Continuation of >>80988 and >>80989



Pepper’s shouts of frustration are being drown out by the whirring and clanking of the Iron Man armor forming around Tony. He is more than a little pissed to come strolling out of a meeting with a client to find a bunch of neo-Nazi wannabes attempting to hold a Staten Island ferry hostage. And SHIELD decided it didn’t need to call him.

News coverage is showing Steve and his team handling the situation, but they’re not really getting anywhere. How can they, when a Hulking Banner is too much of a danger for the situation and they only have one flyer in Thor? The Coast Guard has the ferry surrounded, but any sudden moves from them and terrorists show they mean business. And shit, there is already a death toll of six, more expected if the situation doesn’t end now.

Iron Man is flying out the window, papers swirling off his desk and around Pepper like a miniature tornado, her hands gesturing that she’s given up for the time being. Whatever she has to say isn’t any more important than this. He flies over Manhattan, heading in the direction of Battery Park, as he brings up the news feeds and local reports to one side and tries to connect into official SHIELD telecommunications. His efforts are constantly rejected, not something he’s extremely happy with, and he blows his way over the water. He pulls up in a graceful arc beside Thor, hovering aways off among the edgy Coast Guardsmen.

“Friend Stark,” Thor says, his voice solemn and carrying easily on the wind around him. “I wish that our meeting again were not so grave a situation.”

“Good to see you, too, buddy,” Tony replies, his voice being generated somewhat monotone by the suit’s speakers, failing to translate the heaviness in his tone.

He’s bringing up schematics of the ferry and matching heat signature readings on the grid to find positioning of the people inside. Suddenly a comm flairs into life and Black Widow’s voice is crystal clear. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“You act like that’s ever stopped me,” Tony says, pulling up any kind of signal--security cameras, cellphones, walkies--to get eyes and ears on the inside. “I’m here to help, by the way. Make me useful.”

Hawkeye patches into the line, voice clipped in a rush. “--hen grab Cap--”

A split second and Steve is crashing through glass, falling headlong into the water below. He’s towing a man with him, one of the villains of the hour, his machine gun fire blazing through the air in startled bursts. They break through the surface with a violent splash and Tony is following down, dropping himself below the surface to get closer to them without being seen. Repulsors torpedo him through the water to snatch up Steve and the struggling terrorist, allow him to burst the surface.

“Get me back in there,” Steve is gasping, not at all surprised by Iron Man’s presence.

“Thor, catch!” And Tony tosses the gunman in a wide arc to the god, not bothering to look if Thor manages to make the catch. He holds Steve securely and flies them to the ferry, aiming for the window Steve fell from. The gunfire inside registers on Tony’s sensors before he can see it, and it’s not made for them. Apparently, Steve can hear it, too, and is practically trying to jump from Tony’s grip.

“No!”

Steve’s blindly flinging his shield inside before they breach the window frame, his trajectory bouncing first before taking out a gunman mid-fire. They’re too late as they land inside--three more bodies among the hostages. Steve pulls from Tony’s grip and rushes to the wounded, checking pulses, applying pressure, and giving directions to those who aren’t too shaken to help.

Another terrorist rushes the room, eyes falling instantly on the bright red and gold of Iron Man and he opens fire, the bullets pinging harmlessly off of Tony’s armor. He raises a gauntlet and fires a low powered repulsor blast, blowing the man back through the doorway, slamming against the railing. Shouting just beyond the door has Tony following the guy out onto the walkway, finding two more guys approaching. They both go down easy, a repulsor blast for each, one guy’s finger slipping on the trigger to set off a quick round of automatic shots. It draws screams of panic in the room behind him, and Tony pulls a quick panel on his screen showing security images of Steve giving a hushed pep-talk to the gathered around him.

Snatching up his shield, Steve is at Tony’s side, jaw set grimly. “The leader is up in the control room. They’ve killed the captain. Three others on board are able to pilot the ferry to harbor in the captain’s stead, but they’re all held hostage in the control room as well. We have to get in there without anyone getting hurt further.”

Tony uses the intel to make markers on his grids. “Hawkeye and Widow?”

“On the levels below, taking out as many members of the group as they can. The original estimation was of fifteen men, but it seems to be closer to thirty.”

“Okay, so someone wanna patch me in to the comm? God, why wasn’t I even called for this?” Tony demands, wanting to throw up his faceplate and glare at Steve. It wouldn’t help at the moment, but it would make Tony feel a little better.

Even with the cowl on, the infuriated look translated well in Steve’s steel glare. “It wasn’t my call to make, Consultant. Coulson, get Iron Man’s communications reinstated.”

The line hums to life in Tony’s right ear, Hawkeye’s voice giving encountered estimates of hostages dead and wounded so far, 13 and 57, and a total of terrorist he’s incapacitated personally, nine.

