AU Fic: Burgundy 1/3
Sep. 2nd, 2012 06:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cloversworldBurgundy 1/3 by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
clover71
written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
au_bigbang2012
Fandom: Avengers (movie verse) | Pairing: Steve Rogers/ Tony Stark
Rating: NC-17 | Warning: Infidelity (in a twisted kind of way?)
All other info: check the MASTER POST
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1
Steve found the ship's Chief Officer waiting at the promenade with a weary look. "Everything okay? You've taken care of the problem at the lower deck?" he asked, hoping he'd hear good news, at least.
Clint's head moved in a stiff nod and his chest rose and fell when he sighed – long and heavy and spoke volumes of how relieved Clint was. "It was just a bunch of pranksters," he said, voice clipped. "Some of the deck crew had cleaned up the mess."
"Good. Did you catch the culprit?" Though it was just a harmless prank, Steve had to make sure they knew who was responsible for it because cleaning up the nasty effect of stink bombs wasn't how Steve would want his crew to spend the rest of the trip.
"Yup. A couple of teenage boys. They're being held at the security room as we speak, waiting for their parents to show up." Clint pressed his back against the railing. "I could sure use a break."
Steve wanted to say he could use one too, but he knew he had to make several more rounds and he was already anticipating a long night. "Let's just hope nothing exciting happens later to disrupt the wedding."
"We have full security on duty. We wouldn't want to upset the leader of an organized crime group now, would we?"
That was one little information Steve wasn't aware of. With a raised eyebrow, he asked, "Organized crime group?"
"Yeah. I heard the groom is the head of some Mafia organization in New York or something." Clint's eyes were focused over Steve's shoulder when he said, "Speak of the devil," prompting Steve to glance behind him.
It wasn't hard to single out who Clint meant. The dark-haired man surrounded by four others, all of them garbed in suits, stood out from the crowd that were lingering along the deck. He gave off an air of authority and confidence and power but there was something else – like a carefree aura that drew Steve's attention.
"He's gorgeous," skipped out of Steve's mouth while he studied the man's profile – his well-rounded shoulders, the wide expanse of his chest, the mustache that sat above his upper lip, beard that dusted his jaw, and the pair of dark brown eyes shining against the falling sun.
Clint barked a laugh. "Your type, Steve, not mine. I like 'em with soft curves and big breasts. Too bad for you he's getting married."
"Yeah," Steve murmured thoughtfully. "Too bad."
They both had gone quiet when the man sauntered past them and stole a glance over to Steve before moving on like nothing held his interest.
"According to the wedding invitation, his name is Anthony Edward Stark," Clint said when the man and his companions were out of earshot.
Steve shifted his attention back to Clint and gaped at the Chief Office incredulously. "You got an invitation?"
"Thor had to ask for one. You know. For security purpose. It's gonna be quite a handful since they have a shocking number of guests. You think half of our passengers belong to the clan of both bride and groom?"
"Could be." Steve actually lost Clint after the 'security purpose' part because he was too busy staring at the man's – Stark's ass. "Stark. Why does that name sound so familiar?"
"Dunno," Clint said with a shrug. "Probably a clan that belongs to a popular Mafia group."
Steve faced Clint with an inquisitive frown. "Are you sure it's Mafia?"
"Thor said that it's an organization similar to Mafia. I think they're called Jarvis. I don't know if it's an acronym for something. Why do you ask?"
If Steve's hunch was spot on, then Clint was right. The group or clan may indeed be well known. "I wonder if he's related to Howard Stark. I often came across that name on newspapers back home," he muttered under his breath, not sure if Clint even heard him because the Chief Officer didn't offer any reaction.
Back home. When was the last time he ever thought of New York as home?
The sky was painted pale orange and gray, soft glow spilling over the surface of the water. The sound of the waves rushing through the surface made it seem like the ocean was singing while the sun began to sink beyond the line that Tony's eyes could reach.
It was at this hour when he loved to stay at the deck and watch the wonder nature had to offer unfold. It was a pacifying sight, something that eased his mind and body.
Tony watched the crystal blue water undulate as the ship cut through the surface. Seagulls flew alongside the vessel, gliding where the wind carried them.
If only his life could be like this – simple, serene and far removed from the stress and worries of his duties to his clan, his family and the Jarvis Organization.
"Mr. Stark." One of his sentries approached surreptitiously, cold, hard-bitten gaze piercing through Tony. "The wedding will start in ten minutes."
"Right." Right. But Tony didn't move. Wouldn't it be funny though… that he'd be late for his own wedding? He entertained the idea for a while but jerked at the sound of Nick's throat clearing so he reluctantly followed his sentry inside.
To Tony, it felt like walking into a death chamber or something. He loved Pepper, cared for her. But she had been nothing more than a friend. They practically grew up together, have known each other since Tony was eleven.
Tony often wondered what was wrong with him, wondered why he couldn't even get attracted to a woman as pretty as Pepper. It was when he was twenty-one that he concluded he was asexual. Maybe. Perhaps.
The largest function room was reserved for the occasion. Tony would've preferred something less extravagant, but Pepper insisted the wedding had to be on a cruise ship, somewhere in Europe and she just had to have the most lavish gown ever.
Arguing with her was like trying to move a mountain, so Tony kept his big mouth shut and conceded to everything she wanted. It was the least he could do to appease her, knowing it was more of an inconvenience for her to go through this pre-arranged nuptial since she actually had a boyfriend.
Besides, it could've been worse if Pepper's parents were still alive.
"There you are!" Pepper said, voice spiced with annoyance and frustration, hands resting on her hip, eyebrows drawn together. "Where were you? The ceremony is about to start."
"I'm here. I'm here," Tony said groaning while he threw on his black coat haphazardly. He was used to wearing suits and a tuxedo shouldn't be anything different. Why the hell did he feel like he was wearing a damn straitjacket then? It was uncomfortable as hell.
"Look at you," Pepper said, tugging on the lapels and running her fingers down the front as if trying to iron the non-existent wrinkles. "You still act like you're in your teens. Grow up a bit for me, won't you?" She hooked her arm around Tony's and led him to the makeshift altar where the officiating pastor was waiting.
They even brought a pastor along, damn it. The expenses would no doubt go through the roof, not that Tony had anything to worry about it.
Soft music flowed across the room – the wedding fucking march started playing – as if it was the cue that prompted everyone to fall into an eerie silence.
Tony thought, Fuck, here it goes, and started gliding with Pepper along the red carpet lined in the middle leading up to the pastor who had a shit-eating grin plastered on his wrinkled face.
