Steve wakes up to the sound of Tony's voice, the deep whisper that he puts on when he's talking dirty.

"Huh?" His voice is a little too loud, cracking with sleep, and he glances at the clock and wonders why Tony woke him up so early.

"Ugh, don't tell me I have to start over," Tony says, kissing Steve's neck, nipping playfully at his ear.

"I said I want you to fuck me," he says, drawing out the last two words so that they sound particularly obscene. He's curled up behind Steve, lips nearly touching his earlobe. "I want to feel your big, thick cock inside of me, stretching me open. Making me feel like I'm all yours."

Steve swallows.

Tony brushes Steve's hair off of his forehead and kisses him on the temple. "We can do it slow, if you want," he says. "But the way I always see it is you're holding me tight and pounding me so hard I can't even make out the words to tell you how much I love it."

He's shifting his hips just a bit as he talks, rubbing his cock against the small of Steve's back, and Steve wants to touch himself but he doesn't want to give Tony the satisfaction even more.

It's been weeks since Tony first brought it up, weeks of pleading and teasing, weeks in which he keeps thinking he should go to confession for his impure thoughts before remembering that he'd given up on confessing his sins a long time ago.

At this point it's like he's holding out just because he has some abstract idea that he should.

"I had a dream about you last night," Tony says, a hand traveling across Steve's chest.

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhmm. You're not as much of a boy scout in my dreams."

"Whatever I did, I probably don't want to hear about it."

Tony laughs, softly, lips brushing against the sensitive parts of Steve's neck. "You held me down and fucked me," he says. "Hard and fast. Told me how good I felt. Told me I was yours and you could use me however you wanted, that you were never gonna let me go."

"Oh, hey," Steve says, smiling anyway. "Look at that, I didn't want to hear about it."

"I liked knowing you wanted me," Tony says. "That you couldn't keep your hands off of me. Made me feel good. Like you really cared about me."

He swallows. That's what always gets him, when Tony stops trying to convince him how good it'll feel and recognizes that it's more than that. That it has meaning, a whole lot of meaning. That's what makes him want to roll over and pin Tony to the sheets, to show him just how much he loves him.

Of course, since it's Tony, he's probably just figured out that he likes to hear that.

"Okay," Steve says. "Complete honesty. How much of that dream did you just make up?"

He can hear the smirk in Tony's voice. "Oh, definitely all of it."

"Thought so."

"Don't pretend like you're not enjoying this." Tony's hand slides down Steve's stomach.

Steve smiles. "That was there when I woke up."

"Even more reason to do something about it," Tony says, stroking him, gently licking his shoulder as he does.

Steve swallows, and Tony hasn't worn him down, not even a little bit, he could hold out forever against the wheedling, it's just that he's finding more and more that he really doesn't want to.

"Okay."

"Okay what?"

"I'll... you know. Fuck you."

Tony sits up suddenly, bouncing a bit on the bed, looking at Steve with a wary grin on his face. All pretense of sleepiness or seduction is completely gone. "Really?"

"Mhmm."

"If you're joking we're through. I mean it. You don't play with my emotions like that."

Steve smiles, even as he realizes that Tony's kind of right. There's no backing down now. "I'm not joking. Right now?"

"No." From the sound of his groan it's like Tony's been physically hurt. "Right now I have work."

"It's a Saturday."

"It's a shitty job."

"When you get back," Steve says, reminding himself that he shouldn't be committing to this and not caring as much as he knows he should.

Tony practically hops out of bed. "I'm holding you to that."

Steve smiles, rolling over so that he can watch Tony get dressed. It's not quite the same as watching Tony get undressed, but the way he moves his hips to put on a tight pair of slacks – well, it's not helping with the little problem that Tony's started in Steve's underwear either.

"You could just unbutton them first."

"What, and rob you of the show?"

"You know, when I agreed to go out with you, I was under the impression that you never did any work."

Tony smirks. "When you agreed to go out with me, you were under the impression that you weren't agreeing to go out with me."

"You know what I mean. All the tabloids make you out to be some irresponsible playboy."

