Archive of Our Own ^beta

Steve has successfully shoved the whole tumble with Tony Stark out of his mind. Or well, most of the time, he only brings it out for when he’s alone, when he needs solid jerk off material. Because let’s be honest, that man is hot, and the sex was fucking incredible. Steve figures he’s not going to get laid that good again anytime soon, so he’s determined to wring every drop of pleasure out of the memory while it lasts. 

He really doesn’t expect to see Tony Stark again, except for maybe you know, at the club. Or on a magazine cover or something. 

But apparently, he’s wrong. Because about why weeks later, Steve gets a message from an unknown number on a random-ass Tuesday afternoon. 

Unknown number: So, I saw your work records, they test you guys for all kinds of crap every 15 days, wanna come over and we can 86 condoms this time? 

There’s a PDF document just under the message. Steve stops mid-set, standing there in the middle of the gym, sweat trickling down the back of his neck as his brain short–circuits and trying to decode what the hell this message means. Then a flash of clarity, it clicks. Holy fucking shit. That’s Tony Stark again. And the attached PDF is a fucking test result. Holy shit. 

How the hell did he get Steve’s number? Wait. Cross that, how did he get Steve’s private, sealed, clearly-not-public health records?

Steve shelves that question for later, because really, his brain can only handle one crisis at a time. Because the thing is, sex with Stark was incredible. And Steve really could get used to getting laid on the regular. The fifty grand that’s just plopped into his bank account didn’t hurt either. Though Steve tries not not to examine that feeling about being paid for sex too closely. 

Still though. He wonders if Tony plans to pay him again. Wonders harder if he’ll still go even if he doesn’t. Eh. He probably will. 

Steve: Breaking into people’s private records? That’s not nice. 

Unknown Number: no such thing as private. 

Unknown Number: coming? 

Steve: Don’t know where you live Mr. Stark. 

Unknown Number: For fuck sake, call me Tony. I had your cock in my mouth. 

Steve blushes in the middle of the damn gym. Because seriously, the mouth on him. His cock twitches happily at the memory. 

Steve: I’m gonna need an hour to shower and change. 

Unknown Number: I’ll send you a car. 

Steve: Don’t want a car, I got a bike, just the address. 

Unknown Number: Big shiny tower with my name on it. 

Steve: Got it. 

An hour and a shower later, Steve finds himself standing stiff and awkward inside what is obviously a private elevator, after being scanned and allowed into a private garage, by the polite, slightly condescending British voice that somehow manages to sound judgmental and helpful at the same time.

The whole thing feels way too surreal in Steve’s mind. Almost dreamlike, not expect it’s too realistic for that. It’s bordering on absurd. There he is, in Tony Stark’s elevator, going up to Tony Stark’s penthouse, on a random sunny Tuesday afternoon. For sex. Again. Like this is a thing normal people do. Like this is a normal thing that Steve Rogers did. Spoiler, he does not do this. 

He’s thankful that he doesn't get to spend too long alone in the elevator and he doesn’t start examining that thought too hard because well. That could get awkward in his head, but instead. He just focuses on the other sensations, the fact that he is a whole bubble of nerves. 

The elevator opens to well, a fucking penthouse, the last time Steve was here, he was impressed. And again, he is impressed. Because you know, pent house, but not as impressed as he is by the man inside. 

Tony Stark, all dressed in a perfect fucking suit. Not that shiny club wear suit either, but this is an actual suit, cut within an inch of its life, dark enough to look downright sinful under the bright sunshine that is filtering through the massive windows. He’s holding a low-ball glass of something golden amber. 

Steve feels those dark eyes rack over his body like they already know what’s underneath. Which , they do. Steve feels it, sharp and electric. The way Tony looks at him he’s undressing him with this gaze, like it’s just a matter of time. Which to be honest, it probably is. 

Steve's not nearly as well dressed. But he did make an effort. Blue jeans and a white shirt, a good classic he thinks. And hopefully, he won’t stay dressed for too long. 

“Well, well,” Tony says, voice lazy and amused. “Look at that.”

He gives a low, appreciative whistle. And Steve feels a flush creep across his cheeks and a low grade fire start in his gut, his cock already half-hard at the sight of Tony is filling and twitching under the appreciative gaze. 

“I’ve got a contract with Calvin Klein, you know. I put your ass on a billboard and they’ll never have to advertise again.”

Steve snorts. “Good afternoon to you too, Mr. Stark.”

Tony turns away with an exaggerated scowl, striding toward the bar. “Don’t kill my hard-on like that, Steve.”

He pours a drink and holds it out.

