Avenger Towers – 01/01 00:11
The door has barely latched before Steve's pinned Tony against it, kissing him like his life depends on it and thumping his head against the wood. "Sorry," He manages to breath out, covering Tony's mouth with another desperate kiss as he laces a gloved hand through his hair making a soft cradle between him and the door. Steve pulls away. "Tony, take your suit off." He gasps going back in for another round, rasping his days' worth of stubble against Tony's beard.
If it had been anybody other than Steve ordering him to drop his armour, he would have protested, lectured them about how it needs to be stored correctly and given the respect it deserved because it was the pinnacle of modern technology, but for Steve – he lets it fall into a clattering heap of red and gold. Nice armour – it'd look better on my floor. Tony sniggers against his lips at the thought.
It turns into a full-blown fit of giggles and Steve takes a step back. Staring in bewilderment at a very golden Tony still wearing the under sheath of the suit (leaving very little to the imagination) and doubled over in laughter. "I'm… I'm so sorry Steve." He manages to regain most of his composure and stand up straight-ish. "This is… Is this… Really happening? You and me?" He wipes a tear away from his eye still stifling the last of his snickers.
"Umm… If you want it to?" Steve takes a cautious step back, worried he'll do something that's going to set Tony off laughing again.
"Yes! Absolutely, yes!" Tony panics and rushes over to where Steve has retreated looking like he's about to bolt. "It's just… I can't believe it that's all." He soothes, gold-tipped fingers trace the outline of the star on Steve's chest feeling the tense muscles relax under the softness of his touch.
Steve says nothing, he doesn't need to. He pulls Tony close and lifts him off the floor. "Hey!" Tony goes to half-heartedly protest before he gets it and wraps his legs around Steve's waist, lets him hold him up with hands hooked under his ass. Steve doesn't have to stoop to kiss him like this and Tony's arms drape around his neck like they've been doing this forever. Maybe we should've been.
He carries him to the bed like it, sets him down on the edge and lets him watch as he strips his uniform.
Gloves are pulled off with teeth and spat on the floor. The sound of each buckle that unclasps and every strap that comes loose is exaggerated in the silence of the half-lit bedroom.
He doesn't make eye contact until it gets to his boxers, his thumbs hook under the waistband and he glances at Tony for affirmation, silently he asks: Are we really doing this? Tony must have nodded because Steve frees himself with a sigh of relief, lets them pool at his feet with the rest of his discarded costume. Nice uniform…
Tony gapes at the sight, he knew Steve was big everywhere but… "Holy shit Steve." Tony laughs out softly "How the hell do you hide something that big in a costume that tight?" His skin twinges pink as he crawls onto the bed.
"Come on; this isn't fair," He smiles gently. "You've seen me." A very naked Steve Rogers pushes Tony back into the mattress as he lets the under-sheath leach back under his skin like liquid gold.
"How's this?" He smirks. Steve eye's flit down, past the equator, then back up before his whole body erupts in a blush.
"Does that mean whenever you're piloting the Iron Man suit you're… naked?" Steve's eyes go comically large at the realisation. "I'm never going to be able to look at you when you're fighting in the same way again." He shakes his head burying it in the juncture of Tony's neck, laying claim to his bare flesh.
"I think we're way-ah-passedthat." Tony's breath hitches when Steve rakes his teeth across his shoulder and he's not sure whether he's more turned on or surprised; a hand he thought would fumble and need encouragement has found his junk; confident fingers wrap the length of him, sliding from the tip to base and signing it with a twist. "Jesus." Well, there's jacking off on your own ruined Tony, nothing's ever going to come close to this. He groans and lets his back arch when Steve traces his slit with the pad of his thumb, tracking it through what's leaking and using it to slicken his grip.
Tony could get off from this, he really could. Steve has been sucking at his neck the whole time and working his hand in rhythm to Tony's rasping. He's pretty sure he's been branded with an enormous 'guess what I did last night' hickey that's going to earn him few questioning looks tomorrow; but that was tomorrow, right now who the fuck cares?