'It's not my fault 'alcoholic Tony Stark' makes a better headline than 'workaholic Tony Stark." He disappears, coming out of the closet with two ties. "Which do you like better?"

He doesn't wait for an answer. "You're right, the red one."

Steve stretches. "I just didn't think you would be the type of person to get me all hot and bothered and then disappear."

Tony rolls his eyes. "Okay," he says. "I have two minutes. Strip."

He wriggles out of his boxer-briefs, moaning a bit at the thought of Tony going down on him in a suit.

"False start. That's a disqualification."

"Stop wasting time."

And then Tony's lips are wrapped around him.

"Mm, yeah – oh, god," Steve moans, as Tony lets him into his throat and swallows. "Don't stop."

He does.

"Gotta go, honey," he says, smirking with a devilish amount of glee.

"I hate you."

"Get yourself off."

"You know I won't."

Tony smirks again. "Have a good day, sweetie," he says, kissing him quickly on the lips. "Wait here for me? I don't know when I'll be back."

"Yeah, sure."

"There's frozen food in the kitchen, or you can use one of my tabs to order something."

Steve smiles. "I think I can manage to feed myself."

He thinks about saying "I love you," but settles for "have a good day."

And then he rolls over, and thinks about sleeping, and finds that he can't.

He's told Tony he loves him a couple more times, after that first time, and every time Tony's smiled and acted like he's not expected to say it back. Maybe he's not.

Tony does call him baby, and honey, and any number of mostly food-related nicknames that seem to be generated on the spot. And that feels good. That feels great, actually, but it's not the same.

And Steve knows that he's not perfect either, because he can tell Tony he loves him, but every time he tries to call him 'baby' or 'honey' it feels wrong. Like that's not something he's supposed to be saying to a man.

Sleeping's a lot easier when Tony's there.

He rolls around on the bed, adjusts the pillows, and the bed is comfortable and soft and all of the things a bed is supposed to be. It's his thoughts that are the problem.

He feels like a millionaire, here. Or, he wishes he did. Because really, he just feels like a kept man.

He's been going out for drinks after graphic design classes, with Jason and Allie and Carlos and Trang and Adil and Monica, the kids in the class who have ID cards that say they're at least 21, even if they're not. He doesn't say anything, just keeps an eye on them to make sure they haven't had too much.

These kids, they've got all of these concerns he doesn't have, and then they have the one concern in common: money. Except while they're worrying about money they're ordering expensive drinks and appetizers and Steve's drinking complementary water and assuring them that he doesn't need to share their fries.

Just last week they'd talked about sugar daddies, laughing at how ridiculous but also how great it would be to just have some rich older man who could pay for school, and apartments, and clothes, and everything else that they wanted, all in exchange for a little bit of sex.

Steve had sat there and occasionally chimed in. Tried to convince himself that he was joking about it just as much as they were.

He knows that's not what he has with Tony, that Tony just happens to be rich and free with money and a little too excited about buying Steve shirts that are a size too small. It's not the same.

But damned if sometimes it doesn't feel a bit like it.

He gets up after a bit, pulls his boxers back on and heads into the adjacent office. When Tony gets up before Steve – which, so far, has happened every time he's stayed over – he leaves something open on the computer for him.

Today, it's mostly porn.

Steve closes all of that without looking at it. He's still a little bit old fashioned. But he reads the how-to page against his better judgement, turning progressively redder as he makes his way down the very matter-of-fact guide.

He drums his fingers on the table and thinks that if there's required reading, shouldn't that make people think twice about how natural it is?

And then he thinks that he's unnatural, and so is Tony, and if there's reading material on this then clearly they're not the only two people doing it.

After that he takes a cold shower.

He spends most of it thinking about Tony. About what he can do to make him happy. He wants to make him happy, he wants to write him a note or do something for him, but Tony already has plenty of people who do things for him and Steve's still not sure if it's a good thing to remind Tony that he loves him.

The only thing he knows is guaranteed to make Tony happy is to have sex with him.