Steve doesn’t say anything, but he raises an eyebrow as he takes a sip. It’s probably bourbon, but he isn't sure, he hasn’t had many drinks that didn't burn on the way down before. He takes another drink, feeling the smooth liquid heat him from the inside. 

“I was hoping to see you at the club last week,” Tony says, taking a sip of his own drink like it’s just small talk.

“Why?” Steve asks, because he’s genuinely curious. 

“Your ass looks nice in those pants,” Tony says bluntly. “And I wanted to convince you to suck my cock in the bathroom.’

Steve almost splutters out his drink. Jesus fucking Christ. Steve isn’t sure what’s more alarming, the fact someone was looking for him for a blowjob or the fact that Steve thinks he probably would have done it. 

“Sorry to disappoint,” he coughs. “Was working the floor last week.”

Tony makes a dismissive, noncommittal noise. “It’s fine, you can do it now”

And that's all the invitation Steve needs. He knocks back the rest of his drink and it’s two steps before his mouth is hard against Tony’s. Heat hits him like a goddamn brick wall, the press of lips, the taste of alcohol. Tony’s warm and alive and god, Steve is so fucking ready for it. 

This time, it’s Steve who drives Tony backwards, guiding him towards the wide couch sunk into the floor near the window. And Tony lets him, lets Steve manhandle him, sinking down into the cushions with all the lazy grace of someone who knows he has something good coming. 

Steve stands there for a second, just taking him in. Fuck. The suit, still in place, that obvious, obscene bulge between his legs. That look, that smile, smug, knowing and confident. That glint in his eye, like the devil just got lucky. He looks the perfect image in sin incarnate and Steve’s on his knees before he even realizes, the urge to worship at Tony’s altar overwhelms him. 

His fingers move fast, already on the buttons of Tony’s pants, unbuttoning as he leans forward. Mouth already open and hot as he presses in, mouthing at Tony though the fabric, open mouth kisses, eager and messy. He knows he’s probably getting some absurdly expensive silk wet, but judging by the breathy gasps  and happy little noises Tony’s making. Steve doesn’t think he minds. 

Steve peels the pants open just enough to get to his main event. And fuck its glorious. There in the light of day, still looking huge. This close to Steve’s face, he can see everything. The soft, flawless kin stretched tight over the girth, thick veins wrap around the shaft like vines. The flushed, almost angry red head, slick and glistening like it’s ready waiting for Steve’s mouth. 

He leans in and gives it one, single, slow, teasing lick. Just the tip of his tongue, just a little taste. And then he goes in for a little more, tongue pressed flat, dragging in from base to crown, nice and slow. 

For several seconds, that’s all Steve does, he wraps one hand loosely around Tony’s cock, as he licks hard into the underside, right into the sensitive ridge just between the head. Over and over, each board stroke of his tongue sloppy and unhurried, treating Tony’s cock like it’s a fucking ice cream cone. 

Tony groans, a sound low and wrecked, and Steve smirks into the next swipe. He wonders how long until Tony loses patience, not long though, because there’s a tight grip in Steve’s hair a second later, fingers twisting, demanding, pulling him in. 

“Fucking tease.” Tony growls. 

Steve doesn't say that this is revenge for Tony edging him last time. But he does open up and wraps it around the head of Tony’s cock, slow and deliberate. Lips tight around the shaft, tongue flicking lightly over the head as he inches down. He can feel Tony shaking under him, feel the way his muscles tense, the twitch in his thighs, the white-knuckled grip in his hair that’s clearly fighting the urge to just slam Steve down and use his mouth. 

Which is fine, Steve likes it this way. He likes it so much he decides to do it first. With zero warning, he surges forward and swallows Tony down. His throat stretches around that cock, that blunt head pushing into his throat as he fights to take it. He breathes slowly though his nose, swallows around it, his own eyes tearing as the pressure builds in the best, filthiest way.

There’s a sharp intake of breath and a half shout of surprise above him, sharp and hoarse. And Steve feels a smug sense of victory. It’s all intoxicating. 

He starts moving then, hollowing his cheeks, focusing on the weight of Tony's cock in his mouth, the way it feels under his tongue. Sliding up until only the tip rests on his tongue, then back down, deep and wet. His hands presses into Tony’s hips, pinning him down, holding him right there as he works his mouth over that cock. 

Each time he pulls off, he makes sure to suck, hard at the tip. Tongue darting around the sensitive head, licking into the slit just enough to hear Tony gasp, just enough to feel those hips twitch like they want to chase his mouth. 

“Quit your job,” Tony gasps, voice wrecked. “Fuck, just quit your fucking job and do this full-time.”

