Chapter Text
It’s been three months since they sent Loki packing. Two since Pepper left. Not Stark Industries, not their friendship, but left... him.
Coincidentally -- or maybe not -- it was right about the same time the remodel on the Tower was done, or done enough to allow people to start moving in. He’s pretty sure Pepper twisted a few arms at the end there, the Avengers who’d be most wary of relying on Tony for a place to live. But they all did it in the end, some of them keeping their other apartments for backup, some of them moving everything they owned into their designated floor.
He and Pep had spent so much time designing the thing, it’s kind of hard to think about it, so Tony mainly doesn’t. Everything about it had been their baby, from the placement of people by floor (Tony on top, heh, then a fully equipped group floor, then Cap and then the rest of them, with a few vacant levels before the public floors for insulation and any future need).
It’s kind of sucky timing for Tony to have to deal with other people right now at all, let alone share parking and private elevators, though admittedly the team mainly left him alone at first. Things... got a little rough. Even Steve, who had been in his face a lot of the time about all kinds of bullshit, gave him some space for a while.
Everyone must have had a meeting or something eventually, though, because after a couple of weeks of Tony sitting in the dark drinking and watching Mythbusters re-runs, the team -- god, he can’t even believe he’s on a fucking team -- is up in his space getting him to do things, go out, get back to work.
Luckily, there hasn’t been much action on the Bad Guy front, though honestly Tony would rather deal with some new whack job than what he’s dealing with now. Cleanup. Yes, they’re still cleaning up. It’s seriously a bitch, and something he tries to avoid on general principle. There’s regular cleanup, which sucks badly enough as it is, and then there’s cleaning up after an invasion by creatures from another dimension. Messy. Endless. Boring. Something that apparently only superheroes and SHIELD employees are allowed to do, because of nasty alien chemicals or secrecy or a throwaway line in some over-lawyered liability clause somewhere.
Anyway, Tony’s been able to avoid some of it. Actually, most of it. There’s been... really important other stuff to do. Not to mention, drinking in the dark, alone.
~
Typically, Steve doesn’t share Tony’s view of what things should and should not be on Tony’s dance card, which is why he’s up in Tony’s face right now -- in the workshop for fuck’s sake-- nattering on about responsibility and fair share and a bunch of other crap. Tony’s working on plans for revamping his revamp of the new Avenger tower and listening to every fourth word or so. He finally looks up when Steve grabs his arm just hard enough it almost-hurts.
A few of Steve’s words filter in: “...already know what you think of me so what I say won’t matter, but you’d think you would at least care about your image. Though I suppose it’s one thing to be a philanthropist, and another thing to actually help people. But it figures you--”
Tony tunes it out and shakes off Steve’s hand. Or tries to; Steve’s fingers tighten on his arm to the point it actually hurts. Not a lot, but Tony’s long past the point he’s going to let anyone -- anyone -- manhandle him. Unless it’s the fun kind.
The two of them had their conflicts from the first moment they met, but they’d been able to work together okay. Pretty well, actually. That had briefly slopped over into their non-work interactions and for a while they’d arrived at a sort of wary peace. No more; every day recently Steve’s been pushing Tony more and more, pressing him about bullshit this and bullshit that again. Getting in digs non-stop.
Most people think Steve’s just giving Tony grief like you would your buddy. Tony knows better. He can see the real animosity underlying Steve’s comments. The judgment. And in fairness, Steve’s not alone in that: Tony judges him right back. Sanctimonious, naive, arrogant; the list goes on.
“Screw you,” Tony says, low and cutting. “Let me go. Go bother someone who cares.”
Steve’s hand tightens even more on Tony’s bicep, and he steps in closer. His eyes narrow in the pissed-off, serious expression Tony has grown very familiar with. “Now listen. I get that you’ve got a huge problem with me, and that’s just fine. More than fine. But--”
“Yeah, well that’s where you’re breaking your Boy Scout vows, isn’t it, champ, because you are so not fine with being treated like what you really are, instead of some souped-up patriotic icon. It makes you crazy that I don’t fall all over myself to worship at your altar.”