And he does want to do that. He's not opposed to the idea of it, really. He just wishes that it weren't so important. He wishes that Tony didn't value the one thing Steve is least morally comfortable with more than he values anything else.

He finishes his cold shower, and then he heads down to Tony's gym, to work out. And then he takes another shower in Tony's ridiculously fancy bathroom.

And then he's not really sure what to do.

There are plenty of distractions, of course. It's just that he barely feels comfortable with using things like Tony's bed and Tony's shower, he's not about to go use his home theater or bowling alley.

So he lies down on the bed, and watches TV because he's hoping it'll numb him, that it'll fight off the feelings that come with being alone.

It doesn't.

He's been better at forgetting since Tony started becoming his life. He's had something to distract him. But that's when he's home, in his run down little apartment, and he can think of Tony as almost a fairy tale.

Here, in this ridiculous house, all he can feel is guilt.

Tony's not going to rescue him from anything because there's nothing to rescue him from. There's nothing in his life that isn't good, isn't beyond everything he's ever deserved. And the fact that he can't wake up every morning ecstatic about what he's been given makes him feel unbearably guilty.

If he could characterize the 21st century in a single word it'd be guilt.

Guilt about all of the people he's lost, and guilt about loving Tony and guilt about the things he does because he loves him and guilt about doing nothing with his life because he's too busy feeling guilty to get a job.

Bucky would expect him to do something with his life. He knows that. He knows Peggy expects it, he does his best to avoid any mention that he's not doing anything with his life around her. He knows Tony expects it, knows that's why he keeps pushing Steve to develop marketable art skills when Steve doesn't even pick up a pencil anymore unless Tony's handing it to him and expecting him to sketch something with it.

He knows Bucky would expect him to do something with his life. And that's the one that gets him, he can ignore Peggy's concern and Tony's urging but what he can't ignore is that he let Bucky down and he doesn't even have anything to show for it.

Bucky's the one he's not allowed to feel bad about.

He knows there's no one policing his feelings, but there's this expectation anyway. He can feel it. Because to everybody else he died seventy years ago. And Peggy was right, Steve shouldn't blame himself, but that doesn't stop him from doing it anyway. Bucky made a choice and he recognizes that and he understands that and he respects that but it wasn't even a choice until Steve put it on the table.

Tony's never even asked about him. To everyone else, Bucky's ancient history. And Steve acts like he agrees but then he closes his eyes and sees Bucky falling off of that train, sees him before that, sees his smile and thinks about how much Bucky never got to do.

He takes a hot shower, lets the water run over his face so he won't know whether he's crying or not.

The opulence finally gets to him around 11:30. He's sitting in Tony's study, reading a scientific magazine that he doesn't understand, just because it's better than anything else he could think of doing.

He doesn't know half of the words in any of the reading materials in Tony's study. At least they remind him that for all the world is the same in all the wrong ways, they're still making new discoveries every day.

And, if the paper he's reading is anything to go off of, making up words.

11:30 is when he picks up another magazine, this one with two bookmarks in it, and discovers that they're both $100 bills.

And that on its own shouldn't be enough to set him off. Tony probably just didn't have anything else on hand. But combined with everything else it's a reminder that he's doing nothing and enjoying the rewards that he didn't earn.

He has Fury on the line before he lets himself think about it. "This better be damn important."

"Sir, it's Steve Rogers."

"I know who it is."

Steve swallows. "I'd like to come work for SHIELD."

He can practically hear the satisfaction in Fury's voice. "There's an extensive screening process for field agents," he says. "But I imagine we can waive most of that in your case."

"All due respect, sir, I don't want to be a field agent."

There's silence on the line, and then crackling. "I'll work something out, give you a call."

He's pretty sure the line goes dead, but he still says "thank you, sir," just to be safe.

He looks at the phone for a bit after he hangs up, as though it holds any answers. It was a good decision. Tony's not going to like it. It was still a good decision.

After that he decides to reward himself with lunch.

The kitchen, like everything else in the house, is too big. And he paces around it, opens cupboards and closes them. And then he stands in front of the freezer, picking out the things that seem cheap.