Steve doesn’t give his tally, something Tony wants to know, because--Goddammit--this could have been less of a disaster if they had called him. “Don’t Consultant me! I’m just as capable and this carnage could have been avoided!”

Steve--No, Captain America’s voice is hard, biting in through the speakers of the Iron Man suit. It brings to mind the security camera in Steve’s room and how easily he took it out with a chair. “I will. Not. Argue this with you. Not now.”

Tony bites his lip hard to stop the return volley, the urge to escalate the argument. Now isn’t the time to be fighting with Captain America, of all people. They’re heroes, dammit, and they have lives to save. Plus, he only had three guys down, and if he could take out more than Barton in less time, he could laugh in the sharpshooter’s face.

A quick glance over the schematics of the ferry put the control room right over their heads. Looking up, Tony’s screens ran a quick overlay of structure, infrared heat signatures, and security imaging to layout the scenario in the room above. “Cap. Gotta plan.”

The sharp look eases from Steve’s features, settling for one of determination. “I’m all ears.”

Tony holds up his gauntlet, a small projection system in the forearm creates holographic images, three dimensional layouts mirrored after details on his own viewing screen. “The control room’s over our heads. There are five people inside, a perp at the helm and two at the corners on either side of the door. Between the guys at the door are our three hostages. Just outside the door to the control room are five men waiting to meet us, and who knows how many others along the way.”

Steve nods. “So if we go in through the front door, they’ll know we’re coming.”

Tony cocks his head, knowing Steve can’t see him smirk behind the faceplate. “I say we take the trapdoor.” Tony takes two steps to his left and gestures up. “Structural integrity shows a weakness in the floor at this point. We can blast through easily, without risking hostages. The people in here should be safe as long as they get against the back walls. Then it’s just a matter of the three in the room and the five outside the door.”

The sound of a weapon being armed draws Steve’s attention away, tossing his shield at the door frame to bounce it out into the corridor. It pings off of something and there’s an answering yelp and thud as Steve goes to retrieve it. Tony takes the moment to usher the crowd of people away from the immediate area.

It takes a few moments longer for Steve to come back, and when he does, what Tony can see of his face is ashen. “They’re foaming at the mouth,” he says in harsh disbelief. Tony doesn’t get a chance to ask what Steve even means before he runs up to Tony, wrapping an arm around him and bracing his shield over his head for impact. “Go! We have to finish this now!”

Tony fires his boots and aims for the ceiling, blowing them up and through. The debris rains from them in splinters even as they move into their attack, Tony taking out one in the corner with a repulsor while Steve flings his shield at the other. The ricochet sends the shield sailing back across the room to the helm, hitting the leader with enough residual force to send him staggering.

The commotion drawls the attention of the men outside, just as Tony had figured, and he has both gauntlets at the ready as they rush the door. A solid blast over the heads of the hostages has the three of the five bowling over backwards, taking down a fourth. A single shot fells the last man in the hall, but it’s only a matter of time before more realize they’re losing the control room. The relieved hostages scramble away from the smashed door and to a far corner, and Tony’s really on his way to make sure they’re okay, but a strangled shout from Steve has him turning to the helm.

“No! Don’t you dare!”

“Cut off one head, Captain. I’m sure you... know... the... r.e..st...” The bastard is lying on the floor, smiling through the seizures and foam at his mouth. Cyanide, Tony’s readouts tell him.

“Hydra!” Steve all but roars, his voice low and menacing and sending chills down Tony’s spine. If his shield hadn’t been made of indestructible alloys, it would have snapped like brittle plastic in his hands.

Chatter explodes in Tony’s right ear, Fury the loudest of the voices demanding Captain America be extracted immediately. You’re right there, Stark, get him out. But Tony looks at Steve, watches him wrench the earpiece out from under his cowl and smash it under his boot, and sees anguish there underneath the flush of rage.

Tony knows what the hell Hydra was, what it means to Steve. In the comics, in the stories his father told him, Hydra was the enemy. “If any of these assholes are still standing, they have cyanide pills. Drop them, but stop them from chomping down on them if you can.” Tony then cuts his own comm link and turns to Steve.

“I want... I need to see that everyone is evacuated safely. I won’t leave until then,” Steve says, eyes unable to look away from the lifeless body on the floor before him. He says it in that same voice, that raw sound from France. Tony stands guard at the control room door as Steve coaxes one of the hostage to sail the ferry to the closest port.

**********

The debriefing feels like a star about to go supernova, the focal point being one Steve Rogers. The silence is suppressive, to the point that Coulson’s not even standing to go over things like policy and notes from the last meeting, the things he normally occupies their attentions with until Fury storms the room. Tony leans forward, elbow on the table and chin in hand as he glances around at all the stony faces, faces that won’t meet Steve’s eyes. It would be distasteful to make a “Damn, did somebody die?” joke, because a total of 38 civilian fatalities were listed in the latest news tickers. That didn’t include the 26 so called Hydra agents that poisoned themselves instead of being apprehended.