Steve closes his eyes for a moment, then lets go of Tony, starts to back away. “Forget it. We don’t need your help, anyway. You’d just turn it into the Tony Stark show.”
Tony doesn’t know how it happens, but next thing he knows he’s got a fistful of Steve’s shirt and is up partway on his toes in Steve’s face. “At least the Tony Stark show is something people would buy tickets for. As opposed to the Sanctimonious Stick-up-Your-Ass Show.”
Steve sucks in a harsh breath and grabs Tony, strong hands curling around his biceps. He’s practically vibrating, so, score. “Yeah, it makes you so big to call names, doesn’t it? Everything has to be a joke or an insult. It’s too boring to think about values or respect.”
“You said it, not me, Captain Boring.” Tony’s hands tighten fractionally in Steve’s shirt. He can feel the adrenalin racing in his veins, the desire to wipe that judgmental frown off Steve’s face for once. It’s a danger signal, that feeling, and he knows it. He’s supposed to do some deep breathing or adjust his chakras or walk away or something. Be mature.
Steve says, low and hot: “At least I act my age.”
“Actually about seventy decades older than it.”
Steve breathes in hard. Yeah that was probably kind of a shitty thing to say, even for Tony.
“Better than seducing girls barely out of their teens,” Steve says. “Not to mention the boys.” It’s a low blow for a lot of reasons, not the least of which being that mixed with the drinking, Tony’s fallen back on some of that stuff in the quest to obliterate anything he might be feeling, or maybe it’s more like, make himself feel anything at all. The judgment Tony knows must be there behind the “boys” doesn’t help either.
Tony’s fingers clutch harder at Steve’s shirt; his vision swims and he’s seeing everything literally tinged with red. “Yeah, well, maybe you should teach me that lesson now,” he says, right in Steve’s face. “The one you talked about the first time we fucking met. You’re full of talk. But I suppose the Boy Scout can’t sully his widdle fingers.”
Steve pushes out a lungful of air. Tony can almost feel the electricity rising off him in waves. His biceps are bulging, his eyes dark. It should be terrifying. It is terrifying. And actually, also kind of--
Tony’s heart is beating double-time, his body surging with heat and energy. His hands curl into fists.
“Maybe you should suit up, and we’ll go. Have at it. Maybe it would help,” Steve says through a clenched jaw. “Help this.” He gestures between them with a jerky motion of his hand.
“Yeah, so everyone can see how a man in an iron suit beats up a poor, defenseless guy in a leotard? Don’t think so.” Tony shakes his head and figures he’ll back off, turn away from Steve.
Any second now.
Steve’s hands are clenched around Tony’s arms, and it seems like he’s moved even closer. Or maybe that’s Tony; they’re practically flush up against each other. Tony has to look up slightly to meet Steve’s eyes, which is annoying as fuck. Steve’s mouth is set in a line and there’s an indent in his smooth cheek from him clenching his jaw so hard. Good. He’s sweating some, maybe leftover from before, or from holding himself back from killing Tony. A bead of perspiration slides down his golden skin and hovers on his top lip. Any minute now, Steve will have to lick it off...
Steve makes a scoffing sound and Tony startles, looks up. Steve shakes Tony a little, effortlessly. “You are so frustrating,” he chokes out. “Just. Just stop. Just. I should make you stop.”
“Yeah, make me,” Tony says, hardly recognizing his voice, low and gravely. He clears his throat and this time when he speaks, he sounds a bit more normal again: “Like I said before, I’ve always been tempted to call you on it. But now I’m definitely wanting to make you try. If you can, star-spangled man, and I do mean spangled; what do you do, paint that leotard on every morning?”