Steve's spare hand runs up his flank, fingers and thumbs running over muscles and scars and- "Urrn," nipples, oversensitive and so hard they could cut 's not sure what to do with his hands. He wants to touch, claw, feel; but if he does he knows it's going to push him over the edge, ground him before he's even had a chance to fly. It's already too much that Steve's pinning him down with his chest, kissing his way up his jaw and back to his lips.
Steve must have felt Tony's cock jerk in his hand because his grip goes loose, Tony whines. Steve at least has the generosity to trace a fingertip along the seam of Tony's balls making him jolt and suck in air through his teeth; it's bliss. Steve's gazing down at him and Tony thinks he could be looking at something painted on the Sistine Chapel roof because – Steve Rogers - he's a living work of art. "You've done this before." He mutters watching Steve blush at his breathless accusation.
"We were all teenagers once Tony." He breaks eye contact batting his perfect blond lashes. "Do you have any…" He trails off leaving Tony to read between the lines, Oh. Tony's mouth goes dry. It's a loaded question, an 'if I say yes to this it means we're going all the way' type question.
"Bottom drawer." It's as good a 'yes' as any, he props himself up on his elbows watching the muscles on Steve's back ripple and flex whilst rummaging through his bedside cabinet. He's leering and it's shameful what just looking does for him. '" We were all teenagers once Tony."' Yeah, and I feel like a teenager right now.
It's true, he does - blushing, giddy and nervous all at the same time with frickin' butterflies the size of Hawk Moths doing summersaults in his stomach. It's his first time all over again as much as it isn't, he's got some twenty years' worth of experience since then. Twenty years' worth of tricks, but this was Steve. Steve, who was lugging his considerable amount of wood back to the bed, who makes a show of squeezing lube onto his deft artist fingers because he knows his audience is captivated. Steve who lets the bottle deliberately drip on Tony's stomach then tracks slick digits through it and watches his whole body prickle with goosebumps.
The question of who was doing the fucking was answered the moment Tony melted against Steve's chest in the common room, that being said-it still doesn't make it any less of a surprise when Steve's fingers are inside him, stroking, curling and touching every-damn-nerve.
Steve leans in for a slow and deliberate air stealing kiss. It's a distraction whilst two fingers become three, sliding in and out in time with him lapping his tongue into Tony's mouth; Tony wants to give as good as he's getting but his whole body feels like its melting under Steve's ministration and all he manages is to dig nails into Steve's shoulders and breathlessly mutter, "Fuck." Every time Steve breaks away and threatens to slide his fingers all the way out only to let Tony's body suck them back in again.
With all his blood rushing South Tony's lost all high brain function, along with any coherent vocabulary, all he can manage is rasping moans of encouragement. What are words anyway?
His back twists to an arch when fingers plunge deeper than before sending a wave of ecstasy crashing over him and blanking his mind of any kind of lucid thought. Some aborted groan escapes his chest, he thinks he might come if Steve does that trick again, he pulls his fingers out instead and Tony wants to protest, call him a tease, tell him not to start something he can't finish.
His eyes fly open and he's met by the sight of Steve sat back on his heels, sucking in raw uneven breaths. He watches as the air catches in Steve's throat and he flinches at his own hand running the length of his cock coating it in lube until it's glistening and letting out some guttural growl. He looks so hard that he might keel over from it, apparently, he's been getting off to Tony getting off. Now there's something that doesn't happen every day.
There's no hesitation when Steve drags Tony half way down the bed and pulls him into position, he ends up with Steve slotted in between his thighs with his hands under his ass lifting him ever so slightly, fingertips just brushing the small of his back. He feels so open, so ready. When Steve pushes in with his smooth crown, Tony pushes right back until he's full of nothing but Steve.
Steve goes still and looks down; Tony doesn't miss the tight expression on his face, he's doing the same thing Tony is, trying to calm the fuck down so this last longer than ten minutes (if that). Tony can't resist, a slight shift of his hips and a tense of muscles he watches Steve double over. "Christ, Tony, if you keep that up this is going to be over very, very quickly." He pants letting his head bow.
