Steve sighs with contentment as Tony slides his palms over him, leaning into the touch like a cat. No matter how much Tony gives him, he's always hungry for more contact, seeking out every bit he can and wringing it dry. The way Tony treats him makes him feel less like a stranger in someone else's body and more in tune with himself, more comfortable in his own skin.
"I'll keep that in mind," he teases back. He's not trying to be assertive right now, and they both know it - he doesn't want to be. Steve just wants to have this moment between the two of them, cozy and intimate and perfect.
Tony hums noncommittally. Steve's tie he leaves hanging loose around his neck. Next, Tony plucks open Steve's shirt buttons, comfortable but purposeful. He's familiar with service. He's good at it, too. So much of this dynamic with Steve has been fraught with blindness and self-doubt and the fear that comes from them. Getting to do this, right now, feels like Steve is the one doing Tony a service. The resulting sureness and ease soaks through Tony's whole posture. He's so grateful—for this, and the second chance at companionship. Grateful for Steve ... just being Steve.
"On your stomach, if you please, Captain," Tony whispers; it's a respectful use of Steve's title. He removes Steve's tie and shirt like a subject removing his king's cloak and folds them individually and with great care, setting them aside with the folded vest, while Steve gets comfortable.
Steve settles on his back first, smirking up at Tony. "You forgot about my pants." He's already toed his shoes off, and the tent in the fabric provides a strong hint as to why Steve might want to get completely naked (though, honestly, he wants to feel Tony's hands everywhere, that reverent touch roaming over his thighs and calves). "I meant all my clothes."
What a horndog, and that's saying something coming from him, thinks Tony with a subtle but fond eye roll and smile. "Oh, did you?" he answers, too innocently to be sincere. The folding done, he flicks an appreciative gaze along Steve, then crawls over and straddles his lower legs. "Right, my bad. My mistake," he says, acting chagrined, and undoes Steve's pants. He slides down Steve's slacks and underwear together, but pauses with faked surprise after Steve's cock leaps free. "Eager for your happy ending, are you?" Tony says, scandalized, like he isn't modeling his own tented pants. His look is warm; he feels so relaxed (happy) and in the moment, tuned to only Steve without even falling into subspace yet.
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"I'll keep that in mind," he teases back. He's not trying to be assertive right now, and they both know it - he doesn't want to be. Steve just wants to have this moment between the two of them, cozy and intimate and perfect.
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"On your stomach, if you please, Captain," Tony whispers; it's a respectful use of Steve's title. He removes Steve's tie and shirt like a subject removing his king's cloak and folds them individually and with great care, setting them aside with the folded vest, while Steve gets comfortable.
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