Steve makes an incoherent noise and grabs Tony tighter, yanks him in close and shakes him gently a couple of times like he’s just trying the idea out. Oh fuck he’s strong; Tony’s partway up on his toes. Steve takes a huge breath and bends his head down like he’s pulling himself together, and just holds Tony there, foreheads almost touching and faces inches away from each other. Tony can feel Steve’s warm, sharp, exhales on his face. He wants to push Steve away, make a cutting insult and saunter out, but his body is frozen into place and his brain refuses to work. Words don’t come. His chest rises and falls, double-time.
Steve’s sweating more now; Tony can smell it, along with his stupid old-fashioned hair stuff. When Steve raises his head, his face is flushed and his lips are shiny, his lips are-- “You’re so, so,” Steve chokes out, hoarse and tight. He’s not letting go, long fingers wrapped around Tony’s elbows now, squeezing.
Everything’s hot and spinning a little and Tony’s so angry, heat under his skin, Steve right there, radiating heat and anger and--
“I should make you shut up for once, I want to--,” Steve says, voice gone all hoarse and quiet, cutting himself off abruptly.
Tony shivers -- some kind of weird visceral reaction to hearing Captain America’s voice so low and wrecked-sounding, he figures. There’s no time to really appreciate it, because Steve huffs out another breath, then yanks Tony in even closer so they’re pressed together chest to chest. It’s almost like they’re hugging, arms around each other now, but their bodies are tense, muscles taut, their breathing harsh. It feels like Steve is barely restraining himself from hauling off and punching Tony in the kidneys; his arms are like steel around Tony.
Steve breathes harshly in Tony’s ear and his hands tighten and loosen on Tony’s back, like Steve’s fighting the desire to just crush Tony bare-handed. Something he could definitely do, easy, in probably about three seconds.
Tony turns his head a tiny fraction and whoa; his mouth is really, really close to Steve’s, and how did he not realize that until this moment. Steve shivers, full-body; Tony’s lips almost-nuzzle the corner of Steve’s jaw.
It’s heady, like the feeling the second before Iron Man takes off, the sudden rush of the urge to move in just that fraction more, press his open mouth on that square of skin, see what happens. He has to suck in a lungful of air just thinking about it. Steve turns his head a fraction more and Tony can’t breathe, it’s like--
You know what, screw it, it’s better than before takeoff, the rush is more like when the power cuts out when he’s high over Manhattan, sick swoop of his stomach, but the adrenalin...
Tony’s pretty sure Steve moves his mouth a tiny bit more towards Tony’s before Tony can move. Tony’s lips tingle, fuck, his fingers tingle. He can’t think; he probably turns his face a little more. Steve makes some kind of noise, a low, guttural sound that makes Tony shudder, and he feels it reverberate through Steve, like a feedback loop. Fuck it, he decides again, and instead of pulling back, lets his lips press to Steve’s. Just for the rush, or so he can say he did. To himself at least.
Steve doesn’t immediately crush him with his pinkie or shove him away, and it’s impossible not to press up again, press hard to see what will happen and to feel those lips, full under his. He’s not thinking about stuff like what’s possible right now anyway, consumed in the feel of Steve’s full lips against his, the aching need that he suddenly has to shove his tongue in that infuriating mouth and show Steve what you get if you take on Tony fucking Stark.
Steve’s absolutely still for a moment, except for the rapid-fire beating of his heart, which Tony can feel through multiple layers of clothing. Tony has time to think, oh shit, and then Steve’s kissing back, if you can call it that: it’s like all the anger he carries around all the time -- oh, hey, mental note for later to think about that revelation, that Bruce isn’t the only guy around here who’s angry all the time -- is in his lips, and then his tongue.
Holy fuck, Tony has time to think, Captain America is tongue-fucking me, and then it’s all he can do to keep a supply of oxygen flowing, because Steve is gasping in his mouth, big hands fumbling on Tony, sliding down his back to his ass -- whoa, Tony’s knees actually go weak at that, because fuck -- then pulling them together. It’s incredible; they’re both hard through their clothes. Steve grinds them together, manhandling Tony’s ass, mmm holy shit.