And then he has to try and figure out the toaster.

Before he can, there's a noise behind him. The first thing he thinks is intruder, and then he spins around and finds himself looking at Bruce Banner.

"Steve?" Bruce is fixing him with a look of utter confusion. "What are you doing here?"

If he were Tony, he'd have an excuse, but he's not and he doesn't. He thinks fast, trying to formulate something. "I- uhm, Tony, he, uh," he swallows, gives up. "Don't tell anyone?"

"Oh," Bruce says, eyes widening. "Sure."

He looks at the eggo waffles that Steve had stupidly and instinctively tried to hide behind a plant. "Are you in a hurry? Because I was planning to can cook actual food if you don't mind waiting."

"Oh." He looks at the kitchen, and at Bruce, and at the pathetic waffles, and nods. "Yeah. That would be great."

Steve sits gingerly on one of the bar stools, watching as Bruce pulls things out of the refrigerator, convincing himself that this isn't as bad as he thinks it is. Bruce doesn't even seem all that surprised.

He wonders if that's because it's obvious, that he's... whatever Tony called it. Not normal.

"Thank you," he says. "For being nice about this. I don't really deserve it, after how I treated you on the helicarrier."

Bruce shrugs. "I can't blame you for not wanting us to wind up in the ocean," he says, a small smirk forming on his lips. "And if that sounds familiar it's because verbatim that's what I told you last time."

Steve smiles. "Well, that was a long time ago."

Bruce nods, running the vegetables under the tap. "Kinda thought we'd be seeing more of each other, back then."

"Guess we all did."

There's an uncomfortable silence, just long enough for Steve to start thinking he needs to fill it, when Bruce looks up, hesitant.

"You don't seem like the one-night-stand type," he says, not making eye contact. "If you'll pardon my asking."

"We didn't..." Steve starts, and then he turns a little red too because that's a lie. "I think the only way it'd qualify as a one night stand is if today were January 14th."

"Oh," Bruce says, half of his mouth curling into a little smile. "So you're the mystery boyfriend."

Steve nods.

"Was beginning to think he was making you up," he says.

He changes the topic as they eat, asks about Bruce's life. The food is good, the conversation is okay, and by the end he's beginning to feel like maybe this was a good encounter.

"So," Bruce says. "I guess Tony's told you all about his little plan to get the Avengers back together?"

Steve looks up. That's the first he's heard of the Avengers in a long time. "No."

"Oh." Bruce shrugs. "Guess I was more excited by the idea than he was."

Steve nods. That could be it.

"Who else knows? I mean, that you're dating Tony."

Steve swallows. "Pepper, and Peggy. She's someone I knew from before."

"That's it?"

"Yeah."

"Wow." Bruce blinks. "And Tony's okay with it?"

"With what?"

"The secrecy."

Steve shrugs. "No."

Bruce smiles.

"I'll get the dishes," Steve says. He's not intending that as a sign that they should leave, not exactly. Being around someone is still better than being alone.

"Oh," Bruce says. "Yeah. I should probably let you get back to..."

He trails off, clearly unsure what Steve does with his day.

"And um, actually, while I have you here, could I ask you something?"

Steve nods.

"Listen, don't tell Tony I asked this, but, uh," he rubs the back of his neck and smiles in that self conscious way, "I've been thinking, that it might help me to understand what's going on with my body if I knew a little more about what was going on with yours. What I'm saying is, I'd like to run some tests on you, if you were absolutely, completely okay with it."

He has the body language of a kid doing something he's not supposed to, and for a second Steve hesitates. But there's nothing to suggest that Bruce isn't telling the truth.

"Yeah, of course," he says. "It's not a big deal, honest."

"Great, that would be... great." He smiles, lopsided. "But uh, maybe don't tell Tony anyway. I know he's cussed Fury out for basically the same thing."

He says that so matter-of-factly that Steve feels the need to hide his surprise.

"Well," he says, shrugging. "You know how he is. He doesn't like SHIELD. I don't know why."

"Oh, well, I do," Bruce says, with a grin. "You should consider yourself lucky to have escaped his lectures about SHIELD and how little he trusts them."

