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It was too dark to see, but Steve could feel everything. Hands everywhere. Hot breath on his neck. An endless line of smooth skin pressed against him, a firm, warm thigh between his that gave him something to grind his bare erection up against.
Everything was kind of hazy; he couldn’t remember how he got here, or who he was with, but it didn’t really matter. Pleasure was coiling up through his body. Fingers curled through his hair and wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling him towards the source of the breath.
Then suddenly the other body was gone and he was blinking into the light of a SHIELD conference room. The Avengers lounged around the table, waiting for a meeting to start.
“- cause Cap can’t resist. No matter how late we are he’s all, ‘but the fans.’ People handing him roses and petting his biceps and whatnot. It’s a disgusting display. Also, totally unrelated, but why does no one want to pet me?” Clint’s voice was petulant, but he smiled teasingly at Steve.
Steve’s brain wheeled around desperately trying to catch the thread of the conversation. He’d never had a daydream intrusive enough that it interrupted real life so completely, and he was more than a little disoriented. His cheeks heated as he thought about the content of the daydream - no, the fantasy.
He ran a hand over his face, willing it to cool, and hoped no one had noticed. He slapped himself mentally, pushing the erotic daydream from his mind and finding focus.
“What was your haul this time, Cap?” Nat asked, smirking.
Fans, roses, petting - they were talking about the packed rope lines that always surrounded any Avengers-attended event. Nat must be asking about last night’s charity gala. He and Tony had hit up the group of screaming fans outside the ballroom, signing posters and taking pictures. Making people’s day was Steve’s second favourite part of being a superhero - especially the little kids.
This particular event had mostly been enthusiastic, young women, shoving gifts and things to be signed at him.
He cleared his throat. “Um, a Yankees baseball hat - which I will be burning later - a couple cards and drawings, a cool metal bookmark, some flowers, and t-shirt that says ‘Keep Calm and Soldier On’ with a picture of the shield. I tried to sign it, but she really seemed to want me to have it. I’m not sure I get it, but I like it.”
Nat laughed. “You two are incorrigible.”
Tony raised an eyebrow at Steve. “Presents and t-shirts? All I got was a weird rash.”
“Yeah, well you’re supposed to shake their hand, Tony, not bring them home and shake them all night long.” Clint rolled his eyes.
Tony winked. “Where’s the fun in that?”
In actuality, Steve knew Tony hadn’t taken anyone else home that night. The two of them had schmoozed it up at the gala for a few hours. Just as it started to get tiresome, Tony had appeared at his side and whispered in his ear, “these shoes hurt, let’s blow this popsicle stand.”
They’d snuck out the back door, Tony filling his pockets with appetizers as they passed unattended trays in the kitchen, and snacked in the limo on the way home. Once free they changed into sweatpants and played fighting games on Tony’s consoles until the wee hours of the morning.
The gang continued chatting about the Avengers fans, and by the time Fury filed in with a contingent of agents, Steve was feeling himself again. The fantasy faded away and it wasn’t long before Steve had forgotten it completely.
The next night they all gathered around one of the giant TVs in the tower to ignore a movie and throw popcorn at each other. Tonight’s background noise was some romance Bruce had chosen, but everyone’s focus was on Clint and Thor’s handstand-off. Clint had the benefit of balance and practice, while Thor couldn’t be beat for pure strength.
Bets were placed, and the cheating began. Nat seemed to have a good chance at dislodging Thor with the promise of a plate of Pop Tarts, but he held strong.
Steve was feeling mellow and lethargic that evening, curled up in the corner of one of the couches, watching the other’s antics with lazy affection. Clint was just starting to wobble when Steve was distracted by a hand curling around his side. His eyes drifted shut and the rest of the room fell away.
The hand slipped across his stomach, fingertips gliding over his bare skin. A pair of warm lips pressed against the back of his neck, whispering words he couldn’t hear. A second hand curled around him from the other side and his whole back was warmed by the press of a body.
The delicious skin-to-skin contact and teasing hands worked Steve up quickly and he was hard before the hands dipped any lower. The other person shifted and Steve could feel an erection pressed up against his ass, hot and eager.
Steve arched back a little, wanting more contact, silently begging the hands to find more skin to pet. One danced up to splay across his bare chest, holding their bodies firmly together. The other wrapped around his cock, squeezing the base before sliding up to take him in hand.
Steve gasped and bucked his hips forward into the fist. He couldn’t see the hand, but he could feel every finger wrapped around him intensely. The sensation was a thousand times stronger than he’d ever felt before, and he dropped his head backwards onto the shoulder behind him. A hot tongue slid up his neck from shoulder to ear, then set to licking around his earlobe.
