He's not sure how he got here, what it was that he said or did that got him from point A to point B, and it's not like he's complaining, but then Tony's tongue slips between his lips and he's torn between absolute ecstasy and this sick sort of panic that's seeping upwards from his stomach.

Then there's this involuntary sound he makes, this strange little whimper that seems like it's being forced out of him by the sudden contraction of his groin as Tony's tongue clashes with his. And he's mortified, because it's just a kiss, he's not supposed to be responding so strongly, but even if Tony cares he still doesn't stop.

On the one hand this is perfect, all of the sparks flying that Steve expected and he can barely contain his euphoria, but the other hand – Tony's, to be specific – finds its way to Steve's crotch, rubbing gently against the zipper on his pants. No one's ever touched him there before, not like this.

He's kissed exactly two people in his life. That makes up his entire sexual history. And he's not necessarily afraid of sex but he's also not exactly comfortable with feeling lost and out of his depth. He likes to have a battle plan. He likes to feel, if not in control, then at least prepared for the eventualities.

He doesn't like feeling – knowing – that he has no idea what he's supposed to be doing. Does he put his tongue in Tony's mouth? Should he be touching him? Where?

He wants to make Tony stop, but he knows that if he does that everything will be ruined. He knows Tony thinks he's too uptight. He knows this because he'd once gone to a party at Stark Mansion, and Tony had drunkenly approached him, placed a steadying hand on his forearm and said, completely unprovoked, "You know what your problem is, Rogers? You're too uptight."

So he's not going to say anything. He's not going to do anything. He's going to lighten up, as Tony entreated him to do all those months previous, and he's going to enjoy it. Or pretend to.

He really wishes he could just enjoy it, focus on how perfect Tony's lips feel against his, the soft caress of Tony's other hand on his cheek, but he keeps getting pulled out of the moment by fear that Tony's going to figure out exactly how lost and inexperienced he is.

There's no way Tony Stark is going to want him if figures that out.

All of these thoughts, they're converging in his brain, mixing with the complete shock at the fact that this is Tony Stark. Touching him. With his lips. On purpose.

He's lightheaded beyond belief, but it's more than that, it's a sort of wired, volatile buzzing in his brain, and he wants it to stop but it's like a roller coaster and all he can do is close his eyes and hope for it to be over.

Except he never wants this to end.

His breath catches when Tony pulls away, convinced it's because he's changed his mind, but it's just to start unbuttoning Steve's vest.

"You have too many buttons," Tony whispers, a joking complaint, but Steve fights his paralysis to help him anyway, feeling this little imaginary shock every time their fingers brush against one another.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Tony says, hands hovering. "I mean, holy fucking shit. I knew you were ripped, but I'm pretty sure this isn't physically possible."

Steve shrugs, wishing that all of the attention hadn't suddenly fallen on him. Tony's hands make him squirm as they brush over his nipples and tease the ticklish sides of his obliques, and Tony seems to be enjoying that a lot.

"There's no way I'm taking my shirt off now," Tony says, but Steve barely has time to look disappointed before he smirks. "No, scratch that, yes I am."

Steve's surprised too, by how muscular Tony is, and a twinge goes through him as he sees the scarring around his arc reactor. He's afraid Tony will catch him staring, but Tony isn't watching Steve's face. He's just kissing Steve's chest in ways that would be making things very hard if he weren't so distracted by the thought of the arc reactor. It's more disconcerting than he was prepared for, the way that there's just metal sticking out of Tony's chest, but it's not the strangeness that bothers him. It's the way that Tony just treats it like it's nothing, this little metal circle that's keeping him alive. It scares him, that Tony's mortality is so evident. That he's so vulnerable.

But he's torn away from that thought when Tony ventures lower, kissing down his abs until he hits the place where Steve's skin meets his trousers. And Steve panics, a little, because every article of clothing that they're removing just keeps taking him further from things he's equipped to deal with, and Tony's hands stop caressing his inner thighs and tug at the button instead.