"But he trusts you," Steve says. "Shouldn't be an issue."

Bruce nods.

"Well, Dr. Banner," Steve says, offering his hand to shake. "I'd be honored to help you. One one condition."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"Teach me how to cook."

He meets Tony in the foyer when he gets home, catches him taking his jacket off and hanging it on a statue. "I'm done with people," he announces, pulling Steve against him for a kiss. "Let's you and I just buy a private island and disappear, hmm?"

Steve rolls his eyes and retrieves the jacket from the statue, folding it over his arm. He's fairly certain it doesn't go there.

"Do you want to eat? Or should we just move on to…" Tony pauses, raises his eyebrows suggestively, "other things?"

"I made dinner."

"Oh. Great," Tony says. "Where from?"

"I cooked it."

Tony fixes him with a dubious look. "You don't cook."

"Ran into Bruce in the kitchen. Had him teach me. He assures me it'll be edible."

"Oh," Tony says, and then he registers that and a smile spreads across his face. "Oh. Did you tell him? That we're, you know, dating?"

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Are we? Is that what we're doing?"

"Okay, smartass. Dinner?"

He's especially nice throughout the meal, happy and complementary, and just a little bit seductive, the way he often is, and Steve's never sure if he's doing it on purpose or if that's just how he acts.

Of course, this time around there's a lot of reason to think that he's doing it on purpose.

He thinks about bringing up what he talked to Bruce about, and thinks better of it. So they just chat about Tony's day, and discuss whether Steve can really say he's a better cook than Tony when Bruce probably did most of the work.

That last part isn't a discussion so much as something that Tony posits partway through the meal, as though this has been a matter of great internal debate for him.

They don't talk about what they're planning to do after dinner, and despite or maybe because of this, Steve starts getting nervous somewhere around the end of the meal. It's not like they haven't had sex plenty of times. But still, this is different.

Tony even seems to notice.

"You don't have to fuck me if you don't want to," he says, taking a last sip of his wine, wrinkling his nose like the very thought of abstaining is distasteful.

Steve smiles. It's kind of sweet, that Tony cares enough about his feelings to pretend he's considering them. "Try that again with more conviction."

Tony smirks.

"I do want to," Steve says. "Really."

"Try that with a little more conviction," Tony says, reaching across the table to grasp his hand.

After dinner Tony excuses himself to shower, giving Steve the remote and promising, with a little seductive smirk, that it'll be worth the wait.

Steve sits there watching the news but really just running through the checklist of what he's expected to do. There's not too much. Go slow, lots of lube. He can do that.

He shouldn't do it, but he's going to. Because Tony deserves someone whose personal hang ups won't get in the way of a relationship. And Steve's not that person but he'll pretend to be him for as long as he possibly can.

Tony clears his throat.

Steve turns, slowly, like it's a chore. And he sees Tony leaning against the wall, damp hair falling across his forehead, towel hanging precariously off his hips, eyes soft and lips parted.

"Just a second," Steve says, trying and failing to tear his eyes away from Tony's body. "There's a good commercial on."

Tony smirks. "Get over here."

Steve smiles, slow and genuine, stands up and stretches, pulls his shirt over his head, letting his arms linger at the top. Tony's taught him a thing or two. He almost doesn't feel ridiculous.

He takes his belt off as he closes the distance between them, undoes the button, and is about to pull his pants down when there are hands on top of his.

"Uh-uh," Tony says, shaking his head. "That's my job."

He grabs the khakis on either side of the zipper, pulling Steve against him by the hips, hard. And then he slowly, slowly works them down his hips, his eyes locked on Steve's, their lips just inches apart.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"You gonna kiss me?"

Steve smiles. "Maybe I like this better."

"I have to do everything around here," Tony says, trying so hard to frown through his smile.

So Steve kisses him on the neck instead, drags his teeth along Tony's clavicle and then makes his way up, to the corner of his jaw, and Tony squirms like he doesn't like it but Steve knows better.