When Fury does arrive to the table, the air of the room thickens to the point Tony thinks it could reverse polarity, maybe become a blackhole. They’re all waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Steve to snap, to start yelling and throwing things. But he just sits, with his hands clasped neatly, knuckles white, on the table and his eyes focused on some point in the middle of them all. No one seems surprised, other than Tony, when Fury’s eye lands on him and Tony is the one to go off.

“You know, God, why didn’t you call me?” Tony rocks back in his chair and flings his arms wide. “What the hell does pissing you off have to do with you not calling me in to save lives? Iron Man was pivotal, essential, to the situation and--”

Fury levels a glare at Tony, stopping his tirade with a simple, “I’m not arguing this with you.”

Tony can remember Steve’s near growl as he gave him practically the same line on the ferry. Tony wasn’t going to give Fury the satisfaction of compliance. “No, we are going to do this, and we’re going to do it now! Thirty-eight civilians are dead--”

“44,” Steve says, quiet and tense. Tony only pauses to look at Steve, make sure he actually heard him, before picking up steam.

“--44 dead! I have ways to get inside, I could have been the eyes and ears we needed in there--”

“Stark, sit down,” Natasha hisses. He isn’t even aware he got to his feet.

Tony flings out an accusing finger at her, putting his other hand on the table so he can lean and get his finger as close to her face as he can, because he can. “--Because ninja girl here wasn’t ninja enough to handle a bunch of wannabe Nazis. We were down three contributing members until I showed up--”

“There were other SHIELD operatives in place,” Coulson says, but he’s drowned out by Fury’s, “You are a consultant. Field work is not in your job description!”

“Then change the damn job description! Ask Cap about how we got the control room. I gave him a fucking consultation on the quickest way to handle it! How is that for your damn field work?!”

“Sit down, Tony,” Steve says and Tony whirls around to look at him.

“But I’m right! You know I’m right!”

Steve levels his steely blue eyes on Tony and it sends a shiver along his spine to have that intense focus on him. He wants to be defiant and stay on his feet, maybe walk around the room as he kept up yelling with Fury. But instead, Tony actually sits, watching Steve’s eyes follow him down into the chair.

“It’s too late anyway, Stark,” Barton says, sounding bored of the whole argument.

His voice brings Tony back into the room, reminding him there are other people with him. He swings his chair around from facing Steve to glare at the sharpshooter. “Hey, that’s enough from the peanut gallery,” Tony accuses.

“No, that’s enough from you,” Fury says sternly and he motions to Coulson. “I want a security detail in here to escort Mr. Stark out--”

Steve is on his feet, hands bracing against the table as he leans in. “This is what we know,” he begins in a tones of no nonsense Captain America. He goes on from there to start the debriefing himself, and with Coulson not having the mettle to or Fury having actual respect not to speak while Captain America is speaking, Tony is allowed to stay for the time being. He should probably thank Steve for the nice save, but instead he just sits and looks smug.

The holographic display, designed and installed by Tony himself, illustrates three-dimensional images of the Staten Island Ferry they were closely acquainted with just a few hours prior. With easy movements of his hands, Steve has several other heads-up displays with pertinent information appearing, making Tony wonder if he had been practicing or if he actually picked it up from watching Fury in their previous debriefings. “A little before sixteen hundred hours, the MV Spirit of America was traveling from it’s harbor at Staten Island on it’s way to the lower Manhattan port, with a load of 2,186 passengers. Twelve minutes into the usually estimated 25 minute journey, 31 terrorists, claiming to be agents of Hydra, exposed their weapons and began randomly executing passengers. Their designated leader and several armed men rushed the control room, killing the captain and taking all other emergency pilots captive.”

Steve flicks more images up into the 3-D display, like he’s dealing cards or tossing out leaflets. The sureness of the moves draws Tony’s eyes, the long, ungloved fingers dancing across the glass in-table monitor before waving up more lists and scrolling data. Tony doesn’t even care what’s in the air in front of him. All that matters at the moment are those hands and how Tony would like to get Steve into his workshop and see what he can do with those hands on his own display system. Sitting, Steve continues to work through data on the monitor, fingers flying on a virtual keyboard, easily typing something out at seventy-some words a minute, and Tony wonders if Steve handled typewriters with this much finesse back in the day.

When Steve pauses, Tony thinks that maybe there is a system gesture that he doesn’t know yet or hesitates to add more information, but Tony realizes after a moment Steve is looking dead at him. When their eyes meet, Tony’s gunned down with a look of disappointment, probably for not paying attention to the information being shared.