Steve peers up at him. And that perfect composure has descended into a mess. Tony’s head is thrown back, chest heaving as he pants, jaw slack, face turned up skyward, his eyes are shut and Steve knows he’s feeling every fucking inch.  

“I’ll pay for this,” Tony groans, hips jerking. “Fuck - I’ll tip- just-”

Steve can’t help but feel a little hint of pride, not everyday he gets to render someone speechless with his mouth. He doubles down again, taking Tony in deeper, faster. He knows he’s drooling now, spit slicking over Tony’s cock and his own chin. Tony’s hand in his hair is tight and desperate and he fucks into Steve’s mouth. 

Steve almost smiles around his mouthful. He keeps his grip tight on Tony, never letting up, his mouth never leaving Tony, he makes sure to take him deep each time. Losing himself in the sensation of getting Tony in him, the way he smells of a whole damn botanical garden, but also something dark, an underline of something raw and masculine and dirty and fucking addictive.

His jaw is starting to ache, but there’s nothing that can make Steve stop now. Because he knows Tony’s chose, he can feel it, in the way his thighs are trembling, the way he keeps muttering curses. 

“Fuck. Fuck- Steve-”

a dirty string of curses above him, the hand in his hair yanks him down, and holds him there. Steve feels it. Feels the sudden pulse of Tony's cock on his tongue, the rush of it, thick, salty and bitter as Tony spills straight down his throat. Steve swallows, jaw right, tongue still moving, sucking Tony through it. He holds Tony in his mouth for a second longer, wringing him out like he wants every drop. And he fucking does. 

He only pulls off when Tony jerks, hand in his hair trying to pull him off. Oversensitive and half-wrecked. Steve lets him slip from his mouth, plants a single mocking little kiss on the tip and feels Tony shudder. 

“Fucking hell,” he pants.

Steve smirks, his own cock now fully aware of the situation, hard and straining against his pants. It’s kinda awkward for a moment, watching Tony bask in pleasure while he’s just sort of hanging there, not sure if he’s dismissed, or if you know, Tony is gonna return the favor. Hard to tell with this guy.

Steve shifts, hand drifting down to press against the bulge in his pants. Just a little pressure, just a little something to keep him from  losing his damn mind. Steve loves sucking cock, don't get him wrong, yea, he loves making someone fall apart on his tongue, but he’s no saint, he wants something back.

“Why are you still dressed?” Tony says suddenly, voice low and lazy. “Get naked.”

Steve obeys, military efficiency kicking in, he wonders if Stark - Tony is hoping for a strip show, well, Steve isn’t that kind of security. Off goes the shirt. Then the pants, folded neatly and set on the nearest chair. Briefs next, a little less dignified, half-dragged down over the insistent swell of his cock.

He straightens up, naked now, hard and flushed, and Tony gives him a once-over that feels like a laser scanner.

“Come sit on daddy’s lap,” Tony says, smirking, patting his own thigh. His cock’s still hanging out of his pants, half-hard and smug about it. Steve isn’t sure if he wants to laugh or groan from embarrassment.

Steve makes a face. “Daddy?”

Tony just grins. “What, that doesn’t work for you? Not into the whole older man corrupts the young boy thing?”

Steve bursts out laughing this time, because really.  He doubts Tony is that much older than him, and Steve certainly isn’t a young boy anymore. 

“I doubt you’re more than ten years older than me.”

“Still older,” Tony says breezily. “And you’re all nubile and pretty. That’s close enough.”

Steve raises a brow, still grinning. “Why thank you?” 

Steve moves in anyways, and climbs into Tony’s lap. 

Tony doesn’t bother answering, he just grabs a fistful of Steve’s hair and drags him into a kiss. It’s fucking filthy from the first second, all tongue and no self control. No patience or polished finesse. It's all just spit-slicked lips, wet, hot mouths clashing like they are all each that exists. 

Steve gasps into it, and lets himself get hauled in and mauled. Because it's fucking awesome. His cock smears against Tony’s blazer, leaving a slick trail of the once pristine fabric. He should feel back about it, but he doesn’t. 

Steve’s always loved kissing, he’s met people who didn’t kiss, but there's just something to kissing he thinks, the way that it's so intimate, so personal. The shared breath, messy mouths and the undeniable fact that someone else is in your body while you’re in theirs. Kissing is obscene in the best way.

His hands fumble down the front of Tony’s chest, tugging at the buttons on that damn blazer, because he’s all kinds of naked and Tony’s still dressed. 

He wrestles with it, managing to get it off, sleeve by sleeve while Tony just sits there like a damn spoiled brat and lets Steve do all the work. 

