Chapter Text
“Boss?”
Tony looks up from the gauntlet he was working on, running his hand through his sweat-matted hair.
“What’s up, J?”
And then, he falls silent, staring down at the table, his lungs crawling up into his throat.
He clears his throat. “Sorry about that, FRI.”
“It’s all right, boss,” she says, her voice infinitely gentle.
“What’s up?” he asks, roughly, dragging the edge of his screwdriver across his workstation.
“Captain Rogers has arrived.”
Tony stills, drawing an audible breath. “What are you talking about?”
“Captain Rogers is in the common room.”
“That… doesn’t make any sense,” he says, slowly. “Steve’s on a mission, with Sam and Natasha. He wasn’t supposed to… he wasn’t supposed to be back for two months; that’s what he said.”
That’s what he always says.
In reality, Steve hadn’t been home in eight months for longer than two nights.
“Are you sure he’s here?”
He hates how vulnerable, how meek his voice sounds, how confused he is at the idea that his husband might actually come home to him, but history says differently, history has said differently since Sokovia, since his great, big, awful blunder with Ultron, and he understands, he understands what he did and why Steve wanted to stay away and maybe this break is good for them, but he just wishes that Steve might come home once in a while, might come home to him and Peter.
“He is, boss. He matches Captain Rogers’ DNA structure,” FRIDAY reassures. “I checked according to my protocol when he entered the premises.”
“Oh,” Tony says, lamely. “He’s actually here,” he says, in a small voice.
“He is, boss.”
Tony pushes himself away from the workstation and pads over to the elevator. “Common room, FRI.”
“As you wish, boss.”
Tony sighs and shakes his head. “You really need to stop binge-watching the Princess Bride.”
“No can do, boss,” FRIDAY says, cheerfully.
“Sassy, too sassy,” Tony mutters. “It’s like having a toddler all over again.”
When Tony steps out of the elevator, his eyes narrow in on the man peering out of the giant glass window.
“Steve?” he says, cautiously.
Steve turns around, and the first thing that Tony sees is the beard crawling all over his face, dark, almost streaked with dirt, and then, he sees Steve’s smile, a smile like the sun, like Tony is the sun, like Tony is the only thing that brings light and beauty and kindness into his life, and the pain flares up hot, because he can’t remember the last time Steve had looked at him like that, had looked at him like he loved him.
“Hi, baby,” Steve says, so unbearably soft.
And then, he comes for him.
Tony yelps, when big, deft hands surround him in an impossible grip, hard enough to bruise, and lift him into the air, against another impossibly hard body, knocking the air out of his lungs. He’s tucked against Steve’s neck; he can smell smoke and sweat and salt, and Tony sighs, almost like he’s coming whole again, when he wraps his thin arms around the bulk of Steve’s shoulders, touch-starved for affection after this long, after not having Steve with him for this long.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” Steve grunts in his ear, squeezing him against his body, his voice dragging like a chain on gravel.
Tony’s throat flexes, despite the knot there. “I missed you too,” he says, his voice thin and taut.
Steve’s large hand cups his jaw, thumb smoothing over the sharp line of his cheekbone. And then, before Tony even knows what’s happening, he’s lifted off the floor and into Steve’s arms, given enough warning to wrap his legs around Steve’s thickened waist.
Steve grins with golden pride when Tony stares at him in surprise. “Like I said,” he says, biting his lip, as he rubs up against Tony so he can feel the length of his erection nudging against his hip. “I missed you.”
Tony laughs past the strange tightness in his chest. “Let me guess, you want to go to bed?” he says, coyly.
Steve nods, flushed with colour. “It’s all I’ve thought about for months,” he says, almost shyly, as if he thinks he doesn’t have the right, as if Tony and he haven’t been married for years, as if they don’t have a son together.
“Same with me,” Tony replies – all he’d had for company was his hand and a decent vibrator.
“Good,” Steve growls and crowds him against the nearest wall, kissing him hard and deep and messy. He pulls away, briefly, and Tony almost whines at seeing him go. “Where’s Peter?” he asks, breathlessly.
Tony laughs. “He’s at a sleepover with Ned. They’re building the new Lego Death Star thing that came out,” he says and kisses Steve again, nipping at his lower lip.
“I don’t know what that is?” Steve mutters.
“Sure you do. We’ve watched all the movies like half a hundred times. They were Peter’s favourite, you know, when he was in his Princess Leia phase.”