Have Natasha and Coulson been talking the whole time? With an eyeroll, Tony turned to the holographic data hovering in front of him, processing it all quickly to determine that they haven’t gotten far at all past what Tony had figured: the men involved in the attack had prior histories of criminal activity or mental disorders, but no obvious tie links them to the original Hydra from World War II. So far, the only motive they have found behind the attack was the intention of gaining attention. And now they had it.

Tony schools his face with a look of boredom and lets the other talk, not joining in even as they praise him in a round-about manner for his quick assist out there that day. Instead, he lets his mind wander over numbers and designs for an interface he could set up in Steve’s pathetic room, a holographic display system for an artist’s long, graceful fingers.

>>82304
>>82305
This is so good, I can't even begin to say how good this is. I hope you're continuing!

>>82304
>>82305

I like this. Excited to see where it goes.

>>82415 I like that artist's style. It was done way before the CA movie so it's classic.

>>82304
>>82305

OMG YOU WROTE MORE. HAVE MY BABIES.

An awesome Anon from months ago wrote this amazing dub-con Villain!Tony fic and I bribed for more chapters with art. Anon delivered like a pro.

Anon if you are still out there, I finally finished this. I really hope you see it & like it. :) ALSO...did you post your fics somewhere other than here? I'd love to read them again. <3

I'd rather see the 19-year-old CEO Tony one instead.

>>82630

That art is really cute. Source?

>>82667 http://captaindraws.tumblr.com

>>82692
Pfffffff. Source?

>>82697 http://kakijbird.tumblr.com

Do any of you lovely people know the dub-con writer from a few threads back? ;A; I would love to track them down, reread their fic, etc and make sure they get the art I finished for them.

Anyone? ...Anyone? Beuller?

In the spirit of giving, I leave art.

>>82754 I'm 90% sure that writefag is in Cap/Iron-Man so just try that place instead.

Here's an excellent gif from Tumblr

>>82754

Unfortunately I don't know them, though I'm dying to know if the fic got finished and posted somewhere. I check back every day but I haven't seen any updates on it in weeks :(

Hey - if you do get a hold of them would you mind terribly shooting me an email to let me know what you find? If I find anything more/how to contact them I'll of course let you know.

>>82756
>>82759
Thanks guys, I appreciate it! :) Shoot me an email and I will make sure to let you know if I track them down.

>>82756
This is my dumb question of the year but, where is the Cap/Iron-Man group you speak of? Thank you! ;A;

----

Picture by captaindick on tumblr!

>>82800 http://cap-ironman.livejournal.com

These are from the Cap/Iron-Man Secret Santa (2011).

I'm ending it with feelwhale just because...

>>82754
I have the dubcon fic saved in a word file and can get it to you if you like, Daunt. Anything for your art!

>>82835 Just go to her Tumblr and stop spamming, dude. This place is for promotions, not discussions.

goddamnit! You tonyxsteve fags get all the good artists! I'm tired of this! You guys need to share! STAT!!

Greedy harlots, the lot of you...

>>82854
>>82855
>>82856
>>82857
>>82858

Oh. I think I just got diabetes. Too cute.

>>82884
Does this picture show a scene of Resurrection, Reconstruction, and Redemption?

>>82836
Hey, it was my bad for asking to begin with, I'm sorry for that.

I guess I am just used to the old coq where people were more chatty? Sorry to be a bother. :) Thank you, I do appreciate the responses though.

>>82897
I don't think it's so much that we now hate chattiness as it is being cautious, considering where the last bout of opinion bitchfights got us.

>>82895
Yes

>>82899
Yeah, I asked a question here and people flipped sh*t on me. We used to actually talk in these threads.

>>82904
We didn't used to have that crowd in this thread, either. I'll take silence and porn over rhapsodizing about each anon's delicate feefees any day.

>>82908

Pro-tip; if Tony's got pointy ears and wings on his ankles, he might be Namor.

>>82912
Shh! No talking, only porn.

>>82914 A comment or two here and there are ok to me but when it keeps going on and on, people should take it to avengersanon.livejournal.com. Otherwise, we'll sag very soon.

>>82917

I think it's sage and I agree. /coq/ was never for talking, it was a new crowd that got into discussing things here, but now that we do have a dedicated anon comm, it's better to take it all there.

>>82922>>82925 Try not to repost stuff already posted, anon.

>>82922
Do you happen to have a link to the anon comm?

>>82933

http://avengersanon.livejournal.com/

>I'm doing the same shit out in the Avengers General thread. So... Reposting old /pco/ fics provided by Anon Saint of Fucking on lj. Feel free to post appreciation, be inspired by random lines, prompt stuff, and drawfag/writefag moar! :D? We could do with some life on here. All that dark/kinky Steve/Tony stuff outside-fandom don't appreciate and that you don't wanna post under your name? THIS IS THE PLACE FOR IT ANONS,. WE WILL APPRECIATE (in our bunks) VERY NICELY!