The wedding was beautiful in Steve's opinion, despite it being over-the-top for his taste. He studied the bride with detached admiration – blonde hair styled in a braided bun with white flowers emphasizing the round heap behind her head, light make up highlighted her delicate beauty. White gown flowed down her shapely body so exquisitely that it seemed she was wearing the clouds around her. But it wasn't really the bride that captured Steve entirely.
Saying the groom looked perfect may be overstating it but that was the only word Steve could come up with to describe him. The black tuxedo gave emphasis to his somehow rugged features, jacket hugging the fine contours of his body and pants showing off the roundness of his buttocks. His face, despite the absence of any emotion, radiated a surpassing beauty. He must've shaved because the beard Steve saw earlier looked more like dark shadows along his jaw line that gave off a mysterious and alluring feature.
A white cloth was held out before his face. Steve blinked out of his stupor to find Clint beside him, holding out the handkerchief with a Cheshire cat-like grin. "You're drooling," Clint said, pressing the hanky on the corner of Steve's mouth.
"No, just. Shut up, will you." Steve batted Clint's hand away. "I'm going to do my rounds," he said, leaving Clint laughing like a crazed hyena. He stole one last glance at the groom, only to find him watching Steve with what Steve could only interpret as curiosity.
The undeniable intensity in the groom's gaze sent frissons surging down Steve's crotch and Steve wondered….
The bride wrapped her arms over the groom's shoulders and the distraction caused their gazes to break. Steve took that as his opportunity to escape and slipped out of the function room, heart thumping wildly.
There were people milling outside, perhaps curious to see what was going on. None of them seemed to post any threat so Steve didn't make a fuss out of it. Thor claimed he had security under control anyway.
After a run in with the hotel manager who was about to lose his patience over a couple who kept complaining there were rats in their cabin ("We've checked! There are no rats!"), and the ship doctor who just had to deal with three seasick passengers, Steve made his way to the ship's bar.
It was way past midnight and Steve just had to unwind before calling it a night. When he stepped inside the oval room, the first person he noticed was the groom – Anthony Stark, he believed was the man's name – sitting by the counter alone, wearing a navy blue night robe for God knew what reason. The wedding reception must have long been over. Steve hadn't hand a chance to return to the function room because duty called.
His legs seemed to move on their own, leading him right next to the man and noticed that he – Stark – was nursing a glass of amber liquid. Scotch, Steve presumed, on the rocks. Typical.
"Surprised to see you're not surrounded by your usual posse," Steve said without preamble, noticing that his bodyguards weren't around.
The man – Stark, he has a freaking name, Steve – first regarded him with a sidelong glance then, as if he'd been poked on the side, sprang up straight and faced him.
"It's you," skipped out of the man's mouth, which caught Steve off-guard, not expecting that reaction from someone who was, until that very second, a complete stranger. "Uh… I mean, I've seen you around. You were at my wedding reception."
Steve held out a hand, said, "Steve Rogers," with an edge of professionalism in his stance but the moment he felt Stark's strong and firm grip, Steve's bones turned liquid with all that cliché weak-on-the-knees sensation.
"Tony Stark," the man said and Steve thought, Tony, the name swirling in his dazed mind. Only when Stark – Tony now – cleared his throat did Steve realize he still had Tony's hand firmly clasped in his.
"Sorry." Heat rose on the surface of Steve's cheeks and he'd be damned if he was sporting an embarrassing blush.
"I get it all the time." The mischievous spark in Tony's eyes masked the arrogance he seemed to possess naturally.
"Might I suggest something more appropriate for the occasion?" Steve asked, gesturing at the glass in Tony's hand.
"Sure. What do you have in mind?"
Steve gave the bartender a nod. "You have any good bottle of Burgundy wine with you, Pierre?"
"Always." Pierre reached underneath the counter, pulled out a dark bottle with the familiar white label. "Your favorite, Clos des Lambrays Grand Cru," he said, the words whistling through his lips with his charming accent. "The best Pinot Noir we have on stock, you say."
Pierre went to work, placing two wine glasses on the counter and poured a generous amount of the red wine. "Enjoy yourselves, gentlemen," he said with a curt bow then moved toward the end of the bar to attend to another customer.
"Isn't red wine more appropriate on the dining table?" Tony asked, taking the glass Steve offered nonetheless.
"It's also appropriate for a congratulatory toast, I suppose." Steve raised his glass, said, "To the newly wed," and took a luscious sip of the wine, letting the lush and creamy and sophisticated taste caress his palate.
Tony flinched visibly before bringing his own glass to his lips. "Not bad," he said, and had another taste. "Better than the one my butler brought from the cellar last month."
"This is my personal favorite." Steve let his glass rest on the counter, propped on his elbow against the oak-finished surface, eyes wandering over Tony's body. "Nice outfit, by the way."
A soft shade of crimson appeared on Tony's cheeks. "The wife threw me out of the room, told me not to go back unless I gain some manners."
Steve's eyebrows sprang up. "Whatever did you do?"
"Just told her she looked like a whore in that lingerie she's wearing."
Steve wasn't able to stop the laughter that rumbled out of his chest. "I can't blame her for throwing you out," he said, shaking his head. "That's not a nice thing to say to a woman you just married."
Tony shrugged, said, "I was just being honest," and brought the wine glass to his lips.
"Well, she was probably trying to look sexy for you. That's what lingerie is for, I believe." Steve noticed how Tony winced, wondered if it was a reaction to the mouthful of wine he just drank or to what Steve had just said. "Shouldn't you be knocking on the door and apologizing to her instead of sitting out here?"
"No way." Tony shook his head. "I've got my pride to take care of."
Steve felt his forehead wrinkling in a confused frown. "But it's your wedding night."
"So?" was Tony's blunt reaction.
Something didn't sit right with Steve and he knew it wasn't his place to pry but he couldn't help but ask, "Is that the proper way to treat the woman you're in love with?" When he noticed the slight quirk of Tony's eyebrow, Steve mentally kicked himself for crossing the line, sticking his nose where he shouldn't, but damn there was something about Tony that lured him in and he just had to know.
A mask of incredulity fell over Tony's face and he gave quite a contemptuous snigger. "In love with? Please. If my father wasn't stupid enough to make a pact with her father, I wouldn't be in this situation."
Bingo. Steve had to raise an eyebrow, surprised that this kind of situation still happened at this age. "Arranged marriage? You're kidding right?"
Tony shook his head vigorously. "No, not kidding."
"Then I guess we do need something stronger." Steve called Pierre's attention and asked him to bring them each a shot of Scotch. While waiting for their drinks, his gaze slants over to Tony and noticed that his robe was slipping close to his shoulders.