The tension built in his core as the hand worked him relentlessly. He couldn’t stop his hips from making little aborted thrusts into the hot, tight clench of those amazing fingers. He tried to speak, to tell the other person how close he was, how good it felt, how he wanted more, but his tongue was too heavy to move. Those perfect lips pressed against his ear again, huffed a gasping breath against the sensitive skin that he felt all the way to his core. He was sure the other man would speak any second now.
And then his eyes shot open.
Clint and Thor were laughing, collapsed in a heap on the floor. Natasha and Tony were arguing over something and Bruce was giving Steve a weird look. He swallowed hard and took a steadying breath. He was desperately hard in his jeans, but luckily the angle of his body blocked any view of the bulge from the others.
“Steve?” Bruce asked, sounding like he was repeating himself.
Steve swallowed again. “Sorry, I must have dozed off a little. What were you saying?”
Bruce gave him a careful look. “I was just wondering which you’d bet on. But if you’re that tired, maybe you should go to bed.”
“Uh yeah.” Steve shifted, willing his erection to subside enough to easily hide.
“You sure you’re okay? You’ve seemed a bit spacey today.”
“Yeah I’m fine,” Steve tried to sound reassuring. “Tony and I just stayed up too late the other night playing video games."
Bruce nodded and gave him a sympathetic look.
Steve fled the room as soon as he was able, marching up to his room, then pacing back and forth across the carpet. What was wrong with him? That was two weird daydreams in as many days, and he’d never fantasized like that before. Sure, he’d sometimes indulge in a little imagination before falling asleep, or during an especially nice shower, but this was full-on dissociation in the middle of conversations. Not hearing people talking, or even calling his name.
It was scary, but he didn’t know how to express his concern to someone without risking spontaneous human combustion on his part. If he told anyone, there was no doubt their first question would be, “What are you daydreaming about?” and a faceless, nameless, naked man expertly jacking him off was not something he wanted to describe.
After pacing uselessly for an hour, he finally gave up and left the tower, hoping fresh air would clear his head.
The wind felt amazing in his hair as Steve sped away from the tower on his bike, darting between late-night cabs. The air was fresh and cool (or as fresh at it ever got in Manhattan) and without really thinking, Steve found himself zipping down the tunnel, heading for his old stomping ground.
He started to feel like himself again; the smooth speed of the bike as it dipped into the curves was home to him. He took the shortcuts and backstreets only a native would know, smiling up at the dark sky - a few stars peeked out despite the bright lights of the city.
Steve’s gaze lowered as his hands drifted down the warm, smooth skin that filled his lap. He ran eager palms along the thighs that bracketed his own, enjoying the pleased hum it elicited from the other man.
The roll of hips against his own was lazy, the man’s attention fully absorbed with biting marks into Steve’s shoulder. Steve tipped his chin back, welcoming the nibbles and licks. The man bit hard, sending a jolt of electric pleasure down Steve’s spine. He hardened quickly and what was once casually exploring hands and mouths suddenly turned desperate and needy.
They ground together, rutting against one another, feeling the delicious slide of their cocks side-by-side.
Steve leaned back until he was flat and the man wriggled down his body, tracing his nipples, ribs, and abs with his tongue as he went.
A flat, hot tongue glided up Steve’s cock from base to tip and his hips jerked forward. The sensation was incredible. The man slid his whole mouth around the head of his cock and sucked down. The wet heat engulfed him slowly and Steve felt the tension in his centre coiling tighter and tighter.
He couldn’t help a hand drifting down to explore. His fingers threaded through a mess of brown hair and he looked down, wanting to watch that glorious mouth work him. The other man leaned back into his grip, chin coming up as he slid his mouth off Steve’s cock to smile up at him. Familiar brown eyes met his, a smile he recognized.
Tony.
Steve’s left side ignited with pain as he slid along the asphalt. His bike skidded to the side, sending up sparks as the metal scraped on the ground. Steve felt his shirt tear and his skin split, the friction of the hard ground shredding his whole side. He finally came to a stop, slammed against the curb. The bike made a sickening crack against a pole and stopped as well.
After a moment, Steve staggered to his feet, surveying the damage. He had gone out wearing nothing but a t-shirt and jeans, no leather, no helmet. His entire left side was torn up, blood welling up between the shredded fabric of his clothes. His head pounded. Anyone less than a super-soldier would be dealing with broken bones, concussion, scars. As it was, Steve was in pain and bleeding, but within a few hours he would recover from the worst of it.
He sat down hard in the grass, leaving the bike where it was for a moment, to take a few steadying breaths. He was on a quiet side road, deep in the heart of his old Brooklyn neighbourhood, and there weren’t many cars or people around to worry about his crash. He watched a few of the cuts on his leg drip blood onto the concrete curb.