>Disclaimer: None of these are by me. I do not know who these are by. They are reposts from hitherto lost from the internets /pco/ threads.

Steve is jolted awake by the sound of a door opening. The hard snap of the bolt sliding across the lock housing cuts through the relative silence of the cell block like a gunshot. The two guards, who had given up trying to talk to Captain America hours ago in favor of staring mulishly into nothingness, jump at the sudden noise.

The door to the cell block opens, and when Iron Man's red and gold armor passes through the hatch, one of the guards barks out a crisp, "Director on deck!" and they both snap to attention, their fingers curled tightly around their pulse rifles.

Tony strides across the room, his booted feet reverberating on the grated floor. He comes to a halt in front of Steve's cell. The guards don't react to his presence, remaining stiffly at attention.

Steve stares up at him through the bars. He is sitting on the floor, legs bent, arms hanging off his knees. He clenches his jaw, wanting to say something snide, but his eyes flick to the guards, and he keeps his silence. Iron Man, following Steve's gaze, half turns towards the guards as if just realizing they were there. He dismisses them with a curt, "Leave."

The cold malice in the suit's mechanical voice conveys the severity of the command, and the young soldiers don't have to be told twice. They salute sharply, a gesture which Tony doesn't bother to return. They quickly turn to make themselves scarce, only one of them sparing a swift sidelong glance at where Captain America sits stiff-backed against the rear wall of the cell. Steve is pretty sure the young man is disappointed to miss what would no doubt keep the rumor-mill turning for weeks.

When the soldiers are out of sight and the door to the cell block closes securely behind them, Steve glares at Tony through the tops of his eyes. "Come to gloat?" he asks, sneering.

Tony stares at him wordlessly, the expressionless mask giving nothing away. It lasts a long moment, enough for the sneer to slide off Steve's face. Enough for him start scrutinizing Tony's form, as if the motionless armor might give some clue as to the thoughts of the man inside. Then, Tony tilts his head slightly to the side, as if considering something.

When he speaks a moment later, it is not directed at Steve. "Armor order. Sesta Drama Conci. Cut Global Information System."

[Global Information System holding"¦]

Then that's it. Tony just stands there, staring at him. Steve gazes back for a few moments, but it's hard to get into a staring contest with a metal mask. Eventually Steve looks away, his lips drawing back in a grimace. He doesn't want to play games. "What do you want?" he asks.

The cell door disappears without any prompt from Tony. At least, no prompt that Steve is witness too. The blue energy beams dissipate with a faint hiss and it's so unexpected that he stiffens, his muscles automatically coiling, his head snapping up.

Tony enters the cell and pauses just inside the threshold. Steve watches warily as the locking mechanisms on the armor's faceplate shift, and then Tony tugs it off.

Steve gets his first good look at Tony. His black hair is mussed and Tony absently runs a gauntlet through it, brushing the rakish strands off his forehead. He needs a haircut. There are half-healed cuts on his face and the remnants of a nasty bruise on his left cheek. They stand out vividly against Tony's pale skin, giving him an exhausted, battered look. It takes Steve a moment to remember that he left those marks.

Tony tosses the faceplate onto the floor. It lands with a resounding thud between them, its eye-slits dark and empty.

Steve doesn't rise to his feet, but he does shift his weight, his eyes flickering between Tony and the faceplate. Tony takes a few steps forward until he's practically looming over Steve. Steve cranes his neck and looks up at him, schools his features into casual dismissal, displaying the fact that Tony's invasion of his personal space wasn't in the least bit intimidating, if that was the effect Tony was aiming for. He stays sitting, because it puts the confrontation on his terms. It forces Tony to adjust to him.

Tony stares down at him, his face calm, almost robotic in its emptiness. There are lines that didn't used to be there framing his eyes, his mouth, making him look older, wearier. His eyes search Steve's face, and Steve stares back.

"Damn you," Tony says, flatly, his eyes boring into Steve. Having been silent for so long, his words cut through the silence like a gunshot. There's a pause, where Steve stares back at him for a moment, lips parted like he's going to say something, but can't find the words. Tony stares back impassively, still with that sort of half-attention Steve had begun to associate with the Extremis.

"For what?" Steve finally asks, feeling that dark, restless anger that had fueled so much of his life the last few months. The look on Tony's face, the blank detachment...

He looks at Tony and he thinks, nothing has changed. Even now, after everything, it's all still the same. He hasn't changed.

"For making me do this alone." Tony answers softly.

Steve has a retort for that, on the tip of his tongue "“ he wants to say that nobody was making him do anything, and he'd dug his own grave, and a thousand other recriminations- but Tony's knees connect loudly with the deck as he sinks down to the floor of the cell. Steve has time to blink, once, before Tony leans forward and plants his hands solidly on the bulkhead on either side of Steve's head, and Steve recoils in surprise at the gesture, shifting his weight, expecting some kind of attack, but not willing to make the first strike himself.