Steve bit on the inside of his lips, unable to keep his eyes off the patch of olive skin exposed along Tony's clavicle. He wanted to rip off the navy blue satin material and see more of what Tony was hiding underneath.
"Here you go," Pierre said, sliding two filled glasses in front of them.
"What are we drinking to?" Steve asked, keeping his tone playful.
Tony raised his glass. "How 'bout to inexistent freedom?"
"All right." Steve touched Tony's glass with his then brought it to his lips.
Tony lost track of time, probably way past three in the morning, he wasn't sure. All he knew was Steve's company pacified all the acerbic feelings that had been gnawing at his entrails since the wedding. He likewise lost count of how many shots he had but he presumed he'd had too much because the room was spinning and tilting and warping out of focus.
It felt like his head was under water and he could hear gurgling sounds around him. Or was it him slurring?
"I think we should call it a night," Steve said, or at least that was what Tony thought he said though it sounded more like 'I think we should sleep together tonight.'
Damn. He must really had too much.
"S-shure, just…" and Tony tipped his glass, the ice hitting the tip of his nose. "Want more."
"Oh no." Steve laughed and stole the glass from Tony's hand. "I don't think you can take any more."
"I am not a whore!" Tony bellowed.
"I didn't say you—" Steve's head was moving and it was making Tony dizzy. "Never mind. Come on." Steve's hand curled around Tony's biceps, the warmth of Steve's touch seeping through the satin fabric of Tony's robe.
Tony stumbled out of his stool and let Steve guide him to the door.
They had just crossed the threshold, Tony barely able to keep one foot in front of the other, when he heard sniggering and someone saying, "Look who's been thrown out of his room."
His head snapped to his right and his eyes narrowed when he saw the last person he wanted to see tonight. "Craig."
"Did Pepper actually come to her senses and realized she married the wrong man?" Craig said in a blatantly sarcastic way.
"Or maybe he just couldn't keep it up, boss," one of Craig's goons said, hand cupping his mouth in a mock whisper. "You know, not giving her what she needed." All Craig's goons laughed at that and the underlying insult made Tony's blood simmer.
"Fuck you," Tony spat, half aware that saliva sprayed out of his mouth. He took a step closer to Craig, glowering at the man with every ounce of spite he could feel running through his veins.
Craig clucks his tongue, tutting. "Temper, temper. Do you even know how to use that," he said, gesturing at Tony's crotch with his eyes, "or are you too much of a fag to get it up for a woman as pretty as Pepper?"
The tiny flame of ire flickering inside Tony now burst into a full-blown blaze. "Why you—"
Intoxication bled out Tony's system and in an instant, he regained control of his limbs, enough to throw a punch straight to Craig's nose.
"Ah!" Craig howled, hands over the most likely broke appendage. "My nose!" He glared at Tony, eyes burning with rage, and with a wave of his arm, he yelled to his men. "Get him!"
Steve stepped in front of Tony, all six-foot-and-whatever of him, shoulders broad, chest out like some sort of superhero out of a comic book. "You'll have to go through me first."
"Uh." Tony tapped Steve on the shoulder. "I'm not exactly a damsel n distress. I can fight for myself, you know."
Steve didn't turn to face him, just tilted his head slightly when he said, "I can't exactly stand around and watch. Not with five of them against you."
"That's real sweet of you. But this isn't your fight."
"Trust me, Tony. Much as I hate brawl, it's still my duty to protect passengers who are… let's just say, outnumbered."
None of Steve's explanation made sense, not to Tony at least. But he wouldn't turn down such a gallant offer from someone who seemed to have a hero complex. "Suit yourself, big man," he said, then rounded on Steve to hit the nearest man on the jaw.
The impact sent a searing pain on his knuckles but he ignored it and sent his left fist hard on another man's thorax.
When he had two men crouched in pain, he glanced at Steve, saw the blond man sending a blow right across the dark-haired goon's cheek then elbowed another right on the ribs.
Craig was standing far on Tony's right, watching with wide eyes. Then he hollered, "Enough! I am not going to stoop further down to your level, Tony Stark," and took off, his men scampering after him.
"Not bad, big man," he told Steve then winced when he felt the back of his hand smart.
"Lemme see that." Steve took his right hand despite his protests, ran a thumb along Tony's knuckles. Gently. Tenderly. "You broke your skin."
"I'm fine." Tony snatched his hand back with a hiss.
"Just. I have some first aid in my room. Let me put some ointment and band aid on it, at least." The imploring look Steve showered him with made it impossible for Tony to resist.
God. Why did he have to find this man attractive? Never had he been captivated by anyone, be it the opposite sex or not, the way he was drawn to this man.
"Fine." Tony's shoulders sagged in defeat as he followed Steve down to the lower level. "This your room?" he asked, studying the simple, yet neat cabin with inept sweep of his eyes. "Kinda small, isn't it? I have a suite, you know."
The effects of the alcohol came surging back through his body, clouding his mind that he barely heard Steve said, "I know."
Tony took a nose dive on Steve's bed, fighting vertigo and that queasy feeling building up in his stomach. His face is pressed on Steve's pillow, the lingering scent of the man tickling his nostrils. Only when he heard Steve say, "Want a drink?" did he lift his head to throw Steve an incredulous look.
"You've got to be kidding me." Tony shifted until he was lying on his side, propped on his elbow, head resting on the heel of his hand. "I thought you said I've had enough."
Steve shrugged and poured a dark red liquid on a wine glass. "I don't remember saying anything like that. More Burgundy wine won't hurt," he said, offering him the drink.
"No thanks. I think I'll pass."
"Very well." Steve settled the glass on top of the study desk. "Thought that might help dull any pain you're feeling."
"It's not that much, my hand just fucking stings, is all." With his brain still swirling with vertigo, Tony found the need to rest his head on the pillow.
The noise Steve made while he rummaged through his cabinet provoked the onslaught of a headache and Tony rubbed at his temple to delay it. Steve was carrying a white box when he made his way over to the bed. "Let's see what I can do." He worked with deft hands, dabbing a cotton ball damped with antiseptic on Tony's cracked skin, swiping ointment on the abrasion and finally covering the area with Band Aid.
Then Steve did something that yanked Tony out of his inebriated state, made his heart slam hard against his chest: Steve kissed his hand.
For a moment, they stared at each other – Steve waiting for Tony's outburst while Tony looked infinitely befuddled.
When Tony's hand slid from his fingers and muttered, "Thanks," Steve relaxed a little, presuming the gesture somehow didn't upset Tony.