Steve blinks. “Oh, yeah, I remember. I didn’t like it much, did I?” his face quickly dims into something uncertain, helpless that Tony doesn’t like seeing there, would very much like to wipe it away, kiss it away, anything.
“What are you talking about?” he asks, confused, tilting his head.
“I didn’t really like Peter’s Princess Leia phase. I wasn’t…I wasn’t good with him during it. You were though, you were always so good with him. You still are.” Steve shakes his head.
“Hey, hey,” Tony says, gut wrenching, because he’s never been able to stand a world where Steve has that sad, slicing look in his eyes. He touches Steve’s jaw carefully. “What are you talking about, Steve? You’re a great dad.”
Steve swallows, thickly, his throat flexing, and he looks away, still managing to perch Tony on his hips. “I… didn’t understand it,” he admits. “Why he’d want to be Princess Leia and not Han Solo or Luke Skywalker. And when he wanted to go as her for Halloween, fuck,” he breathes out between his teeth, his mouth a thin, taut line. “I really didn’t react well.”
They’d fought about it, as Tony remembers. Steve has insisted letting their son go out as Princess Leia was only asking for trouble, was only asking for him to get beat up by older boys with uncultured opinions relating to gender norms, but Tony had insisted that it wasn’t like they were sending him out there unsupervised and that he should get to dress up as whoever the fuck he wanted to.
“Steve, you were just worried about him-”
“No, I thought he shouldn’t be dressing up as a girl, and you pulled my head out of my ass. You’ve… you’ve always been better at this, the father thing, than I have.”
“Steve, you’re a great father,” Tony insists, voice sharp. “Peter used to spend hours getting piggybacks from you. You let him ride you like a horse. You sat with him and drew every day. Peter loves you.”
Steve shakes his head. “You remember,” he chuckles to himself. “You remember he decided to grow his hair out, so he could do the two buns on the side of his head? But it didn’t grow long enough by the time Halloween came around, so you stuck two stale cinnamon buns over his ears instead.”
Tony laughs. “And then, dogs chased us down that street while we were trick-or-treating. Of course, I remember!”
“Only you would’ve thought about that,” Steve says, with such fondness, unbearably soft. “I love a lot of things about you, but I love you as a father most of all.”
Tony flushes with colour. There are a million witty, off-the-cuff remarks he wants to make, but they’re all cut off by how Steve presses his mouth against Tony’s, hand covering the nape of his neck.
“Sorry,” Steve says, bashfully. “I started with the sad talk. I broke the rule, right?”
Tony blinks and remembers: rule 6, no sad talk during sexy times.
“You did break the rule,” Tony says, clearing his throat. “Which is why you should make it up to me.”
Steve’s eyes grow hot. “Oh? And how do you want me to do that?” he asks, curiously, his thumb dragging over the pulse point in Tony’s throat.
Tony drags his well-manicured nails over the scruff on Steve’s jaw. “This is new,” he comments, momentarily distracting him.
Steve’s eyes widen and rubs his own hand over his beard (even after nineteen years, he’s still fucking amazed at how easily Steve holds him up with his hips alone). “Oh, uh, you’ve never seen this before? I’ve, uh, never had a beard before.”
Tony shrugs, offering him a half-smile. “Not that I’ve seen,” he says, sincerely. “But, uh, you haven’t actually been here long enough for me to notice.”
He’s not being a catty bitch; he’s most certainly not being one at all.
Steve’s face falls, nonetheless. “I haven’t, have I?” he muses, sadly. “Do you, uh, do you like the beard?” he asks, curiously, almost self-consciously.
“I think it’s majorly hot,” Tony declares, kissing the sadness out of his eyes.
“So, uh, you were saying something about me making it up to you?” Steve says, smoothly, fluttering his eyelashes at him.
Tony’s teeth bite sharply into the shell of Steve’s ear, and he groans against Tony’s throat, mouthing at the vein there.
“Yeah, I was,” he murmurs.
“Do you have any special requests?”
Tony grins, delighted. “Are you offering special requests?”
Steve kisses him, gentle and lingering. “I am offering whatever you want, everything you want.”
Tony’s pulse throbs painfully and he all-but bares his throat at the sound of Steve’s low, rushed voice, almost a growl.
“I have a couple of ideas,” he says, slowly.
