish. The scales tipped way harder on Steve's side still, but for right then, that little offered bit had to be enough.
Now, the thought of getting to do that, of being good like that for Steve, along with finally feeling the hard line of Steve's body against his, chucks Tony's thought processes straight off the cliff. "Yessir, s'good, the best," he rattles off, eyelashes lowered, then leans forward for another kiss, legs spreading farther.
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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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He turns his head to kiss Tony while he fumbles for the doorknob, shifting Tony's weight slightly to free one hand, and they're out in the hall by the time he comes up for breath. Steve doesn't worry about closing the door behind them; someone will grab it later. He's too wrapped up in Tony.
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Steve looks so happy. Tony makes him happy, and he hasn't even really done anything, but why argue with results? How I learned to stop worrying, Tony huffs to himself and sinks into Steve's hold, relaxing against him. He and Steve might, on the outside, be a prime example of why the M.A.D. doctrine persists, but so far, so good, right? Steve trusts him. Steve loves him. Tony lo—trusts him right back. At least for now, Tony can push aside any and all trimmings and just enjoy the literal ride.
Granted, patience is not his strongest virtue, and he's pretty sure Steve's jawline was chiseled by Michelangelo in heaven, so the moment they pass through Steve's bedroom door Tony nuzzles that jaw, squirming in Steve's arms. He brushes both his lips and beard up along it and ends with a tiny lick, just the tip of his tongue, on Steve's earlobe.
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And then they're in Steve's bedroom - this time, he makes sure to kick the door shut - and Tony's lips find his jaw, and god, just that tiny lick makes his dick twitch in his pants. He sets Tony down on the bed carefully and sits next to him, cupping his cheeks in his hands, stroking his thumbs over that carefully trimmed beard before he closes the distance between them and kisses him again. He wants to kiss him till he's breathless, wants to whisper his love in between kisses. Steve wants, practically overflowing with the sensation like a bowl brimming with water, and he wishes he could share it with Tony.
"They can't get our new rooms done soon enough," he murmurs in between kisses. "I need to be able to do this all the time."
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Now, the thought of getting to do that, of being good like that for Steve, along with finally feeling the hard line of Steve's body against his, chucks Tony's thought processes straight off the cliff. "Yessir, s'good, the best," he rattles off, eyelashes lowered, then leans forward for another kiss, legs spreading farther.
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