Steve decided to test the waters because really, he didn't know how long he could stand this, if he could even keep his hands off of Tony because… Damn. "Shouldn't you be going back to your suite now?"
A short, disdainful laugh tumbled out of Tony and the man held his chin up in a defiant stance, said, "I am not going to crawl back in there with as much of a shadow of apology trailing behind me. She threw me out then I'm staying out."
Steve doubted there was even a legitimate argument in Tony's half-assed speech but he reckoned it would be futile to disagree considering Tony's inebriated state so he just shrugged while Tony continued to babble how he didn't understand women. "That makes two of us," Steve offered in between Tony's pause.
"Will you be a sweetheart and let me stay with you, Steve?" Tony peered up at him through his dark eyelashes and Steve could swear Tony batted them flirtatiously that Steve just lost his remaining willpower.
"Okay," Steve said, throwing ethics and all that shit out the window. He turned off the lights, with only his night lamp bathing the room in soft, faint blue glow.
Tony was sprawled on his bed like some God's gift waiting for Steve to unwrap him with his hands and mouth. His robe had slid off one shoulder, revealing the chiseled muscles of his chest. The bottom part was spread open, exposing the considerably thick thighs and perfect legs that were sprinkled with a fair amount of hair.
The sight made Steve's mouth water. Like some puppet under a Tony Stark spell, he sank on the edge of the bed, every muscle in his body feeling like liquid metal. "Tony." The name rolled on his tongue like a hymn. "You look absolutely… I mean, can I… Oh fuck, I don't think I can stop my hands from touching you."
The soft grunt that slipped past Tony's lips sounded a lot like, "Then touch me," to Steve's ears but Steve didn't move an inch, thought it was only Tony talking in his sleep. But then Tony's eyes fluttered open for a moment in a challenging glance before the eyelids fell over those soft brown orbs.
Steve's cock twitched. His hand crawled up Tony's legs, feeling the hard muscles stir underneath his touch, and moved further up to part the hem of the satin material further to reveal the black boxer briefs that clung to Tony's hips like second skin.
The heat rising out of Tony burned right through Steve's palm and Steve couldn't resist any longer. Couldn't.
Stomping down the raging hunger caused by his arousal, Steve slid out of his jacket then his fingers worked quickly on the buttons of his dress shirt. It took great effort not to tear his clothes off in a hurry. His pants dropped on the floor in a heap then he climbed on the bed in only his boxers. Once he managed to peel the robe off of Tony, he started mapping every inch of Tony's skin with his mouth and his tongue and his hands.
"Steve." His own name sounded like a prayer, a plea from Tony's lips. There was just no way, no way that he could take his time because if he didn't take Tony now, he'd probably lose his mind.
Steve hopped out of bed, dug inside his underwear drawer and when he found the bottle of lubricant and packets of condom, he climbed back on top of Tony. "I don't think I'd be able to stop," he said against Tony's neck then he grazed his teeth along Tony's collarbone.
"This is wrong." Tony's breath was coming in short gasps. "This is wrong. But… but I don't want you to stop."
Stopping wasn't part of Steve's plan but he didn’t say anything, just hooked his fingers on the waistband of Tony's boxer briefs, hoping this would get his message across. He pressed his lips on every inch of skin exposed as he slid the underwear down.
The sight of Tony's cock – thick and beautiful and oh so perfect – laying against the plane of Tony's abdomen made Steve's breath hitch.
Steve's hand curled around the shaft, the velvety skin smooth against his palm. His tongue darted, touching the protruding veins. Tasting. Feeling. Teasing.
"Please," rose out of Tony's parted mouth. His eyes were glazed, looking so sensual, so wanton, so sultry, so so fuckable that Steve couldn't fight the urge to take him in his mouth.
Tony's cock throbbed against his lips and all Steve wanted was to suck him in, devour him, taste him, drive him to the brink of pleasure so he bobbed his head, swirling his tongue around the shaft, hands cupping the fleshy cheeks of Tony's ass.
The feeling of Tony's fingers tangling in his hair, goaded Steve to swallow deeper, making Tony writhe and squirm and—
Steve released Tony's cock, his mouth and chin now covered with spit. Tony made a sound of protest, eyes snapping open to glare at Steve.
Soft chuckle rumbled out of Steve's chest. "I don't want you to come that way," he said and grabbed the bottle of lube he threw on the bed, coated his fingers with the clear gel then pressed one gently into Tony's entrance. He halted when he saw Tony's face twist, not sure if it was due to pain or pleasure. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Tony said, sounding like he was holding his breath. "Go on. Do it."
Carefully. Slowly. Steve slid one digit inside Tony, moving only when Tony's visibly relaxed. Once he was certain that Tony was used to the intrusion, he added another finger, watching the thousand expressions flittering on Tony's face. He curled his finger in search of Tony's special spot and when his fingertip grazed against Tony's prostate, he felt vibration course through Tony's body, making Tony tremble and moan.
"God, you look absolutely hot,' Steve said, hissing against Tony's ear as he slipped the third finger, stretching and stretching until he had Tony begging for Steve to take him, saying, "Now. Now, please."
Steve quickly slips on the condom, rubbed lube over his erection and slid slowly into Tony, careful not to push further and waited until Tony could say he was fine.
"This is so wrong, so wrong," Tony said through gritted teeth. "We're… we're both men. But… it feels good."
Propping himself up with his hands near each of Tony's shoulders, Steve gazed down at the man beneath him. "Then why don't you just enjoy the ride."
Steve began to move, slow and shallow until he felt Tony's hips moving with him, meeting thrust after thrust. Everything around Steve seemed to be sucked into a void with only him and Tony, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the enclosed space.
Everything – the sounds falling from their lips, the feeling of his cock gliding inside Tony, the friction, the sensation, everything – zeroed into one focal point and built up in his groin, pushing, pushing, driving Steve to the edge.
The grunts emerging out of Tony's throat soon became shorter and more distant. Tony's hand circled his erection and that was when Steve knew, knew he was close. He curled his hand over Tony's and started pumping, urging Tony to his climax until Tony was spilling, back arching off the bed, muscles clamping against Steve's cock.
"Shit." Steve snapped his hips in a violent thrust, the pressure in his groin about to explode. He drove his cock deeper into Tony, plunging faster and faster until he could feel his release surging out of him in waves.
It seemed like a lifetime when he felt like he was floating somewhere nonexistent then the feeling gradually left him and all Steve wanted was to collapse beside Tony, thighs and legs numb.
