Sex Hair
Tony liked to keep his hair neat.
Well, maybe "neat" was the wrong word. He didn't keep it slick and combed like Steve did with all his 1940's etiquette. But he didn't keep it flowing and loose and free like Thor, either. Try as he might, he just couldn't pull off the Disney Princess look quite like the God of Thunder could.
But that didn't mean he couldn't look like a suave, badass, hot mess. That was, of course, exactly the sort of look he went for and took great pains to pull off, and the centerpiece of that look was his hair. He would smudge oil and grease on his face, singe his eyebrows, ruin his clothes, but once he got his hair coiffed and styled the way he wanted it, he never mussed it up. Call it an old man's vanity. It was more than that though; it was something of a metaphor-something he'd kept going for years, ever since he'd had that odd, bordering-on-civil conversation with his father.
"Why do your socks never match?" he'd asked.
"I'm too busy to waste time matching socks," Howard had said, and wow, wasn't that the way of it? Of course he hadn't had time to match his damn socks. He hadn't even had time to hug his son. But then Howard had stopped doing whatever he had been doing, filling out papers, or reading a book, or looking over schematics. He'd looked at Tony over the top of his reading glasses and said, "It's silly, but I suppose it's a bit of a metaphor. The world wants to control everything about us-down to what kind of socks we wear. It's easier to follow the rules, but people like you and me chafe at rules and authority, so I wear mismatched socks. It's a tiny, pitiful rebellion, Tony. Nothing more."
Since then, he'd latched on to the idea of a metaphor, a silent fuck you to the world and its rules, a clue he could leave out in plain sight to show anyone who bothered to pay attention what he was really like. It was his hair. He knew he made it look effortless, the unruly, artfully tousled style he'd rocked for years. In reality, it took him the better part of half an hour and three different hair products to pull it off. But that's how it was with everything. Being a genius wasn't easy. There was next to no sleep, caffeine addictions, and more explosions than he thought entirely necessary, but he worked damn hard to make it look easy. Being Iron Man wasn't easy, but if there was one thing the entire world was looking for, it was a chink in his armor, so he had to make it seem like being an Avenger was as easy as breathing.
He was so good at keeping this facade up, he thought sometimes that Howard would be proud. His metaphor was firmly in place, had been for years, and would be until the day he died, no matter what. Come hell or high water, alien invasion, A.I. apocalypse, or angry, Hulked-out Bruce Banner, he'd have his hair under control.
The one exception seemed to be sex.
"Where'd you go?" Steve said, breaking off their kiss and running his hands through Tony's hair until they cupped the back of his head.
He was thinking of his father while having a pre-sex make out session with Steve, and holy hell, that was… something. Probably not a metaphor. More like a psychoanalyst's wet dream. Whatever it was, it had successfully distracted him enough that he hadn't been giving the kiss the attention it deserved.
"Sorry," he breathed and leaned in to kiss his lips lightly before moving on to kiss and suck and nip at the sensitive skin of his neck.
Steve still had his shirt on, and that was annoying, but the paydirt was down below. He fumbled with Steve's belt as he paid special attention to the soft, sensitive spot where neck met shoulder. He finally undid the buckle and slid Steve's jeans and boxers down over his hips, going to his knees as he did so. Steve was hard already, his breaths coming in shaky gasps. Tony knew it was the sight of him on his knees that undid him so quickly, and he loved it, loved that he could submit like this but still be perfectly in control. That never seemed to work with anyone but Steve.
He ran his tongue down the long, hard shaft of Steve's cock before sucking one of his balls into his mouth. Steve bit back a groan and put a hand lightly on Tony's head, his fingers twining through his hair. He wanted Steve's fist to tighten in his hair like it would sometimes when Tony got him really hot and bothered. He wanted Steve to grab two fistfuls of hair and hold him still while he fucked his mouth.
Tony kept licking and teasing for a while, sucking at Steve's balls, licking up and down his cock, his tongue swirling around the tip once or twice, hinting at actually sucking it into his mouth. Eventually, the hand in his hair tightened, his scalp burned, and Steve groaned. "Quit teasing," he said, breathless, pulling off his shirt.
He pulled away long enough to smile up at him. "Make me."