Steve doesn't want to watch but can't tear his eyes away as Tony lowers his mouth to the zipper, takes it in his teeth and looks up at him, fixing Steve with a look that should be illegal on account of obscenity.

The only reason Steve doesn't turn bright red as Tony exposes his grey cotton boxer briefs, his face brushing against the obvious tent of his erect penis, is that there's probably no blood left in his head. He panics, just a bit, and pushes Tony away, pins him against the couch and kisses him, to buy himself a little time.

His hands want to focus on every little bit of Tony's bare chest, but he has to keep up and so he undoes Tony's pants instead, noting with a mixture of embarrassment and relief that Tony's hard too.

"I have a bed," Tony says, and it's not until he stands up and and grabs Steve's hand to pull him up that Steve realizes it's an invitation for them to go there.

When the underwear comes off, that's when Steve decides that he has to avoid hesitating at all costs, because this is the part where Tony's going to figure out that he's completely lost. He presses his body against Tony's, and because he knows at least enough about what having a penis feels like, he begins grinding the uppermost part of his thigh against Tony's crotch. So far, so good.

Tony was already hard when he took his pants off, and as far as Steve can tell he's not getting any bigger, which means that it's time for them to, well, do it. Before he can let his nerves get the best of him he throws himself down on the bed, spreading his legs the way he'd once seen a girl do in a dirty magazine. And he winces involuntarily, because with what little he knows about sex, he's still pretty sure that his butt isn't going to take a penis the way a vagina does.

He's waiting for it, eyes screwed shut, expecting Tony to tear him open at any moment, but that never happens. Instead, Tony gives a loud, theatrical sigh and the bed sags a bit as Tony sits down beside him.

"Steve?"

He's worried now, but he tries not to show it. "Yes?"

"Open your eyes," Tony says, with a sort of practiced reluctance.

When he does, Tony's looking at him with this look that seems like a mixture of bemusement and disappointment. "We're not going to do this."

Steve tries not to let the relief show on his face. "Why not?"

Tony just smiles somewhat sadly, picking at the bed with one hand. "Do you even want to be on bottom?"

And Steve shrugs the best he can while lying flat on the bed, face getting warm.

Tony's smile grows broader. "I'm sorry," he says. "I should have caught on earlier. I just didn't want to."

Steve knows that feigning ignorance isn't going to help. "Caught on to what?"

"Have you ever slept with a man before?"

"No."

"Just women."

"No."

Tony looks surprised then. "So you're a virgin?"

Steve's shoulders are beginning to get warm too now, and his face is on fire, feeling so utterly exposed under Tony's gaze. "So let's fix that," he says, kind of unconvincingly.

Tony laughs. "As much as I really, really want to, I don't think you do."

Tony reaches behind him, grabs a blanket and tosses it to Steve, who takes it gratefully and wraps it around his too-exposed body. Tony doesn't seem like he's making any move to cover up, but that's okay. Steve isn't going to complain about that, even if getting to take in Tony's body like this is keeping him kind of unbearably aroused.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I – I don't know," he says, because it's pathetic to admit that he didn't want to ruin what was probably his only chance.

"It's okay to admit that you don't know what you're doing," Tony says. "It's kind of cute, really."

Steve wonders how red he'll have to get before Tony lets him leave. He swallows, his head feeling like a swarm of bees went off inside of it. "So," he says, mouth dry because he's pretty sure he knows what the answer is, "what now?"

"Uh, well, I guess that's up to you," Tony says, one hand massaging his thigh like he really wants to touch himself but is holding off. "If you want to, you can fuck me, or I can suck you off, or we can use our hands, and if you don't want to do any of that then that's fine too. Don't think that you have to finish what we started. There's always next time."

"Next time?" He doesn't mean to parrot it like that, but he's not expecting Tony to say something that seems to imply he still wants anything to do with Steve.