"Wow," was the last thing Steve heard from Tony before he slipped into the tranquil layers of his mind.
next part
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clover71written for
au_bigbang2012Fandom: Avengers (movie verse) | Pairing: Steve Rogers/ Tony Stark
Rating: NC-17 | Warning: Infidelity (in a twisted kind of way?)
All other info: check the MASTER POST
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1
Steve found the ship's Chief Officer waiting at the promenade with a weary look. "Everything okay? You've taken care of the problem at the lower deck?" he asked, hoping he'd hear good news, at least.
Clint's head moved in a stiff nod and his chest rose and fell when he sighed – long and heavy and spoke volumes of how relieved Clint was. "It was just a bunch of pranksters," he said, voice clipped. "Some of the deck crew had cleaned up the mess."
"Good. Did you catch the culprit?" Though it was just a harmless prank, Steve had to make sure they knew who was responsible for it because cleaning up the nasty effect of stink bombs wasn't how Steve would want his crew to spend the rest of the trip.
"Yup. A couple of teenage boys. They're being held at the security room as we speak, waiting for their parents to show up." Clint pressed his back against the railing. "I could sure use a break."
Steve wanted to say he could use one too, but he knew he had to make several more rounds and he was already anticipating a long night. "Let's just hope nothing exciting happens later to disrupt the wedding."
"We have full security on duty. We wouldn't want to upset the leader of an organized crime group now, would we?"
That was one little information Steve wasn't aware of. With a raised eyebrow, he asked, "Organized crime group?"
"Yeah. I heard the groom is the head of some Mafia organization in New York or something." Clint's eyes were focused over Steve's shoulder when he said, "Speak of the devil," prompting Steve to glance behind him.
It wasn't hard to single out who Clint meant. The dark-haired man surrounded by four others, all of them garbed in suits, stood out from the crowd that were lingering along the deck. He gave off an air of authority and confidence and power but there was something else – like a carefree aura that drew Steve's attention.
"He's gorgeous," skipped out of Steve's mouth while he studied the man's profile – his well-rounded shoulders, the wide expanse of his chest, the mustache that sat above his upper lip, beard that dusted his jaw, and the pair of dark brown eyes shining against the falling sun.
Clint barked a laugh. "Your type, Steve, not mine. I like 'em with soft curves and big breasts. Too bad for you he's getting married."
"Yeah," Steve murmured thoughtfully. "Too bad."
They both had gone quiet when the man sauntered past them and stole a glance over to Steve before moving on like nothing held his interest.
"According to the wedding invitation, his name is Anthony Edward Stark," Clint said when the man and his companions were out of earshot.
Steve shifted his attention back to Clint and gaped at the Chief Office incredulously. "You got an invitation?"
"Thor had to ask for one. You know. For security purpose. It's gonna be quite a handful since they have a shocking number of guests. You think half of our passengers belong to the clan of both bride and groom?"
"Could be." Steve actually lost Clint after the 'security purpose' part because he was too busy staring at the man's – Stark's ass. "Stark. Why does that name sound so familiar?"
"Dunno," Clint said with a shrug. "Probably a clan that belongs to a popular Mafia group."
Steve faced Clint with an inquisitive frown. "Are you sure it's Mafia?"
"Thor said that it's an organization similar to Mafia. I think they're called Jarvis. I don't know if it's an acronym for something. Why do you ask?"
If Steve's hunch was spot on, then Clint was right. The group or clan may indeed be well known. "I wonder if he's related to Howard Stark. I often came across that name on newspapers back home," he muttered under his breath, not sure if Clint even heard him because the Chief Officer didn't offer any reaction.
Back home. When was the last time he ever thought of New York as home?
The sky was painted pale orange and gray, soft glow spilling over the surface of the water. The sound of the waves rushing through the surface made it seem like the ocean was singing while the sun began to sink beyond the line that Tony's eyes could reach.
It was at this hour when he loved to stay at the deck and watch the wonder nature had to offer unfold. It was a pacifying sight, something that eased his mind and body.
Tony watched the crystal blue water undulate as the ship cut through the surface. Seagulls flew alongside the vessel, gliding where the wind carried them.
If only his life could be like this – simple, serene and far removed from the stress and worries of his duties to his clan, his family and the Jarvis Organization.
"Mr. Stark." One of his sentries approached surreptitiously, cold, hard-bitten gaze piercing through Tony. "The wedding will start in ten minutes."
"Right." Right. But Tony didn't move. Wouldn't it be funny though… that he'd be late for his own wedding? He entertained the idea for a while but jerked at the sound of Nick's throat clearing so he reluctantly followed his sentry inside.
To Tony, it felt like walking into a death chamber or something. He loved Pepper, cared for her. But she had been nothing more than a friend. They practically grew up together, have known each other since Tony was eleven.
Tony often wondered what was wrong with him, wondered why he couldn't even get attracted to a woman as pretty as Pepper. It was when he was twenty-one that he concluded he was asexual. Maybe. Perhaps.
The largest function room was reserved for the occasion. Tony would've preferred something less extravagant, but Pepper insisted the wedding had to be on a cruise ship, somewhere in Europe and she just had to have the most lavish gown ever.
Arguing with her was like trying to move a mountain, so Tony kept his big mouth shut and conceded to everything she wanted. It was the least he could do to appease her, knowing it was more of an inconvenience for her to go through this pre-arranged nuptial since she actually had a boyfriend.
Besides, it could've been worse if Pepper's parents were still alive.
"There you are!" Pepper said, voice spiced with annoyance and frustration, hands resting on her hip, eyebrows drawn together. "Where were you? The ceremony is about to start."
"I'm here. I'm here," Tony said groaning while he threw on his black coat haphazardly. He was used to wearing suits and a tuxedo shouldn't be anything different. Why the hell did he feel like he was wearing a damn straitjacket then? It was uncomfortable as hell.
"Look at you," Pepper said, tugging on the lapels and running her fingers down the front as if trying to iron the non-existent wrinkles. "You still act like you're in your teens. Grow up a bit for me, won't you?" She hooked her arm around Tony's and led him to the makeshift altar where the officiating pastor was waiting.
They even brought a pastor along, damn it. The expenses would no doubt go through the roof, not that Tony had anything to worry about it.
Soft music flowed across the room – the wedding fucking march started playing – as if it was the cue that prompted everyone to fall into an eerie silence.
Tony thought, Fuck, here it goes, and started gliding with Pepper along the red carpet lined in the middle leading up to the pastor who had a shit-eating grin plastered on his wrinkled face.