Tony’s got sparks behind his eyes and a burning ache in his cock. All he wants is to get closer, get naked skin under his shaking fingers. Steve’s rutting against him and panting into his mouth, fingers groping for the top of Tony’s pants, his zipper, fumbling. Tony grabs for Steve’s belt buckle, groaning when it won’t come undone.
Steve makes a frustrated, angry sound and shoves Tony’s hands away, places them on Tony’s belt, then reaches for his own. Oh. Faster that way, right. In the time it takes Tony to get it, Steve’s undone his buckle and is shoving his pants and underwear down and out of the way, oh god. Tony gets with the program and sets a land-speed record for undoing his own pants, shoving them and his boxers down as far down his thighs as he can.
Steve grabs him again, huge hands on his hips, panting breaths in his ear. Tony slides his hands up under Steve's shirt, traces the planes of his stomach, rock hard, the expanse of that killer back. Steve groans and thrusts against Tony, hands sliding down from Tony’s hips to -- ohhh his ass again.
Their cocks bump against each other tantalizingly. Steve makes a bitten-off sound that might be a moan: his hands turn hot and demanding on Tony, using the leverage on his ass to try to shove their pelvises together harder.
It’s incredible, all that power and strength partly unleashed. Tony grinds himself into Steve, sucking on his shoulder through the cloth of his shirt. It’s frustrating; their dicks keep slipping, the angle’s wrong and there’s not enough friction. Tony works a hand up to Steve’s mouth -- his own is too dry -- and presses against those lush lips. Steve’s a quick learner, gotta admit that, because he opens his mouth and sucks in Tony’s fingers.
Tony groans and Steve opens his eyes; they’re hot on Tony, dark. Tony gasps for air, then presses in more with his fingers. Steve -- oh shit -- licks them, eyes still locked with Tony’s. Tony reaches to get a better hold on Steve’s ass so he can grind them together harder, but it’s frustrating, not quite getting him what he needs.
That’s okay though because a second later Tony’s being lifted -- holy shit, literally lifted -- into the air and pulled in tight against Steve so their cocks are butting up against each other from a better angle, Steve using his strength to hold Tony in place effortlessly, and if that isn’t a fucking turn on then nothing is.
Tony moans -- hey, he’s only human -- and Steve makes a desperate sound around his fingers. Tony slides them out of Steve’s mouth and jams then down between their bodies, desperate now himself, wanting to touch Steve’s cock. It’s going to be amazing, he knows it, can feel it against his belly right now. His fingers search and -- oh yeah, thick and long and rock hard baby.
Steve groans in Tony’s ear and Tony can’t stand it, has to spread his fingers out, grab his own cock too, curving his belly in to make room for his hand and fisting both their cocks together, oh god.
Steve fucking growls, hands tightening on Tony’s ass, lips seeking out the gap in Tony’s shirt at his collar. Steve’s mouth works the sensitive skin of his neck and Tony shudders. He flicks his thumb over the head of Steve’s cock and Steve bites down. Tony groans, arching his neck, but manages to keep jacking them; everything’s slicker by the second.
The fingers of one of Steve’s hands brush near Tony’s crack, whether by accident or not Tony can’t tell. He is so very fucking on board with what that might mean. He shivers... the very idea... Steve makes a sound and hoists Tony up even higher, then slides one of those huge hands, hot and purposeful up Tony’s spine, until its at Tony’s neck, fingers carding in the hair at the back of Tony’s head. He’s -- oh fuck -- he’s holding Tony up effortlessly with one hand, his other pressing Tony’s face in close so he can kiss the shit out of him.