“Fucking rich people.” Steve mutters. 

The blazer finally comes off and Steve chucks it over his shoulder, listening to the satisfying sound as it hits the floor. He thinks about giving for the shirt, but gives up, too many fucking buttons, too much effort. And Steve's patience is wearing thin. 

He grinds down instead, cock dragging across Tony’s abs and the soft fabric of that stupid perfect shirt. He’s leaking everywhere now, cock hot, needy and wet. Every damn grind makes him twitch and his whole body clenches with want. 

God. It’s so good. 

Tony’s free hand is already roaming, pam rough as it slides up Steve’s chest, fingers dragging over his over heated skin before they land on his nipples. Steve moans, loud and shameless because he loves that. There’s no explaining it, he just loves having his nipples played with. It’s damn amazing, the pure pleasure and nerves and the way his whole body lights up when someone touches him there. 

Tony pulls him back by the hair, and Steve arches into the touch. The position makes his chest push out, bare, flushed and wanting more, wanting Tony’s mouth on him, the other man doesn’t disappoint. 

“You have great tits.” Tony says, and before Steve can laugh, his mouth is on him, hot, wet and insistent. Steve groans, his head falls back as he loses himself completely to the sensation. 

There is something wild about all of this, him completely naked, straddling Tony, complete care while Tony's still mostly dressed. His cock’s hard again between their bodies, thick and twitching, pressed right up Steve’s ass now. It’s a power imbalance that Steve should be embarrassed by. But he isn’t, it turns him on. It consumes it and he loves it. He loves the way Tony’s hand is still fisted in his hair, holding him in place, as his mouth works over Steve’s nipple, sucking, biting just enough to make Steve gasp.

Steve’s hands are braced against Tony’s shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle under that smooth, soft fabric. Every grind sends his cock sliding over the still cloth covered plane of Tony’s stomach, the friction is enough to make him twitch. 

When Tony’s mouth finally pulls away, Steve's nipples feel like live wire, two bright, throbbing points tied directly to his heartbeat. They’re swollen, raw, flushed and still slick from Tony’s mouth. 

“Should take a picture of you like this,” Tony drawls. “Blow it up and sell it for obscene amounts of money.”

Steve pants, chest rising fast and sharp, he needs to get himself off before his heart explodes. He frees one hand to wrap around himself. 

“Oh no, no,” Tony says, tone mock-scolding. “Not the main event yet.”

He slaps Steve’s hand away, sharp and possessive. Steve scowls.

“You already had a main event,” Steve mutters.

“And it was wonderfully gorgeous.” Tony smirks, leaning back just enough to rake his gaze over him. “But today, you come on my cock.”

Steve glances down between them. Tony’s cock is thick and heavy, mostly hard again, but not quite ready to fuck him yet.

Steve gives Tony a pointed look between their bodies and a sardonic look.

“No need to rush me, pretty boy.”

Tony's hand slide up his thighs in a slow, deliberate sweep, fingers skating over hard curve of muscle, up past the narrow hip of his waist, before they settle firmly on the swell of his ass. Tony squeezes as he smirks, like he’s testing the pressure. Fuck, it’s like he’s trying to give Steve crazy. 

Then Steve feels it, a glancing touch between his cheeks. Tony’s fingertips ghosting over the sensitive skin of his hole. The sound Steve makes is small and helpless, a gasp full right from his gut, and he shifts back, mindless, tilting his hips to get more of it. 

A fingertip rests against his hole, rubbing in lazy circles, coaxing the muscle to flutter beneath it. Steve inhales sharply, body aching to feel that stretch, anticipation pooling low and hot in his gut. 

The finger teases at him, tracing the rim, tugging lightly, not pushing in, just there, just present, just enough to make Steve squirm and pant in Tony’s lap. Desperation rising uneven in his chest. And then it leaves, and before Steve can protest, Tony’s holding two fingers in front of his mouth. 

“Get me wet, baby.”

Steve doesn’t answer, he doesn’t think he has enough functioning brain cells at the moment to answer. He keeps his eyes locked on Tony’s as he parts his lips, tongue curling around the offered fingers. His mouth works, eager and desperate over the pads of Tony’s fingers in rushed drags. It’s filthy and perfect and Steve can feel the weight of Tony’s eyes on him, the burning in his own body as he reacts to Tony’s touch. 

The fingers slip free from his mouth, shining with spit and Steve already knows where they’re going. Back between his legs, pressing right against his hole before sliding into that heated place, pressing into him as his body yields just enough for Tony to push inside. It’s not nearly slick enough, there’s not enough lube. But fuck, Steve isn’t going to lie, he likes it like this. The drag and pull of his around the fingers, the rough rough slide making him clench and tremble. 