The wedding was beautiful in Steve's opinion, despite it being over-the-top for his taste. He studied the bride with detached admiration – blonde hair styled in a braided bun with white flowers emphasizing the round heap behind her head, light make up highlighted her delicate beauty. White gown flowed down her shapely body so exquisitely that it seemed she was wearing the clouds around her. But it wasn't really the bride that captured Steve entirely.
Saying the groom looked perfect may be overstating it but that was the only word Steve could come up with to describe him. The black tuxedo gave emphasis to his somehow rugged features, jacket hugging the fine contours of his body and pants showing off the roundness of his buttocks. His face, despite the absence of any emotion, radiated a surpassing beauty. He must've shaved because the beard Steve saw earlier looked more like dark shadows along his jaw line that gave off a mysterious and alluring feature.
A white cloth was held out before his face. Steve blinked out of his stupor to find Clint beside him, holding out the handkerchief with a Cheshire cat-like grin. "You're drooling," Clint said, pressing the hanky on the corner of Steve's mouth.
"No, just. Shut up, will you." Steve batted Clint's hand away. "I'm going to do my rounds," he said, leaving Clint laughing like a crazed hyena. He stole one last glance at the groom, only to find him watching Steve with what Steve could only interpret as curiosity.
The undeniable intensity in the groom's gaze sent frissons surging down Steve's crotch and Steve wondered….
The bride wrapped her arms over the groom's shoulders and the distraction caused their gazes to break. Steve took that as his opportunity to escape and slipped out of the function room, heart thumping wildly.
There were people milling outside, perhaps curious to see what was going on. None of them seemed to post any threat so Steve didn't make a fuss out of it. Thor claimed he had security under control anyway.
After a run in with the hotel manager who was about to lose his patience over a couple who kept complaining there were rats in their cabin ("We've checked! There are no rats!"), and the ship doctor who just had to deal with three seasick passengers, Steve made his way to the ship's bar.
It was way past midnight and Steve just had to unwind before calling it a night. When he stepped inside the oval room, the first person he noticed was the groom – Anthony Stark, he believed was the man's name – sitting by the counter alone, wearing a navy blue night robe for God knew what reason. The wedding reception must have long been over. Steve hadn't hand a chance to return to the function room because duty called.
His legs seemed to move on their own, leading him right next to the man and noticed that he – Stark – was nursing a glass of amber liquid. Scotch, Steve presumed, on the rocks. Typical.
"Surprised to see you're not surrounded by your usual posse," Steve said without preamble, noticing that his bodyguards weren't around.
The man – Stark, he has a freaking name, Steve – first regarded him with a sidelong glance then, as if he'd been poked on the side, sprang up straight and faced him.
"It's you," skipped out of the man's mouth, which caught Steve off-guard, not expecting that reaction from someone who was, until that very second, a complete stranger. "Uh… I mean, I've seen you around. You were at my wedding reception."
Steve held out a hand, said, "Steve Rogers," with an edge of professionalism in his stance but the moment he felt Stark's strong and firm grip, Steve's bones turned liquid with all that cliché weak-on-the-knees sensation.
"Tony Stark," the man said and Steve thought, Tony, the name swirling in his dazed mind. Only when Stark – Tony now – cleared his throat did Steve realize he still had Tony's hand firmly clasped in his.
"Sorry." Heat rose on the surface of Steve's cheeks and he'd be damned if he was sporting an embarrassing blush.
"I get it all the time." The mischievous spark in Tony's eyes masked the arrogance he seemed to possess naturally.
"Might I suggest something more appropriate for the occasion?" Steve asked, gesturing at the glass in Tony's hand.
"Sure. What do you have in mind?"
Steve gave the bartender a nod. "You have any good bottle of Burgundy wine with you, Pierre?"
"Always." Pierre reached underneath the counter, pulled out a dark bottle with the familiar white label. "Your favorite, Clos des Lambrays Grand Cru," he said, the words whistling through his lips with his charming accent. "The best Pinot Noir we have on stock, you say."
Pierre went to work, placing two wine glasses on the counter and poured a generous amount of the red wine. "Enjoy yourselves, gentlemen," he said with a curt bow then moved toward the end of the bar to attend to another customer.
"Isn't red wine more appropriate on the dining table?" Tony asked, taking the glass Steve offered nonetheless.
"It's also appropriate for a congratulatory toast, I suppose." Steve raised his glass, said, "To the newly wed," and took a luscious sip of the wine, letting the lush and creamy and sophisticated taste caress his palate.
Tony flinched visibly before bringing his own glass to his lips. "Not bad," he said, and had another taste. "Better than the one my butler brought from the cellar last month."
"This is my personal favorite." Steve let his glass rest on the counter, propped on his elbow against the oak-finished surface, eyes wandering over Tony's body. "Nice outfit, by the way."
A soft shade of crimson appeared on Tony's cheeks. "The wife threw me out of the room, told me not to go back unless I gain some manners."
Steve's eyebrows sprang up. "Whatever did you do?"
"Just told her she looked like a whore in that lingerie she's wearing."
Steve wasn't able to stop the laughter that rumbled out of his chest. "I can't blame her for throwing you out," he said, shaking his head. "That's not a nice thing to say to a woman you just married."
Tony shrugged, said, "I was just being honest," and brought the wine glass to his lips.
"Well, she was probably trying to look sexy for you. That's what lingerie is for, I believe." Steve noticed how Tony winced, wondered if it was a reaction to the mouthful of wine he just drank or to what Steve had just said. "Shouldn't you be knocking on the door and apologizing to her instead of sitting out here?"
"No way." Tony shook his head. "I've got my pride to take care of."
Steve felt his forehead wrinkling in a confused frown. "But it's your wedding night."
"So?" was Tony's blunt reaction.
Something didn't sit right with Steve and he knew it wasn't his place to pry but he couldn't help but ask, "Is that the proper way to treat the woman you're in love with?" When he noticed the slight quirk of Tony's eyebrow, Steve mentally kicked himself for crossing the line, sticking his nose where he shouldn't, but damn there was something about Tony that lured him in and he just had to know.
A mask of incredulity fell over Tony's face and he gave quite a contemptuous snigger. "In love with? Please. If my father wasn't stupid enough to make a pact with her father, I wouldn't be in this situation."
Bingo. Steve had to raise an eyebrow, surprised that this kind of situation still happened at this age. "Arranged marriage? You're kidding right?"
Tony shook his head vigorously. "No, not kidding."
"Then I guess we do need something stronger." Steve called Pierre's attention and asked him to bring them each a shot of Scotch. While waiting for their drinks, his gaze slants over to Tony and noticed that his robe was slipping close to his shoulders.