"Is that a promise?" Tony smirks because humour and sarcasm are his go-to. Need to get out of an awkward conversation? Need to end an argument? Need to stave off an orgasm? It isn't the least bit funny when Steve snaps his hips back, setting some damn near brutal pace going hell for leather. He's barely letting Tony catch his breath between thrusts. He's fucking him so hard and fast that words, noises, they aren't even an option anymore. Why was he trying not to come again?
He can feel it building in pit of his stomach, making the back of his neck prickle and pulling the corners of his vision to a grey blur, his whole body feels like it's about to explode and it pulses agonisingly close to tipping over the edge each time Steve hits the precious bundle of nerves that makes his balls jump up to his body.
The hands that are holding him up slide in the sweat against his skin and it's too much, the way Steve's biting his bottom lip with his eyes screwed shut, the way his whole-body rocks with each push, the way he cuts off Tony's groans by bottoming out and knocking the air from his lungs.
It hits him like a car, makes his body jerk, and every muscle momentarily seize. Talking and breathing, who needs that anyway, he's gone blind he's sure. Steve's made him come like a horny teenager on prom night. He's still pulsing making it pretty obvious - it's been a while. So saving the world, running a multinational Company and spying, (monitoring), the New York power grid didn't leave a lot of time for getting your rocks off? So what?
Steve's no better, hands suddenly grip Tony's hips like he's caught in a vice, the way his body jolts and he curses through gritted teeth, thrusting one final time before doubling over and exploding still buried in Tony's ass. Super Soldier or not, he's still brought shaking to his knees by one hell of an orgasm.
Tony's still up orbiting blissful oblivion when Steve pulls out and drops heavily beside him on the bed, "Hi." He breaths looking at Tony through half-lidded eyes hazy with contentment.
"Hi." He does still remember how to talk, Steve didn't fuck that out of him after all. He returns the gaze and stretches his arms above his head suddenly remembering the state he's in. "Ah shit," he doesn't really care that much but sticking to the bedsheets wasn't exactly an attractive premise. "Err… As much as I hate to ask Steve could you…" Steve leans over the side of the bed grabbing for the nearest piece of fabric littering Tony's bedroom, he ends up chucking Tony one of his discarded t-shirts from the floor.
"Gee… Thanks, MY t-shirt." He huffs but uses it to mop up the filth nonetheless. Steve laughs doing a half-roll/half-stand off the bed.
"It serves you right for leaving it on the floor. You're messy Tony." He pauses steadying himself on legs that haven't quite recovered. "Case and point," he gestures to the room strewn with clothes and pieces of armour, before gesturing at Tony with a smirk who stops his clean-up operation in mock indignation.
"What happened to 'Tony, take your suit off'? And that's your uniform!" He sits up to point at the pile of red, white and blue on the floor, "And this," he gestures to himself t-shirt screwed into a ball in his hand, "this, was all your fault." He's laughing when he chucks it in Steve's direction who ducks into the bathroom. Tony half debates going in after him, round two in the shower anyone? Who's he kidding he's not going anywhere.
He calls to Steve with a yawn, "You know Steve, you can stay the night if you want." He's still relishing in the post-sex afterglow, sinking back into the pillows and sliding under the covers, the 800 thread count cotton glides across oversensitive skin making him sigh and sink deeper into the mattress.
His eyelids go heavy as the lights go out. He hears the bed creaking when Steve climbs in; Tony shifts and ends up being the little spoon, it's nice. Steve's chest is so warm against his back. "Happy New Year Steve." He mumbles. "That's the best New Year kiss I've ever had." Laughter rumbles from behind him.
"Me too Tony, me too." An arm wraps him, tight enough to be on the good side of possessive. "JARVIS?" Tony cracks an eye at Steve addressing the AI. "Remind Tony to do laundry tomorrow." He chuckles and gets a swift elbow to the ribs from his little spoon. Steve tightens his grip, but Tony manages to twist around to face him.
"JAVIS, please remind Steve he will be doing Tony's laundry tomorrow." He laughs before he's silenced by a kiss, or two, or three.
Tony falls asleep half splayed across Steve's chest, his head resting over where the metronomic thud of Steve's heart keeps perfect rhythm, with one of Steve's arms wrapping his shoulder.
Steve makes a good pillow and Tony's perfect, messy, but perfect.