"God, you drive me crazy," Tony whispers, breath coming heavy. "I couldn't stop thinking about you all day. Spent hours in that boardroom with a massive erection, not even trying to hide it, just thinking about how good you're gonna feel inside me."

Steve blushes, a soft moan escaping unbidden from his throat. He backs Tony against the wall, helps the towel fall off of his hips. And Tony twists around, grinds his ass against Steve's crotch, arching his back as Steve's lips press against his neck.

"Unh, fuck, baby," Tony says. "Fuck me with that big fucking cock."

Tony reaches for Steve's hands and pulls them down to his hips, rubbing himself against Steve's cock.

Steve swallows. They haven't even kissed yet. "Tony," he says, trying to control his breathing, "Uh, can we, uh, slow down?"

Tony twists back to face him, a little smirk on his lips. He looks up at Steve through his lashes and cups Steve's cheek with one hand. "Just foreplay, babe," he says, his breath coming heavy. "Come on, we can go 'slow down' in the room."

Steve follows him, catching his breath, trying not to berate himself for overreacting. He's not even naked yet, of course Tony wasn't expecting him to penetrate him right there.

"So," Tony says, turning, smirking. "Orgasms are good for nerves. Do you want me on my knees, or would you rather lay down?"

Steve hesitates. "Uh, on your knees," he says, thrown by the sudden turn of events but still letting Tony tug his boxers down. He really can't complain about Tony's tongue on his balls and Tony's lips on his shaft and Tony's mouth warm and wet around him.

Tony obviously doesn't experience the same guilt Steve does with every orgasm. He's obviously expecting this to help. And Steve doesn't remember that it's just going to make things worse until it's too late.

But he can't let Tony down so he fights it, faking a smile as he stands up to kiss him. And Tony drags him onto the bed, sits cross legged, facing him.

"You read what I left you?"

"Yeah," Steve says, thinking about how clinical it had seemed, wondering if this is really something he should be doing.

"You watch anything I left you?"

"No."

Tony smirks. "Didn't think so."

Steve swallows.

Tony kisses him, gently, his fingers on Steve's jaw. And then harder, leaning into it, helping Steve's hands explore his body. And somewhere along the way, with Tony's lips against his and Tony's hands in his hair, it starts feeling okay again.

"I'm ready," he says, Tony's hand on his erection.

Tony smirks. "I can tell."

Steve swallows.

"Go slow, lots of lube. If you can't get three fingers in you're not putting your cock in. Okay?"

Steve swallows again, nods, moves his hands along Tony's hips and manages to form the syllables. "Okay."

"Okay," Tony says, smiling almost shyly, in this pure, adorable way that Steve's never seen before. It lasts for a couple of seconds and then, suddenly, it's gone. "Or, you know, two and a half fingers. You have big hands."

Steve rolls his eyes, cups Tony's face in one hand and kissing him again, soft and slow. Because as ready as he said he was he still wants to stretch this part out a little longer.

And Tony puts up with that for a little bit, but not long. "Fuck, Steve, stop teasing me," he whispers, pulling back. "This is not where I want your tongue to be."

Steve grins and he pushes Tony onto his back, making a conscious decision to be dominant because he knows Tony likes that. He kisses down Tony's torso, spreads his legs and sucks the head of Tony's cock into his mouth.

"Ungh, damn it, Steve," Tony moans, hips rocking up to Steve's mouth. "That's not what I was talking about."

Steve looks up at him in mock innocence.

"God, you're the worst," Tony says, grinning. "You know I'm being vague for your sake, right? I don't mind telling you to stick your hot little tongue in my ass."

Steve blushes, hard.

"I'll make it easier on you," Tony says, rolling over, getting on his knees, arching his back, moaning in anticipation.

Steve slides his hands along Tony's hips, lowers his mouth to kiss him on one cheek. He loves the way Tony smells. He's not sure if he's supposed to, if that's normal, but he loves it anyway. Even fresh out of the shower, with the rest of his skin soap-scented, Steve can still smell that same musky familiar scent.