“Oh, you wanna share with the rest of the class?” Steve teases, waggling his eyebrows.
Tony sighs. “Wow, that’s something to write down for later,” he muses. “And I remember when you were a shy virgin, you blushed at everything I said that remotely involved sex.”
As if a Pavlovian response, Steve flushes with colour, blotchy pink from collar of his filthy, dirt-streaked Captain America uniform to the hairline of his golden hair.
Tony leans in, nudging his nose against his. “Do you remember, the first time we had sex?” he asks, casting his voice down low. He arches his hips against Steve’s, feels his hard cock rub against the slope of his hip. “Do you remember when you got my clothes off and got my legs spread, and I started jerking off for you? Do you remember when I got my fingers inside myself, like a desperate bitch in heat? I wanted to ride your cock so bad. Before that night, do you have any idea how many fucking times I got myself off to the thought of you? My vibrator broke so many times that I had to ditch the store-bought crap and make my own.”
“You are evil,” Steve rasps, the look in his eyes obscene and relentless. “You’re sure the kid isn’t here?”
“He won’t be back until tomorrow evening, so you’re at liberty to do exactly what I want you to do with me.”
“And what do you want me to do to you?” Steve demands.
“I want you to carry me up to our bedroom, lay me out on the bed, take off all my clothes.” Tony’s eyes open and flutter shut. “I want you to give me orders, in your fucking hot Captain America voice, like I’m some villain you’ve just apprehended. I want you to watch me, talk to me, as I touch myself, stuff myself full of my fingers, desperately wanting you. I want you to fist your cock, just out of your clothes, as I get myself off, but I’m not allowed to come, not until you’re inside me, not until your cock’s filling me up, just the way I like. I want you to cover me in your come, all over my face.”
“Tony,” the word comes out of Steve as a ragged, rough groan.
“I want you to own me, to use me,” he growls, nipping at his lower lip. “I want you to take your cock like I’m some pretty little whore who can’t breathe without it, because I can’t, Steve, I can’t breathe without it. I need your cock, Steve. I’ve missed it, I’ve missed you, please, Steve.”
Steve groans and drags him upstairs, while Tony cackles in his ear.
Tony yelps as he’s thrown on their bed.
Steve stares down at him, eyes dark like a storm above a sea.
“What?” Tony says, almost self-consciously.
He hates that he feels self-conscious, shy, so aware of himself when Steve is around, but in his defence, Steve hasn’t looked at him like that in a very long time. The few and far in-between times that Steve had come home, they’d fucked like the world was ending around them, hard and fast and rough and Tony always left with livid marks on his throat, his arms, his hips, his thighs, which he’d nursed like little pets when Steve had left the next morning. Sometimes, all Steve had time for was to bend him over the table and fuck into him like that, desperately, like he was dying, and Tony loved a good, hard fuck like anyone else, but sometimes, he wanted to take it slow and steady and drown in Steve the way he used to (before Ultron, before HYDRA, his mind unhelpfully adds).
Steve doesn’t have much time anymore.
“You’re the most beautiful thing in my world, do you know that?” Steve’s voice is a low rumble, like a lion waking from slumber.
Tony’s throat flexes. “What about Peter?” he reminds him, teasingly.
“Peter is everything to me,” Steve agrees (and that fills Tony with a strange rush, because Tony remembers his father and he’s terribly glad that Peter has fathers that love him). “But so are you. I don’t tell you that enough, do I?”
Tony frowns at the change in tone, much like Steve’s voice had changed when they were talking about Peter’s Princess Leia phase. “What are you talking about?”
“I don’t tell you how much you mean to me, how much I love you, how you’re everything and more to me,” Steve replies, thickly, like he’s about to cry.
“Hey, hey,” Tony soothes, getting up on his knees and crawling forwards, so he can curl a hand around Steve’s nape and bring him in. “What are you talking about, Steve? I know how you feel about me. I know you love me. I’ve never not thought that.”
It should hurt him, how easy it is to lie to his husband.
Steve shakes his head, leaning into Tony’s touch like it grounds him to reality. When he finally meets his eyes, they’re overbright. “I don’t ever want you to think that you’re not important to me, that I don’t love you, that I wouldn’t burn the world to the ground to save you, to save Peter. You two, you’re everything to me. You know that, right?”