Tony. The man in the fantasies was Tony. He knew now, without a doubt, that they had all been him. The firm thigh at the meeting, the secret hands at movie night, the hot mouth just now. They were all Tony’s.
It didn’t make sense. He and Tony had never looked at each other that way. Or at least not seriously. Tony flirted like he breathed, and Steve would be the first to admit that he would let his eyes linger a little longer than necessary when Tony stripped his shirt off after a good workout. But Steve was an artist, he had an appreciation for beautiful people and no one could argue that Tony wasn’t beautiful.
But lust? Desire? Was it really that strong? He thought about the way his hand had curled in imaginary Tony’s hair, the smile he got in return. Affection?
A light in a house down the street turned on and a face appeared in the window. He’d better get going before the whole street called Us Weekly with a scoop about Cap wrecking his bike in Brooklyn.
He limped along the curb to his bike, giving it a cursory once over before climbing on and turning the key. It started easily - thankfully - and despite the protest from his abused muscles, Steve pushed away hard and bolted back towards Manhattan.
When he returned to the Tower, Steve dumped his damaged bike in a dark corner of the garage and scurried upstairs. The thought of one of his teammates catching him like this - dirty, bloodied, and still half-hard - was mortifying.
Luckily, all was dark and quiet and he made it to his room without incident. He ripped off his destroyed clothes and collapsed on his bed. He immediately took himself in hand. Maybe he was just pent up and all this fantasizing could be resolved by finding some relief. He stroked himself quickly, still so turned on by his imagination’s erotic torture that it didn’t take long to wind himself up to desperate.
Tony’s teeth scraped gently across his nipple and he let his hand fall away in favour of the other man’s ministrations. Tony’s hand wrapped around his wrist, pinning it up above his head, that beautiful smile still painted across his face. Tony ground down hard and Steve leapt up out of bed, panting.
He grabbed a new pair of pants and barely managed to pull them on without falling to his knees. He staggered out his room, terrified now. His heart was pounding and he couldn’t draw a full breath. Echoes of Tony still pressed up against his chest, wrapped around his wrist.
He needed help and embarrassment was no longer a concern.
He made it halfway down the hall before Tony’s hand wrapped around his dick and pulled him back, flush against a strong chest. Steve shook his head hard and ripped his eyes open.
“Steve?” He tried to focus on the sound. Tony stood in front of him, hair askew, confusion creasing his brow. Fully-clothed, no indulgent smile - that was the real Tony.
“Help,” Steve managed to gasp out, reaching for Tony’s arm, but missing and falling to the ground.
Tony wrapped around him from behind, strong hands gliding down to his hips. He tipped his head down to see Tony at his feet, licking a long stripe up his thighs. Hands covered him everywhere. Tony’s mouth was hot and wet all over his body. He felt Tony inside him, wrapped around his cock, sliding teeth along his neck, sucking dark bruises onto his chest.
He thrust forward, moaning and Tony straddled him, sliding down on his cock with a gasp. He gripped those hips like a lifeline and pressed up into the heat. Fingers teased along his ass, sliding into him easily and pressing unforgivingly against the spot that sent shivers up his spine and electricity through his core.
His mouth fell open. His heart was pounding so hard he couldn’t breathe. Tony was everywhere. Around and inside and above and below him, layering over and over. With every new sensation, his heart worked faster. Time and time again he felt like he was getting close to relief, but it would ease off just enough to send him spiraling again.
He tried to open his eyes, but all he could see was Tony’s smile, hands, hips, thighs, cock. His brown eyes. He sucked in desperate oxygen, bucking forward into a thousand kinds of slick, smooth heat. Panic swirling inescapably with pleasure, desire and need.
And then in the next breath, all the Tonys coalesced into one perfect body, writhing underneath him. The painfully coiled tension, twisted impossibly tight, finally snapped and Steve gasped into Tony’s neck, eyes squeezed closed, as the release ripped through him.
His eyes shot open, one last gasp slipping out of his mouth. He was tucked into his own bed, alone, fully clothed still. He was soaked with sweat, heart still racing. The room was dim and quiet.
He looked around and saw Tony - the real Tony - curled up in a chair next to the bed. He had another chair tucked up against it and his socked feet rested on it, knees bent up towards his chest. His hair was wild and the ever-present circles under his eyes were darker and deeper than usual.
At Steve’s movement, his gaze darted from the phone in his hands to Steve’s face. “Steve?”
“Ugh,” was all Steve could manage, but Tony smiled, relief rippling through his body language, relaxing his shoulders and breathing.
“That was fast, I only just got the text from Clint.”