No attack comes. Instead, Tony leans in and roughly captures Steve's lips with his own.

His mind detachedly processes the feel of Tony against his mouth- a warm, insistent pressure, his goatee scratching faintly at Steve's skin- while his hands make an aborted gesture, half raising towards where their faces touch, before lowering to settle on either side of Tony's waist. He doesn't have enough time to figure out if he is holding on or summoning the willpower to push away. He doesn't even have time to properly realize what is happening.

It lasts only a moment, the span of a few heartbeats, and then Tony pulls back, just enough so that their lips are no longer touching, but Steve can feel every exhalation of Tony's breath fluttering against his skin.

"I hate you." Tony breathes, softly. "I hate you so much for doing this."

Steve sucks in a sharp breath, because somewhere along the way he stopped breathing, and Tony pulls back enough that they can see each other properly. Steve can see the hate in Tony's eyes, the smoldering resentment, and Steve feels something similar. Because this"¦ this thing that Tony has just done. This line that he's crossed. Steve hates him for doing this, and hates himself for what he's about to do.

Maybe it's Steve who leans forward this time, or maybe it's Tony again. It's too quick to tell. Armored fingers clasp the back of his head, bury themselves in the short strands of his hair as their lips crush together. Steve's fingers clench spasmodically around Tony's waist, the hard metal unyielding as Tony's tongue traces Steve's bottom lip and Steve opens his mouth automatically, and then he's tasting Tony, feeling something spread through his chest, something warm and tight.

Another few heartbeats, pounding heartbeats, and something in Steve comes loose. Something is tugged free, and the feel of Tony on his lips, beneath his hands, is not something he's prepared for.

Tony pulls away again, his harsh breaths hot against Steve's face. "No," Tony says, faintly.

Maybe Steve is angry. Maybe he feels betrayed, or used. The only thing he's sure of is the fact that he has no idea what to feel right now "“ which emotion to give in to.

This can never work. This is wrong, wrong on so many levels, so beyond fucked up that Steve can't even comprehend the ramifications of continuing this.

"Shut up," Steve growls, yanking Tony forward, spreading Tony's lips with his tongue, feeling heat fill his mouth, and his fingers are scratching against the armor, frustration building in his chest. He knows instantly where this is going, where he wants this to go, the knowledge hitting him with the weight of years of fighting side by side, years of sacrifice, camaraderie, and understanding. And at the same time he's rational enough to realize that maybe what he wants isn't what either of them needs, and there are better ways of dealing with the problem than fucking Tony in a jail cell. Just as he realizes that he really doesn't care.

"Take it off," he demands, and there are a series of clicks, the armor twitching with each one, and then the pieces fall off, pooling haphazardly on the floor. Steve traces his thumbs over Tony's ribcage, feeling the smooth heat of the golden second skin, which begins sliding under his hands. A few tendrils trail over his fingers, and he wonder absently if Tony knows how that feels.

When Steve's hands finally make brushing contact with Tony's skin, the touch has Tony instantly stiffening "“ he can feel the muscles coil and Tony's chest stop moving, his breath catching "“ and then Tony is pulling away, again- only Steve's had enough of that.

He cinches his hands around Tony's waist and uses his considerable strength to hold Tony in place. He applies enough force to know that there'll be bruises, finger shaped and dark, but Tony doesn't make a sound. Steve growls, "Don't you dare pull away from me-", and he feels anger, real anger. Because he didn't want this, but Tony- Tony Fucking Stark never gave a damn about things like that. He just plunged head first, damn the consequences, and took what he wanted.

>>82959

Tony's fingers are still twisted through the hair on the back of his head, and they clench, so he can faintly feel fingernails scratching at his skin. Tony's other hand withdraws from the bulkhead and wraps around one of Steve's wrists, hard, digging into the tendons, tugging the hand away from where it digs into his hip. The move is demanding, powerful, controlling. Steve allows it to happen. Tony's mouth pulls away from Steve's lips, connects with Steve's jaw line, traces it back with his tongue, then down Steve's neck, and Steve groans.

What the fuck are they doing? This is out of control. Steve knows that. It's irrational. But Tony's tongue sweeps across his skin and his teeth bite down over the vein in his throat, which thrums with his rapidly beating heart. Tony has a vice grip on Steve's wrist, severe enough that he can feel his tendons grinding against bone. Steve's free hand is flat against Tony's side, the muscles hard beneath his hand, and Steve's nails dig into Tony's skin as his fingers clench.