“Of course, I do, Steve,” Tony lies again. “Come on, come on, no more sad talk. I love you, and you love me, and that’s all there is to it, okay?”
Steve nods, a jerky little movement of his head that lets Tony press his mouth against the dark bruises under his eyes.
“It’s okay, Steve. I’m here, you’re here. We’re together now,” he murmurs and slips his shirt off first, baring his chest, the angry red webbing all over his breastbone that Steve used to kiss and tongue until Tony was writhing on the sheets with emotion.
Steve groans, a punched-out, hurt little noise, that makes Tony hard almost immediately.
“It’s okay, Steve. Remember what we’re gonna do here? You still okay with that?” he asks, his voice honey-sweet.
Steve nods, almost desperately.
“Good,” Tony says, satisfied.
He lies down on the bed and strips himself out of his clothes, leaving him naked on cool sheets that no long smell like Steve, like apple and cinnamon and sweat, because he’d been gone for so long, but Tony could get that back tonight, he could get Steve’s scent and the feel of his arms around him, holding him close, hard enough to bruise, and maybe, just maybe, Tony might be able to sleep easy tonight.
Steve’s eyes drag down the picture that Tony’s naked body makes on their sheets, the long, lean lines of brown skin, all wiry, sinewy muscle and leonine grace.
“Do you like what you see?” he demurs.
Steve swallows, thickly, the look in his eyes sharp and singular. “You have no fucking idea,” he rasps, like a dragging chain on gravel.
Tony starts with his neck, slants the width of his palm across his wild, skittering pulse and drags it down his collarbone, his breastbone, over the angry red webbing that remains where his arc reactor used to be. He tugs at a nipple until it’s hard and straining and gasps into the sensation, hips lifting off the sheets. He doesn’t linger there long, going straight for his half-hard cock, palming it until it’s fully hard.
“Do you like this?” he gasps.
“Keep going,” Steve orders, his voice rough, rumbling to life in his chest.
Tony whines a little at the Captain America voice and draws it out until he’s lingering on the edge, just as he likes.
“Lube, get the lube.”
Tony grapples for the bedside table, finds the little bottle of slick for nights alone, and wets his hand, corkscrewing his grip upward.
“Fuck, you look so good like that.”
“Do I?” Tony pants, pressing at the skin right behind his balls.
“Yeah, honey, you look needy and desperate, like you can’t live without it,” Steve says, bluntly, and the words are like fire licking up his insides. “Like all you want in this world is me fucking you, filling you up, just the way you like.”
Tony nods into the sheets, letting out a pathetic whine, his fingers sliding between his legs, to press inside him.
“Good boy,” Steve says, satisfied. “I made you remember how empty you are, didn’t I?”
Tony moans.
“That’s my boy. If I didn’t hate it so much, I’d wanna watch you take that fake, plastic cock you hide in the drawer inside you instead of my own,” Steve muses. “But no, no, you’re gonna come on my cock or nothing at all, aren’t you?”
Tony nods, gasping for breath, stretching him painfully slowly.
“You’ve been dreaming about it, haven’t you?” Steve cajoles. “Hoping I’d show up, see you aching for it, bend you over and fuck you stupid, fuck the slut right out of you.”
Tony sobs at the expletive, feeling a jolt in his belly. “I have, I have,” he insists.
“You’ve been dreaming, or you’ve been hoping?”
“Both, both,” Tony admits.
Steve clucks his tongue. “What am I gonna do with you, baby? Should I be okay with my husband being a slut?”
“You should punish me,” Tony gasps, arching his hips.
“Spread your legs, show me that pretty hole of yours, full of your fingers.”
Tony makes a sobbing, begging noise and spreads his legs, exposing the fluttering edge of his rim, swollen and red, his fingers up inside right to the knuckle.
“Fuck, look at you,” Steve says, gruffly.
Tony crooks his fingers, trying to rub against that spot inside him that would make him see black spots, and rolls into the touch.
“That’s it,” Steve agrees, appreciatively. “Fuck that greedy, beautiful hole. I want you all loose and sloppy when I shove my cock inside you.”
Tony’s long, lean fingers curl around his cock and strokes once, just for the added pleasure.
“You’ve missed me, haven’t you?”
Tony looks up, when he catches the sad tenor to Steve’s voice. His hand falls away from his cock, concerned for him, ready to throw his arms around his husband and drag him on top of him, in a vain attempt to rid him of the cruel dejection.