Steve bit on the inside of his lips, unable to keep his eyes off the patch of olive skin exposed along Tony's clavicle. He wanted to rip off the navy blue satin material and see more of what Tony was hiding underneath.
"Here you go," Pierre said, sliding two filled glasses in front of them.
"What are we drinking to?" Steve asked, keeping his tone playful.
Tony raised his glass. "How 'bout to inexistent freedom?"
"All right." Steve touched Tony's glass with his then brought it to his lips.
Tony lost track of time, probably way past three in the morning, he wasn't sure. All he knew was Steve's company pacified all the acerbic feelings that had been gnawing at his entrails since the wedding. He likewise lost count of how many shots he had but he presumed he'd had too much because the room was spinning and tilting and warping out of focus.
It felt like his head was under water and he could hear gurgling sounds around him. Or was it him slurring?
"I think we should call it a night," Steve said, or at least that was what Tony thought he said though it sounded more like 'I think we should sleep together tonight.'
Damn. He must really had too much.
"S-shure, just…" and Tony tipped his glass, the ice hitting the tip of his nose. "Want more."
"Oh no." Steve laughed and stole the glass from Tony's hand. "I don't think you can take any more."
"I am not a whore!" Tony bellowed.
"I didn't say you—" Steve's head was moving and it was making Tony dizzy. "Never mind. Come on." Steve's hand curled around Tony's biceps, the warmth of Steve's touch seeping through the satin fabric of Tony's robe.
Tony stumbled out of his stool and let Steve guide him to the door.
They had just crossed the threshold, Tony barely able to keep one foot in front of the other, when he heard sniggering and someone saying, "Look who's been thrown out of his room."
His head snapped to his right and his eyes narrowed when he saw the last person he wanted to see tonight. "Craig."
"Did Pepper actually come to her senses and realized she married the wrong man?" Craig said in a blatantly sarcastic way.
"Or maybe he just couldn't keep it up, boss," one of Craig's goons said, hand cupping his mouth in a mock whisper. "You know, not giving her what she needed." All Craig's goons laughed at that and the underlying insult made Tony's blood simmer.
"Fuck you," Tony spat, half aware that saliva sprayed out of his mouth. He took a step closer to Craig, glowering at the man with every ounce of spite he could feel running through his veins.
Craig clucks his tongue, tutting. "Temper, temper. Do you even know how to use that," he said, gesturing at Tony's crotch with his eyes, "or are you too much of a fag to get it up for a woman as pretty as Pepper?"
The tiny flame of ire flickering inside Tony now burst into a full-blown blaze. "Why you—"
Intoxication bled out Tony's system and in an instant, he regained control of his limbs, enough to throw a punch straight to Craig's nose.
"Ah!" Craig howled, hands over the most likely broke appendage. "My nose!" He glared at Tony, eyes burning with rage, and with a wave of his arm, he yelled to his men. "Get him!"
Steve stepped in front of Tony, all six-foot-and-whatever of him, shoulders broad, chest out like some sort of superhero out of a comic book. "You'll have to go through me first."
"Uh." Tony tapped Steve on the shoulder. "I'm not exactly a damsel n distress. I can fight for myself, you know."
Steve didn't turn to face him, just tilted his head slightly when he said, "I can't exactly stand around and watch. Not with five of them against you."
"That's real sweet of you. But this isn't your fight."
"Trust me, Tony. Much as I hate brawl, it's still my duty to protect passengers who are… let's just say, outnumbered."
None of Steve's explanation made sense, not to Tony at least. But he wouldn't turn down such a gallant offer from someone who seemed to have a hero complex. "Suit yourself, big man," he said, then rounded on Steve to hit the nearest man on the jaw.
The impact sent a searing pain on his knuckles but he ignored it and sent his left fist hard on another man's thorax.
When he had two men crouched in pain, he glanced at Steve, saw the blond man sending a blow right across the dark-haired goon's cheek then elbowed another right on the ribs.
Craig was standing far on Tony's right, watching with wide eyes. Then he hollered, "Enough! I am not going to stoop further down to your level, Tony Stark," and took off, his men scampering after him.
"Not bad, big man," he told Steve then winced when he felt the back of his hand smart.
"Lemme see that." Steve took his right hand despite his protests, ran a thumb along Tony's knuckles. Gently. Tenderly. "You broke your skin."
"I'm fine." Tony snatched his hand back with a hiss.
"Just. I have some first aid in my room. Let me put some ointment and band aid on it, at least." The imploring look Steve showered him with made it impossible for Tony to resist.
God. Why did he have to find this man attractive? Never had he been captivated by anyone, be it the opposite sex or not, the way he was drawn to this man.
"Fine." Tony's shoulders sagged in defeat as he followed Steve down to the lower level. "This your room?" he asked, studying the simple, yet neat cabin with inept sweep of his eyes. "Kinda small, isn't it? I have a suite, you know."
The effects of the alcohol came surging back through his body, clouding his mind that he barely heard Steve said, "I know."
Tony took a nose dive on Steve's bed, fighting vertigo and that queasy feeling building up in his stomach. His face is pressed on Steve's pillow, the lingering scent of the man tickling his nostrils. Only when he heard Steve say, "Want a drink?" did he lift his head to throw Steve an incredulous look.
"You've got to be kidding me." Tony shifted until he was lying on his side, propped on his elbow, head resting on the heel of his hand. "I thought you said I've had enough."
Steve shrugged and poured a dark red liquid on a wine glass. "I don't remember saying anything like that. More Burgundy wine won't hurt," he said, offering him the drink.
"No thanks. I think I'll pass."
"Very well." Steve settled the glass on top of the study desk. "Thought that might help dull any pain you're feeling."
"It's not that much, my hand just fucking stings, is all." With his brain still swirling with vertigo, Tony found the need to rest his head on the pillow.
The noise Steve made while he rummaged through his cabinet provoked the onslaught of a headache and Tony rubbed at his temple to delay it. Steve was carrying a white box when he made his way over to the bed. "Let's see what I can do." He worked with deft hands, dabbing a cotton ball damped with antiseptic on Tony's cracked skin, swiping ointment on the abrasion and finally covering the area with Band Aid.
Then Steve did something that yanked Tony out of his inebriated state, made his heart slam hard against his chest: Steve kissed his hand.
For a moment, they stared at each other – Steve waiting for Tony's outburst while Tony looked infinitely befuddled.
When Tony's hand slid from his fingers and muttered, "Thanks," Steve relaxed a little, presuming the gesture somehow didn't upset Tony.