The burn is just right, hot and sharp, and his breath stutters as his own hands fist in the front of Tony’s shirt, knuckles white with the effort of holding himself together, the only thing grounding him to the present. Steve gasps as those two fingers now buried deep in him to the second knuckle now. Tony works them slowly, fucking perfectly. Drawing him almost all the way out before pushing back in with an obscene, steady pressure that sends shivers through Steve’s body. Every muscle tight with desperate want, hips rolling back to chase more. 

Tony fingers in him spreading him open and now fuck, he’s curing his fingers, every stroke dragging right over his prostate, each press shooting sparks of pleasure through his chest, down his spine and landing squarely on his cock. Fuck, it’s too much, too good. 

“Turn around.”

Tony’s fingers pull out of him, and Steve doesn’t even hesitate. Doesn’t even bother playing coy, he’s too desperate. He just lifts off Tony’s lap, letting the man under him shift just enough for Steve to get the idea. Rich people apparently liked to be served. Steve turns around and plants his feet back on the floor, back to Tony, he lowers himself. 

Tony’s cock bumps against his hole and Steve has a brief, distracted thought about where the hell Tony got lube from, because the length is smooth, slick and wet. But the thought’s gone as soon as it forms, replaced by the dizzying sensation of that smooth, thick cock pushing into him, spreading him open, scrambling his brain. And all he can do is throw his head back with a gasp, bracing his hands on Tony’s thighs as the thick stretch works him open. 

The angle is perfect, devastating, fucking wonderful, the blunt head pressing perfectly on his prostate, as the thickness fills him just right. 

And the feel of skin on skin, heat against heat. Fuck. Steve shivers in pleasure as he starts to move. Rocking in small, greedy jerks over that cock. Each thrust makes his body give a little more, pushing him open, surrendering to Tony's cock, letting it sink deep and grind against that spot until he’s seeing stars. His breaths are stuttering now, sharp and frantic. He shifts a little, hoping to get a hand off Tony's leg to wrap around himself, but the angle doesn’t let him and he gets out a frustrated little groan. 

And then Tony’s hands are on him, not on his cock like he wants, but sliding up his chest, around his ribs until they find his nipples. 

Oh fuck. 

The sounds that falls from Steve’s mouth is shameless, desperate and broke. Because this is impossibly good. The way Tony's thumbs and fingers flick over his already swollen and way too sensitive nipples. 

He can’t fucking control it anymore, his hips snap  on instinct, pushing Tony's cock into his prostate, every thrusts hitting harder as those fingers never stop moving over his already oversensitive nipples.

It’s too much. His orgasm rises like a riptide, hot, fast and impossible to resist. He thinks it’ll be like before, he thinks he’ll hang on the brink and never actually fall over. 

But his wrong, because this one takes him, heat swallows his body whole, his muscles lock, his head tips back as the world goes blurry. He clenches around Tony, holding that cock right against his prostate as wave after waves drags through him. His vision blurs as his world shakes, and fuck. When his vision finally clears, he feels like he’s just gone through this day of combat again. He’s wrecked, his heart hammering, limbs weak, he feels wrung out as pleasure fogs his head. 

“Hold on, darling,” Tony murmurs against his ear, voice curling with promise. “My turn now.”

Steve feels firm hands push at his shoulders and he drops down to all fours without thought. Tony’s right here behind him, sliding back in, and Steve lets out a ghost of a whimper. His body is loose, and Tony's back in, easy and slick and fucking filthy. 

Tony’s hands clam hard around his hips and he drives in, half-standing, working him open with sharp, pointed thrusts. Steve imagines the picture they make, him on his knees, arms folded against the floor, face pushed into the crook of his arm as his ass is pushed up for Tony to fuck. The man above him, still perfectly dressed expect for the cock out and buried in him, fucking him like he owns him.

The thought alone sends a shiver through Steve. He’d come again if he could, just from that image. Behind him, Tony’s breath turns ragged, fast, closer. His hips lose their steady rhythm, his thrusts going trough and uneven before they stutter to a stop. Steve feels the sudden heat of Tony spilling inside him, the way his cock twitches through his orgasm. 

For a moment, there’s nothing but the weight of Tony’s hands on his body, the sound of their breathing. Then Tony pulls back, sinking back into the couch and Steve slides down to lie flat on the rug. Feeling the wetness of Tony’s come leaking from his hole. 

“See,” Tony drawls, smug and wrecked all at once. “Told you you’d come on my cock.”

Steve doesn’t bother to answer. He hasn’t got the breath for it.