Tony’s pinned between Steve’s hands, Steve’s strength holding him up off the ground, anger still flaring red-hot between them, and it’s -- it’s beyond anything, it’s hot and wet and Tony’s shuddering, barely hanging onto enough muscle control to keep jacking their dicks, now slick with Steve’s spit and their precome. Steve’s cock is throbbing against Tony’s and Steve is gasping in Tony’s ear and then he’s kissing him again, tongue fucking into Tony’s mouth now, filthy like Tony likes it. Tony wraps his legs around Steve’s hips and Steve moans, turning them so Tony’s back is up against the wall, oh fuck it’s amazing, held like this where they can get leverage and Tony can’t move, can only--He winds his legs further around Steve and just lets himself go, thrusting up into Steve’s cock and his own hand, fucking his tongue into Steve’s mouth when Steve gives up control for a second.
Someone groans, guttural and harsh, maybe both of them. Everything goes dark around the edges as pleasure builds in Tony’s cock, his balls, the soles of his fucking feet for god’s sake. Tony can’t move, pressed between Steve’s hands and body. Steve’s still shaking, probably with anger. It’s the fucking hottest thing that’s ever happened to Tony -- and a lot has happened to him. Steve rips his mouth off Tony’s and gasps in air, then shudders hard, rocking Tony, hand on his ass brushing just once where it counts and Tony’s head explodes. Everything is spangly white, pleasure rocketing like a bullet up Tony’s spine. There’s a roaring, maybe air or maybe Steve shouting, or maybe it’s him, and everything focuses down to pleasure, rocking him, shaking him, white-hot.
~
Tony comes back to himself slowly. First it’s vague sensations of heat where he’s pressed up against someone, cold where air’s hitting something wet. So yeah, wet, then a blossom of faint pain where fingers are pulling away from his hips. Hard wall behind him. Muscles, lax and happy, Cock, covered in spunk and sweat from another body. Scent of male sweat, vague shaving cologne--
Oh, shit.
Shit.
The warm body plastered up against him starts moving away. Tony’s brain stutters, tries to come online. Words want to tumble out of his mouth, but for once, he stops them. Anything that’s in his brain right now would come out weird or pathetic or just... Wow, he needs to get his brain back. Strong hands lower him gently down, linger for a moment while Tony finds his footing; whoa, shaky knees.
It’s shocking when Steve speaks, low and wrecked and breathless, with a tone Tony’s never heard from him. “Are you. Did I hurt you?”
Tony bristles instinctively. “As if.” He pulls away from Steve’ hands completely.
“But I--”
I’m fine,” Tony snaps, disoriented. He can’t believe he... and Steve, what the-- “Save your solicitousness for the dewy groupies you pretend you don’t flirt with.”
Steve stiffens, straightening. “Fine.”
Tony can’t help but look at him, sheen of sweat and pants shoved down and hair disheveled... Just, just fucking whoa, because what the actual fuck, this is actual Captain fucking America, what the actual fuck just happened?
Steve opens his mouth, forehead creased and eyes serious on Tony, but Tony’s mouth opens and words spill out to talk over anything he was going to say, since Steve has that serious look that Tony just is not going to deal with right now. “So, are you gonna freak out over the cock involved here? Because that was definitely cock. Did you get dosed with some alien serum or something, Rogers, because this all doesn’t feel very... Captain America-ish.”
Steve’s expression changes, face going blank and distant. “Little late to ask, don’t you think?.” He shakes his head, and Tony focuses for a moment on his lips, still red and swollen and full. “Just tick me off on your list and don’t worry about it.”
Tony narrows his eyes. List? “Well, speaking of lists, when the fuck did I get on yours, seeing as how I’m -- what were the words, oh right -- ‘selfish, wouldn’t lie myself on the line for anyone else, immature--”
“Don’t give yourself so much credit,” Steve says. “In fact, forget it. Just forget the whole thing.” He gathers himself to go.
“No problemo,” Tony says after him. “Already have.”
Steve almost-slams the door on his way out, but of course is too much the superhero to actually slam it. Fine. It’s... It’s better that way. Keeps things clear.
~end Chapter 1
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