Steve laughs, the sound dragging like a rasping chain. “You know, I always hated that they call you that, a slut. Like you having sex was the worst part of your personality. It’s bullshit,” he says, vehemently. His eyes grow hot. “But you are a slut, you’re my slut, aren’t you, Tony? You’ve only ever been a slut when you’re in bed with me, and it’s only because you want me so badly, and you know I want you so badly. How could that possibly be a bad thing?”
“I am, Steve, I am, I’m your slut, only yours, only yours,” Tony whispers, blood pounding in his ears.
He hears a harsh sound and he looks up, only to find Steve unbuckling the belt of his suit pants and pulling his cock out. It curves against his belly, flushed and weeping with pre-come, and Steve palms it, purposefully.
Tony runs his tongue over his lower lip.
“I’m going to fuck you now,” Steve growls. “If I had more patience, I’d want you to suck my cock, I’d want to come all over your pretty face, but you’ve been so good for me, baby. You’ve shown me everything I asked for, that pretty cock of yours, that greedy fucking hole that wants my big, fat cock inside, wants me to fuck you full of come.”
Tony’s belly clenches, his voice strained, as he thrusts up into nothing, just his fingers. Steve’s hand grasps his ankle and tugs him forward, hooking it around his waist and spreading him open for Steve to settle atop him.
Tony parts for Steve’s cock like a ripe peach, and he rams in hard, dragging the air out of Tony’s lungs.
“Shit,” Tony mutters, grappling for Steve’s shoulders and digging his nails in hard.
He can’t halt the rise of his hips against Steve’s, when Steve starts fucking him hard and thoroughly, stretching him full and taut and rawing him stupid on his cock. He can’t breathe, the burn straining his voice, as Steve eases in, over and over again, stroking his side. Steve’s cock catches against his prostate, and Tony makes a sharp, high-pitched noise that Steve instantly soothes. He squirms unthinkingly on Steve’s cock, wanting to chase that sensation, shifting his hips, and Steve comes just like that, in a bright and furious rush, panting against Tony’s throat, spilling wetly inside him.
His broad, warm palm falls onto Tony’s hard, flushed cock, and a single stroke upwards makes Tony’s orgasm hit, lights dancing behind his eyes, fierce as fire.
“Shit,” Tony sighs, when Steve rolls off him and beside him, rubbing against the warm wash of heat against his thighs.
“Was that good?” Steve asks, self-consciously.
Tony turns on his side, propping himself on an elbow. He flattens his palm over the star on Steve’s chest. A smile flickers in amusement, realising that Steve hadn’t even managed to skin himself out of his uniform.
“What are you talking about?” he asks, gently.
Steve shrugs. “I just thought… did you like it?” he asks, carefully. “Did you like what we did? I mean, it was a little out there and we don’t really do the kinky stuff without having a conversation before, and I just sort of threw you onto the bed and…” he trails off, making a complicated gesture with his fingers that Tony thinks he’s supposed interpret as fucking.
Tony leans in, pressing his mouth to Steve’s cheekbone. “I loved it, I love you,” he says, kindly.
His hand trails down his chest until he curls his fingers his fingers around Steve’s limp cock, hanging out of his trousers, slick with lube and come.
“In fact, if you still have another in you,” he says, suggestively.
Steve licks his lips, eyes growing hot. “You didn’t get enough before?” he says, roughly.
Tony grins with all of his teeth. “I never get enough of you,” he says, slowly. He palms Steve until his cock swells in Tony’s palm. He leans, tugging at his hear with his teeth. “How about this, baby? We take that plastic cock of mine that you hate, we get in the shower and clean up, and you can use it on me.”
“I hate that thing,” Steve huffs. “Why would I want to use it on you?”
Tony clambers onto his lap, rocks down on his half-hard cock, so the tip catches on his red-rimmed hole.
“Because I’ll let you fuck me with it, let you make me all raw and loose and sloppy, and you can paint my hole with your come, or I can get on my knees and suck you off and you can come on my face and I can lick it all up. You can take all the pictures you like, take them with you when you leave next and get yourself off to the sight of me gagging for your cock, stuffed full on it, leaking your come, moaning like a cheap whore. Don’t you want that, Steve, don’t you want to fuck me full like I’m just some filthy little slut-”
He yelps, when Steve seizes him in his arms and rushes him to the shower.