Tony's hand trails down his back, across his shoulder blades and down his spine. The touch is faint through Steve's uniform, and he makes a noise of frustration that clearly denotes his annoyance at the fact. Tony complies by yanking up the bottom of Steve's uniform and sliding his hand beneath it.

Steve shifts at the feeling of Tony's fingers against the skin of his stomach, arching into it ever so slightly. Tony's fingers search him, like Tony is memorizing him, cataloging the contours of his skin, his thumb catching on and tracing the scars that criss-cross his body. He groans in the back of his throat as he wonders if Tony knows where he got most of them. Tony reaches the one on his left side, just above his hip, and in his head Steve thinks, Ardennes. Then the hand is flat against Steve's stomach, pausing over the one on Steve's left ribcage, and he thinks Red Skull, and he thinks that there are ones that Tony knows about, and others he doesn't, and maybe Tony wants to know them all. And it's irrational and fleeting, just like what's happening now, but he thinks that maybe he wants Tony to know them all.

He has a feeling that any control either of them has over the situation is rapidly dwindling. There's an urgency to it, a desperation that should be setting off all Steve's defenses. Tony releases Steve's wrist, which is accompanied by the pins and needles of blood rushing back into his fingers. Tony's free hand tugs at Steve's belt buckle, the other fingering the faint collection of shrapnel scars just above his navel. The buckle comes undone, easily, but it's not fast enough. Not nearly.

Steve can clearly see Tony's reaction to all of this, and he can feel the vibration of a moan through where their lips are connected when he reaches forward and grasps Tony's cock with a firm hand.

Tony pulls back, his hand pausing at Steve's waistline. He moans, "God-" and Steve's hand starts stroking, and he's not gentle about it. Maybe it's the years of subliminal attraction. Maybe this had been building up, from a thousand innocent moments, to this. Maybe it all started somewhere long ago, and neither of them realized, and it's all pouring out, right at this moment.

Or maybe, as he feels Tony shift against him, his panting breath against his cheek, the visceral moan that slips past his lips, maybe"¦ maybe this is a kind of revenge.

It's a horrible thought, but Steve is angry. He's furious, betrayed, and above all he's reckless. Maybe he's doing this because he knows it will destroy them, as surely as anything they've done to each other over the past few months. Maybe he's doing this because he knows how much this is going to hurt Tony. Maybe he wants Tony to hurt, because Steve has been slowly dying inside from this, and yet Tony can still look at him with eyes that say, this isn't touching me. This doesn't matter. I'm somewhere else.

Tony will be here for this. This will matter to him. He will feel this. That's what Steve is thinking when he's jerking Tony off, feeling him react under his touch, Tony's hands a vice grip on the hard planes of Steve's body, the sounds that escape his throat low and desperate. Steve is drawing this reaction from Tony, and when Tony palms Steve through the fabric of his uniform, roughly, like he's looking for some kind of control, Steve hisses, and strokes harder.

He knows when Tony is at the raw edge, can feel it in the way his breath hitches and stills, and he grips Tony's hard cock in his hand and squeezes, snarls, "Not yet," and Tony, Tony just makes a sound low in his throat, and somehow manages to comply. Tony's never had any defenses as far as sex was concerned, and Steve knows this. Knows that whatever he wants to do, Tony will go all the way.

Steve's still fully clothed while Tony isn't, which is faintly ridiculous. It's getting in the way of things Steve wants to happen, and happen now, because he can read the desperation in the way Tony's hand is flat against his stomach, just above his waistline, fingers clenching and unclenching. The unseeing way Tony stares through his face into nothingness, his panting breath. He releases his grip on Tony and impatiently pushes him away to start taking off his uniform, because Tony seems temporarily unable to do anything more than breathe, with Steve's hand wrapped around his cock like that.

Regardless of the intent behind it, it's enough. It's enough for Tony to come back from whatever half-aware state led to this, enough to break the moment, enough for Tony to gather something of his armor around himself "“ the emotional armor, the mental armor. Tony's hand is still splayed across his stomach, the other gripping the muscle of his thigh, as his glance catches Steve's and their blue eyes lock. Steve has Tony at arm's length, about to let go, but he stills.

They're both breathing heavily, and Steve can see something in Tony's eyes. Fear, maybe. Uncertainty. Desire. But most of all, what he sees is that Tony is here. Fully here, every part of him.
And that's how he finally sees it. Something in his gut clenches so hard it's almost nauseating. For a moment he's breathless, then he swallows thickly and asks,

"How long-?"

His voice is rough, catching on his own breath. He can only ask part of it, can't even finish the question, but the unspoken words hang between them nonetheless.

How long have you loved me?

Tony studies him, and while he's here, completely here, there is no emotion in his face. The only hint that any of this matters to him is the fact that his eyes are bright, and his lips are bruised and red.

"Until now," Tony answers softly.