Steve decided to test the waters because really, he didn't know how long he could stand this, if he could even keep his hands off of Tony because… Damn. "Shouldn't you be going back to your suite now?"
A short, disdainful laugh tumbled out of Tony and the man held his chin up in a defiant stance, said, "I am not going to crawl back in there with as much of a shadow of apology trailing behind me. She threw me out then I'm staying out."
Steve doubted there was even a legitimate argument in Tony's half-assed speech but he reckoned it would be futile to disagree considering Tony's inebriated state so he just shrugged while Tony continued to babble how he didn't understand women. "That makes two of us," Steve offered in between Tony's pause.
"Will you be a sweetheart and let me stay with you, Steve?" Tony peered up at him through his dark eyelashes and Steve could swear Tony batted them flirtatiously that Steve just lost his remaining willpower.
"Okay," Steve said, throwing ethics and all that shit out the window. He turned off the lights, with only his night lamp bathing the room in soft, faint blue glow.
Tony was sprawled on his bed like some God's gift waiting for Steve to unwrap him with his hands and mouth. His robe had slid off one shoulder, revealing the chiseled muscles of his chest. The bottom part was spread open, exposing the considerably thick thighs and perfect legs that were sprinkled with a fair amount of hair.
The sight made Steve's mouth water. Like some puppet under a Tony Stark spell, he sank on the edge of the bed, every muscle in his body feeling like liquid metal. "Tony." The name rolled on his tongue like a hymn. "You look absolutely… I mean, can I… Oh fuck, I don't think I can stop my hands from touching you."
The soft grunt that slipped past Tony's lips sounded a lot like, "Then touch me," to Steve's ears but Steve didn't move an inch, thought it was only Tony talking in his sleep. But then Tony's eyes fluttered open for a moment in a challenging glance before the eyelids fell over those soft brown orbs.
Steve's cock twitched. His hand crawled up Tony's legs, feeling the hard muscles stir underneath his touch, and moved further up to part the hem of the satin material further to reveal the black boxer briefs that clung to Tony's hips like second skin.
The heat rising out of Tony burned right through Steve's palm and Steve couldn't resist any longer. Couldn't.
Stomping down the raging hunger caused by his arousal, Steve slid out of his jacket then his fingers worked quickly on the buttons of his dress shirt. It took great effort not to tear his clothes off in a hurry. His pants dropped on the floor in a heap then he climbed on the bed in only his boxers. Once he managed to peel the robe off of Tony, he started mapping every inch of Tony's skin with his mouth and his tongue and his hands.
"Steve." His own name sounded like a prayer, a plea from Tony's lips. There was just no way, no way that he could take his time because if he didn't take Tony now, he'd probably lose his mind.
Steve hopped out of bed, dug inside his underwear drawer and when he found the bottle of lubricant and packets of condom, he climbed back on top of Tony. "I don't think I'd be able to stop," he said against Tony's neck then he grazed his teeth along Tony's collarbone.
"This is wrong." Tony's breath was coming in short gasps. "This is wrong. But… but I don't want you to stop."
Stopping wasn't part of Steve's plan but he didn’t say anything, just hooked his fingers on the waistband of Tony's boxer briefs, hoping this would get his message across. He pressed his lips on every inch of skin exposed as he slid the underwear down.
The sight of Tony's cock – thick and beautiful and oh so perfect – laying against the plane of Tony's abdomen made Steve's breath hitch.
Steve's hand curled around the shaft, the velvety skin smooth against his palm. His tongue darted, touching the protruding veins. Tasting. Feeling. Teasing.
"Please," rose out of Tony's parted mouth. His eyes were glazed, looking so sensual, so wanton, so sultry, so so fuckable that Steve couldn't fight the urge to take him in his mouth.
Tony's cock throbbed against his lips and all Steve wanted was to suck him in, devour him, taste him, drive him to the brink of pleasure so he bobbed his head, swirling his tongue around the shaft, hands cupping the fleshy cheeks of Tony's ass.
The feeling of Tony's fingers tangling in his hair, goaded Steve to swallow deeper, making Tony writhe and squirm and—
Steve released Tony's cock, his mouth and chin now covered with spit. Tony made a sound of protest, eyes snapping open to glare at Steve.
Soft chuckle rumbled out of Steve's chest. "I don't want you to come that way," he said and grabbed the bottle of lube he threw on the bed, coated his fingers with the clear gel then pressed one gently into Tony's entrance. He halted when he saw Tony's face twist, not sure if it was due to pain or pleasure. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Tony said, sounding like he was holding his breath. "Go on. Do it."
Carefully. Slowly. Steve slid one digit inside Tony, moving only when Tony's visibly relaxed. Once he was certain that Tony was used to the intrusion, he added another finger, watching the thousand expressions flittering on Tony's face. He curled his finger in search of Tony's special spot and when his fingertip grazed against Tony's prostate, he felt vibration course through Tony's body, making Tony tremble and moan.
"God, you look absolutely hot,' Steve said, hissing against Tony's ear as he slipped the third finger, stretching and stretching until he had Tony begging for Steve to take him, saying, "Now. Now, please."
Steve quickly slips on the condom, rubbed lube over his erection and slid slowly into Tony, careful not to push further and waited until Tony could say he was fine.
"This is so wrong, so wrong," Tony said through gritted teeth. "We're… we're both men. But… it feels good."
Propping himself up with his hands near each of Tony's shoulders, Steve gazed down at the man beneath him. "Then why don't you just enjoy the ride."
Steve began to move, slow and shallow until he felt Tony's hips moving with him, meeting thrust after thrust. Everything around Steve seemed to be sucked into a void with only him and Tony, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the enclosed space.
Everything – the sounds falling from their lips, the feeling of his cock gliding inside Tony, the friction, the sensation, everything – zeroed into one focal point and built up in his groin, pushing, pushing, driving Steve to the edge.
The grunts emerging out of Tony's throat soon became shorter and more distant. Tony's hand circled his erection and that was when Steve knew, knew he was close. He curled his hand over Tony's and started pumping, urging Tony to his climax until Tony was spilling, back arching off the bed, muscles clamping against Steve's cock.
"Shit." Steve snapped his hips in a violent thrust, the pressure in his groin about to explode. He drove his cock deeper into Tony, plunging faster and faster until he could feel his release surging out of him in waves.
It seemed like a lifetime when he felt like he was floating somewhere nonexistent then the feeling gradually left him and all Steve wanted was to collapse beside Tony, thighs and legs numb.
"Wow," was the last thing Steve heard from Tony before he slipped into the tranquil layers of his mind.
next part
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