“What - ?” Steve tried for a longer sentence but Tony started babbling on before he could find word number 2.
“You were cursed. It was the ‘bookmark’ that girl gave you at the gala. Turns out it wasn’t a bookmark at all - it was a hairpin. There was this witch, or sorceress, or hooker - I don’t know, I tune out every other word when Doctor Strange talks. Anyway, she lived in the early 1900s and she was a serial dater, or something, who got deeply, deeply jealous.
“She made this hatpin that she always wore and when she got the hots for a guy, but he fell for someone else, she would prick him with the pin. As soon as it touched his skin, he was cursed. He’d fantasize endlessly about the object of his affection until it became so intense and overwhelming, he’d die of a heart attack.
“It’s a good thing we found it. Dr. S instantly knew it was a cursed artifact, but then how to find out what? Clint thought it was the t-shirt, but I stole that and have been wearing it since yesterday with no ill-effects, so it had to be the bookmark. And to be fair, it had an artifact-y look about it. Bruce said if you weren’t a super-soldier you would have died hours ago. Your heart was beating so hard you looked like a Loony Tunes character in love.”
Steve believed it - the pain in his chest was beginning to recede and leave space for him to draw in fuller, calming breaths. When his voice felt like it had recovered he asked, “How did it end up being handed to me on a rope line?”
Tony waved his phone. “I heard from Natasha about half an hour ago. She’s been tracing it. She found the apartment of the woman and it’s, uhh, interesting.” Tony held up his phone so Steve could see a series of photos. Every wall in the apartment was covered in posters, photographs, and memorabilia - all about Captain America. “She’s a wee bit obsessed with a certain superhero. It looks like she might have bolted, but Nat found a receipt from the shop she bought the hairpin from. I guess she loved you so much she couldn’t stand the idea of you being with someone who wasn’t her. Jealousy makes people crazy.”
Steve pushed himself up into a sitting position, leaning back against the cushions piled up behind him. “Where is everyone?”
Tony shifted in his chair, his eyes darting everywhere but at Steve. “Well, Clint and Thor are with Dr. Strange. He only shut this down a few minutes ago - it clearly takes effect quickly. Natasha just sent me the pictures of Crazy’s apartment, so I assume she’s still on the hunt. Um. Bruce has been checking in regularly, but there wasn’t much he could do for you. Drugs had no effect. It was, um. It was awkward for him.”
Steve felt heat creeping up his neck. He couldn’t imagine what he must have been like if it was too embarrassing for Bruce to stick around.
“Oh, not you.” Tony seemed to read his mind. “It was awkward for him to be around me.”
Steve looked up at that, crinkling his brow in confusion.
“I was - You said my name.” Tony squirmed again. “A lot.”
“Oh.” Steve swallowed hard.
Tony took a slow breath. “So the -” he gestured at Steve. “They were…?”
“Yes.” There was no point in hiding it. Every fantasy had been about Tony.
“Are you - ? Do you…?” Tony trailed off again. Steve thought about it. He hadn’t been ready to admit it to himself, let alone anyone else, but the curse didn’t lie. It was true - he’d been in love with Tony for a while now. “Object of his affection” suddenly seemed like a tame way to describe it. The more he rolled it over in his mind, the sweeter the thought became. It felt good to love Tony. Warm and soft. It might be a little awkward, he supposed, but worth it - to get to feel love again. And Tony would be okay with it. Of all of them, Tony would be okay with it.
“Yes,” he replied firmly. “I do.”
“Oh.” Tony stared at him blankly for a long moment. Steve could practically hear the gears whirring as he processed it. “Why?”
Steve smiled. “You're Tony. How could I not?”
“Oh,” Tony repeated, eyes finally fixing on Steve’s. “Yes,” Tony echoed quietly, and Steve wasn’t sure if he was confirming Steve’s feelings, or if he was giving some sort of affirmative of his own.
But then he was moving forward - slowly and carefully. He hesitated and Steve urged him on with his eyes, with a flick of his tongue against his own lips. And then, blissfully, Tony was there and he could run that tongue along of the seam of his lips instead.
The kiss was tentative and sweet, a stark contrast to the painful urgency of Steve’s endless fantasizing. He was hit with the sudden realization that of all those thousands of imaginary Tonys with their hands and tongues and lips, not one of them had ever kissed him on the mouth.
This kiss was so beautifully real.
When they pulled apart Tony was grinning. He didn’t go far, sitting on the bed so their bodies curved together, with one hand braced on the other side of Steve’s hip. Steve stared at him, stunned. “Yes?” he asked.
Tony’s grin widened. He leaned in for one more quick kiss, then ran his thumb along the edge of Steve’s bottom lip. “You're Steve. How could I not?”