It's Tony's turn to turn red, though on him it's just a hint of pink in his cheeks, and it's possible that Steve's imagining it. "I guess that was kind of presumptive," he says. "I didn't mean to – I mean, I didn't exactly ask if you wanted this to happen in the first place, so I won't be offended if you want to just leave and pretend it didn't."

"No, I wanted this to happen," Steve says, pulling the blanket even tighter against himself. "I – just, not so fast."

"Fair enough," Tony says, smiling at Steve in this soft, gentle way that catches him just as off guard as everything else has. "So, what now?"

"Hands sounds good," Steve decides, swallowing because he's not even sure about that. "But, I just want to do it for you."

"You sure?"

Steve nods.

"Tell me if you change your mind," Tony says, reaching over to his bedside table, opening the drawer and pulling out a small bottle.

Steve nods.

Tony scoots closer so that he's almost pressed up against Steve, and the proximity makes him blush. "Is it okay if I kiss you?"

"Yes," Steve says, and that much he's sure of.

But he doesn't, at least not right away. First he uncaps the bottle, squirting the viscous liquid into Steve's hand. And he watches as Steve hesitantly touches him, moaning lightly as Steve's hand strokes the length of his penis.

"You're supposed to tell me how big it is," Tony says, teasing.

"No point in stating the obvious."

Then he kisses him, softer and less hurried than before, exactly how Steve has imagined it would happen.

Well, not exactly how he imagined it, because his imagination had expected clothes and romance, but close enough. As close as he can get with his hand on Tony's penis and his own warm against his stomach, pulsing against him every once in a while as though it doesn't like being ignored.

I changed my mind, he thinks, repeatedly, as the minutes go on, wishing he had the courage to say it. I changed my mind.

He thinks it as Tony teases him with his tongue, and caresses his chest, hand traveling as low as his stomach but always respectfully coming back up. He thinks it as Tony moans against his mouth, as his lips travel up to Steve's ear, alternating between whispers of encouragement and merciless teasing of the sensitive skin.

He thinks it as Tony gets close, stops kissing him and instead leans against him. As his muscles tense, and he cries out, "oh, Steve," and comes in white ropes that alternately paint his chest and drip onto Steve's hand.

He has a strange urge to lick it, but he doesn't. He thinks that's strange. He doesn't want to be strange.

Tony looks beautiful in the aftermath of his orgasm, and looking at him there's a part of Steve that doesn't even mind that he never got a chance to speak up. And then Tony turns and looks at him through heavy lidded eyes, asking, like it's been his plan all along, "changed your mind yet?"

"Yeah," Steve breathes, unable to believe that Tony's going to touch him. That the wildest of his fantasies – only because he'd tried his hardest to keep them chaste – is about to occur. And it's so much sooner than he would have wanted but it's also what he wants more than anything right now so that's okay.

The blanket's slipped down so that it's barely covering him as it is, and Tony just has to shove it away, the tug from that already sending a jolt of pleasure through him. He loses all pretense of composure as Tony touches him, his hips bucking unbidden at the sensation, and he lays his head on Tony's shoulder, buries his face in Tony's neck and inhales, smelling Tony and wishing he could stay like that forever.

He's trying to remain cool, but his breath is coming in gasps when it's coming at all, and then Tony does something with a twist of his wrist that makes him moan out loud.

"You like that?"

"Yeah," he pants, and Tony does it again, making his back arch. And Tony lasted a long time, but Steve's not going to last much longer. All it takes is a few more strokes, and he's seeing white as his hips roll beneath Tony's hand.

There's this overwhelming feeling of elation that swells up in his chest, and it's all he can do to stop himself from telling Tony how much he loves him. That he wants to be with him, always. That he never wants to leave.

But he knows that's not real. He knows that it's just the sex that's making him think that. But he just curls up against Tony, feels him warm and soft and perfect against him, and pretends for a moment that it is.