And it was, of course, the perfect thing to say, because an instant later, Steve's hands caught a fistful of hair each and yanked, giving Tony no choice but to open wide, swallow his cock, and try not to choke. Steve fucked his mouth mercilessly, and Tony was unsure if this was some kind of retaliation for the teasing, or if Steve really was that far gone. Either way, Tony had to fight to breathe, and fight not to choke, and fight not to come. It was interesting how often sex with Steve felt like a battle. That one was probably a metaphor, but he'd have to think about it later. Right now he had Steve's cock sliding in and out of his mouth, leaking salty precome, Steve's hands tangled in his hair, gripping so tightly his scalp tingled and burned, and Steve's eyes on him, big and blue and reverent. It was almost enough to make him come untouched.
Suddenly, Steve pulled away. He hauled Tony up and all but threw him onto the bed. He whisked Tony's oil-stained Black Sabbath t-shirt off over his head and ran his hands down his chest, taking care to avoid the arc reactor. Anyone touching the little circle of light was a better boner-killer for Tony than just about anything. Steve wrested him out of his jeans, and Tony lifted his hips to help.
Steve stretched out on top of him, finally giving Tony the full body contact he'd been craving since he'd walked into the bedroom and shoved him up against the wall. He took a moment to kiss Tony's sore and abused mouth, to grind their hips together and make him moan embarrassingly loud before pulling away. Steve only went far enough to be able to grab his hips and flip him over onto his stomach, pulling him up so he rested on his knees and elbows.
Tony waited, anticipation growing and escaping in a shiver as Steve shifted behind him and fiddled with something he couldn't see. Then Steve's hands were on his ass, his slick, lubed-up fingers pressing at his hole until slipping in, stretching him, prepping him for the main event, and it was a big one. After a minute or two, the fingers disappeared. Steve pressed a hand to the small of Tony's back as his cock nudged at him.
"Oh, God," Tony breathed and pressed his face into the pillow as the head of Steve's cock breached him and started working its way inside slowly, because rough sex was one thing and pain was another. But Steve knew this, so he was slow and careful and attentive, and if it burned as Steve's cock slid in and filled him up, well then, it was a good kind of burn.
Steve grabbed a handful of hair and pulled Tony's head back until his neck stretched and it grew a tiny bit difficult to breathe. "No," Steve said, his voice rough, his breath warm in Tony's ear. "No 'God'. Only name you say in bed is mine, remember?"
Tony nodded and shivered because fuck that was hot, and if anyone had ever told Tony how mind-blowingly sexy and dominant Captain America would be in bed, he would have found him in the ice years before SHIELD. He never would have stopped looking.
After a moment, Steve started moving again, slowly at first, but he worked his way up to a brutal, pounding pace. Soon the only sounds in the room were the wet slapping of flesh on flesh and the whispered, smothered swearing as they both tried to gain some semblance of control over themselves. It didn't take Tony long-with Steve's cock up his ass, it rarely did. He could feel the orgasm shivering and shocking its way up and down his limbs, electric, stronger than even the first surge he'd felt when Yinsen had helped him install the arc reactor. When he reached for his cock, Steve slapped his hand out of the way and did it for him. It only took a few strokes of Steve's hand before Tony came, biting back a shout of pleasure.
Steve kept fucking him, stretching out his aftershocks of pleasure even as his rhythm deteriorated and devolved into mindless rutting. He grabbed Tony's hair once again, and Tony was beginning to think he was sensing a kink here, when the hand tightened and Steve came with a moan.
Tony's strength finally gave out. He sagged down onto the rumpled comforter. Steve collapsed beside him, and they lay there like that for a long moment, a tangled pile of sticky, sweaty limbs.
"Jesus, Tony," Steve said after a while. He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. "Why do you do that to me?" Fucker had the audacity to sound winded.
"Do what?"
"Make me lose it like that."
Tony laughed. "What can I say? I need company here in Crazy Town."
Steve reached over and ran a gentle hand through Tony's sweaty, messy hair before pressing a soft kiss to his temple.
Metaphor be damned. Sex hair was great.
Ok, now that the actual story is out of the way: I got this little fic from this old prompt over on avengerkink: Tony likes to keep his hair neat. Except when he's having really good sex, then he doesn't care if you yank it till it nearly comes out. I've never really written much smut before. I hope you liked it!
I have this crazy long list of one-shots and prompts I would like to write, so the plan here is for me to post one smutty one-shot every Sunday, mostly because it sounds like a fun challenge. They'll be unconnected (probably) but will all be organized in one story for the sake my sanity. Odds are they'll all be Stony, but if another pairing grabs me by the throat and won't let go, I'll give it a shot!