He runs his tongue over Tony's skin, softly, gently, enjoying the way Tony squirms and tells him to just hurry up already. And he presses into him with the tip of his tongue, feels Tony part for him, imagines how it'd feel if it were his cock instead of his tongue, and suddenly keepings things slow doesn't seem like the best idea.

But he holds himself back, determined to do this right. And Tony moans, moving his hips to find a better angle, one hand pressing on the back of Steve's head, alternating pleas of "deeper" and "harder."

The first finger goes in easily, and Steve's breath catches at how well Tony takes it, at how slick and warm he is.

The second one takes a little longer.

The third feels awfully tight.

Steve wouldn't even have tried to quickly if it weren't for Tony's urging; for all that he'd said to go slow, apparently what he'd meant was something more along the lines of "one at a time," because Steve's barely gotten the second finger in before Tony's telling him that he can take more.

And he can, just barely, so Steve thrusts into him with his fingers for a while before giving in to Tony's pleas to finally just fuck him already.

He gets on his knees, rests one hand on the small of Tony's back. He rubs the head of his cock against Tony's ass and his breath catches at what he's about to do. At how much he wants to do it.

"Oh God, Steve," Tony moans, arching his back, spreading his legs even wider. "Stop teasing."

So he pushes in, slowly, feeling some resistance, but every time he decides he's going too fast Tony rocks backward, forcing him further.

It's amazing. It's unbelievably amazing, to be inside of Tony, to be so fully linked to him. And it feels great, better than anything has so far and god, he is not going to last.

He holds his position, gets used to how it feels, and Tony clenches around him, sending little spasms through him. He leans forward so his chest is against Tony's back, reaches across Tony's torso and grabs hold of his shoulder.

"You ready baby?"

Tony moans. "Uhn, god, yes."

Tony moves under him, arching his back and rolling his hips and Steve matches him as much as he can. As much as he's in a dominant position Tony's very much the one in charge, the one dictating the flow of their bodies.

He wraps his other hand around Tony's cock, kisses Tony on the shoulder, on the neck, and then Tony twists so he can kiss him on the lips. He just needs to kiss him, needs to feel as close to him as he possibly can.

It feels like they fit together perfectly. Like Tony's curves were made to fit into the hollows of Steve's body.

"Tony – uh, uhn, Tony, I –"

Tony's not nearly as far gone but there's still a little catch to his voice as he says, "you're gonna come?"

Steve nods, pressing his lips to Tony's neck as the first spasm hits him, pulling him closer, thrusting even deeper, his lips seemingly only capable of forming the word "Tony."

It's the closest he's ever felt to another human being, the closest he can ever imagine feeling.

He keeps going, hoping that he won't go soft if he focuses on how good Tony feels, but he still does. So he pulls out, sits down, tries to catch his breath. Physically, what they just did wasn't exhausting. Emotionally...

Tony turns around, puts a hand on Steve's thigh.

"That was... too soon," he says, and he knows he's stating a fact but he's kind of hoping Tony will correct him anyway, for his ego's sake.

Tony smirks. "I'm kinda really good in bed," he says, a charismatic self-satisfaction apparent in his smile. "You'll get it up again."

He's right, of course. It doesn't even take long, not with Tony's cock in his hand and Tony's lips on his and the memory, all of the good memories playing in his mind.

He's a little more confident this, time, knows what to do, knows how it works, and he's rougher, just a little bit, enters him slowly, still, but without all of the hesitation.

He holds Tony close again, loves to feel him sweaty and warm, gasping as Steve's cock presses into him. And Tony's just as active, hips moving against Steve's, just as tight, just as devastatingly good.

He runs his hands along Tony's torso, looking for purchase, and then one comes to rest against the arc reactor.

Tony stops moving.

His hand closes over Steve's, pulls it away, and he's breathing heavily as he says, "not a great place to put that."

"I'm sorry," Steve says, automatically, backing away, worrying.

"It's fine. It's fine, you didn't know."

"Tony?"

"Steve?"

"You okay?"

Tony slides his hand over Steve's jaw, pulling him in for a kiss. "I'm fine."

He holds Tony against him and kisses him and tries to get back that confidence, but there's too much concern holding him back.

"Is there anything else I shouldn't do?"

Tony looks at him like he can't believe he's asking.

"Tony -"

"No, no, there's just the one thing. Just don't grab the arc reactor and we'll be great. Okay?"

"Okay."

Tony smiles, begrudgingly. "You know, you're the first guy I've met who's more concerned about me than getting off."

Steve smiles, glad Tony realizes that his concern is a good thing.

"But I'm including myself in that group, so how about we get back to fucking? Do you wanna try a new position?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, he just pushes Steve onto his back. And he lowers himself onto Steve's cock, biting his lip as he bottoms out. "Ahh, fuck," he says, but not not in a good way. "I forgot how thick you are."

Steve blushes, embarrassed that it feels good for him when Tony's in pain. "I'm sorry."

Tony rolls his eyes. "No you're not. You're not ever sorry for your cock," he says, leaning forward to kiss him. "Or the very, very naughty things I want you to do with it. Okay?"

He blushes, gasping as Tony begins moving. He likes this position a lot, likes the fact that they can kiss, and that he can run his hands along Tony's back and grab his hips and feel Tony's hands in his hair. He likes that it's slow.

And at the same time he finds himself wanting to move, needing to be the one moving, and he thrusts along with Tony's gyrations until Tony sits up.

"You can fuck me like this," he says, taking Steve's hands and putting them on his hips. "Okay?"

Steve nods, swallowing, and shifts around trying to find the right position. Tony looks absolutely beautiful like this, a little bit out of breath with his hair mussed, but then he looks beautiful all of the time. And Steve starts to move, slowly, watches as Tony reacts, biting his lip and then closing his eyes as he lets his mouth fall open, and decides that maybe he likes this position best.

"Harder," Tony says, running his hands along Steve's obliques.

Steve does his best to adjust, trying to figure out this strange new movement, hands still glued to Tony's hips, loving the way they feel there.

"Faster."

He figures it out, fucks into Tony so fast that he's almost afraid that he's hurting him, harsh and sharp, hips rising, gasping as Tony's fingers brush against his nipples.

"Come on," Tony pants. "Like you mean it."

It's like something snaps in him, like he loses all of the self control he's been so accustomed to, and he lets go of all of his concern, hips snapping upward with reckless abandon, and Tony gasps like air is a precious commodity and Steve should be concerned with that but he's not, because Tony asked for it.

Tony's moans come in a string of lowering and rising pitches, like it's one steady moan being modulated by the sharp thrust of Steve's cock inside of him. And if his face is any indication he's as surprised by his orgasm as Steve is, as though he'd completely forgotten that his hand's been wrapped around his cock. His semen shoots across his stomach and his chest, but Steve's more interested in his face, in the blissful expression that he doesn't get to see when he's sucking him off.

He's absolutely beautiful.

It doesn't take him long to finish, not with the visuals and Tony's heavy breathing and the fact that he can finally let go and care about his own orgasm. He finishes with Tony's hands on his chest and Tony's eyes on his and even though he's already come twice it's just as good as the other times, maybe even better.

He's expecting Tony to get up, or at least off, but he just lays down against Steve's chest, sighing contentedly. And he kisses him, lazy, like the effort's been fucked out of him. "God," he breathes. "That was your first time. That was your first time, right?"

Steve smiles. "Yes."

"Jesus Christ," Tony says, rolling onto his back. "I'm the luckiest man in the world."

Steve lies there, holding Tony's hand, listening to Tony breathe, his head spinning, no concept of time. And finally he sighs, and sits up. "We should get cleaned up."

Tony grumbles something incomprehensible, either half asleep or faking.

So Steve gets up, washes off in the shower and comes back with a damp washcloth.

Tony squirms a little at the touch, makes some vague, dissenting noise, and Steve smiles down at him and feels this protective swell of fondness in his chest, this intense desire to watch over him and make him happy.

"I love you," he says, because there's no way he could keep the words inside, even if he wanted to. And he cuddles up next to him, and falls asleep.