Steve's mouth opens, but there are no words. He can't think of a single thing to say. And then Tony is pulling away, the ghosting touch of his fingers against Steve's stomach vanishing as he retracts his hand. Tony stands up, the yellow film spreading over his skin. Steve hears the almost silent hum of the microscopic repulsors activating in Tony's armor as the fragments rise up, then the sound of the pieces clicking and sliding together. The faceplate still sits on the deck between them.

It all happens fast. "Tony-" Steve says, something like panic starting to creep over him, and Tony bends down to scoop the helmet up off the floor, and he slides it back on, hiding his face behind the emotionless armor, and he's turning and walking out of the cell, the bars springing to life swiftly behind him.

Steve stares after him numbly, for a moment, then surges to his feet, yelling after him, "Tony!" He wraps his hands around the bars to his cell without thinking, only to yank them back with a snarl as twin shocks of energy snake up his arms like fire.

Tony's retreating back doesn't pause.

"TONY!" Steve roars. When that has no effect, he takes a step back and viciously kicks one of the bars of his cell, with every ounce of strength he has. It makes a tremendous screech of static, flickering, and the responding shock kills all feeling in Steve's leg, but Tony neither stops nor makes any sign that he's heard. And then the door to the cell block is snapping open, reverberating through the corridor with an undeniable sort of finality, and Tony vanishes from sight as the door closes behind him.

Steve stares after him, frozen, mind a whirlwind, trying to piece together the thousand meanings behind what just happened. How it changes things. How it changes everything.

He turns, faces the back of his cell, crosses his arms and wraps his hands around his forearms so tightly his knuckles turn white. He breathes deeply, trying to force down the heavy blot of anger and panic and desire in his chest. Almost absently, and without consciously wanting to, he remembers the feel of the little flecks of gold gliding beneath his hands, and that follows with the memory of Tony's tongue in his mouth, then sliding across the planes of his throat, then Tony's hard fingers buried in his hair, then his softer, callused hands tracing their way across his chest"¦

He exhales, heavily, and tries to slow his racing heart.



-



There's an irony in all of this, considering the course of events that follow.

Steve is left to sit alone in his cell, the hours filled with the memory of Tony's hands on him, and all the feelings it provoked. Feelings tempered with the look he remembers in Tony's eyes, the one that surely must have been mirrored in his own"¦ the look that says, I'll never forgive you for doing this.

Irony, because for all the choices made in that one moment, nothing changed. Despite everything, it didn't matter, because the next time they stand in the presence of one another is when Steve's dead body is brought to the Helicarrier, before eventually being interred in Arlington, and the distant happenings in a jail cell all those days ago might as well have never been.

Tony is left to stand alone in a storage room, the hours filled with nothing but the sound of his own breathing and his heart pounding in his ears. Several times he sucks in a sharp breath, intending to say something aloud, but the thought of his voice marring the heavy silence seems somehow grotesque, and his words choke off into nothing.

Eventually, his fingers will hesitantly reach forward and touch Steve's lips. The armor will be on, because no matter what horrible things they did to each other, Tony thinks touching the lifeless cold of those lips with the warmth of his fingers would be too obscene for him to bear. So Tony touches Steve's cold body with the cool metal of his armored hands, feeling nothing. The connection lasts for a brief moment, before gently withdrawing.

The mask never comes off, and he leaves without saying a word.

>>82959

Oh god! ;____; So hot yet so sad. Thanks anon!

>>82959
GAH! I know this is old fic, but the Confessions AU totally killed me. I wonder if this Tony would be more broken during the post-CW stuff or less... Can see it both ways, really. :/

>Reposting random!Villain/mind-control!Tony with Steve watching and Steve/Tony undertones, from the Avengers' thread.
>Because! Request! Won't someone please do a Steve/Tony follow-up to this, pretty please? It just begs for angst and porn. :9

"He's mine!"

It's not an unusual claim to hear, in this line of work. For some psychopath, some genius that was pushed too far, some obsessive, demented man to claim possession on a superhero. It's a near daily occurrence for Tony. There's something about the man -- so present in the public eye, so *charming* and full of life, the idea that he owes something to you, that you know him, that you can make a claim on him. It must be tempting.

Twenty three more centimeters.

Doesn't make it any easier to hear, though, especially when this guy seems to've made good on his claim. He's a ridiculous sort of man, actually fastening himself a throne, not altogether ugly, but certainly not handsome. Very middle of the road, not worth a second glance, if he weren't wearing that ridiculous, maniacal grin. If he weren't stroking Tony Stark's thick dark hair, as if he were a pet.

Tony is not bound at the base of this throne. He's not tied or shackled. He's got a look of utter contentment, head leaning on the man's knee. He's naked, save for the black shorts usually worn under his armor, and his eyes. His eyes are terrifyingly blank.

"You can't take him from me," says the man, the rhythmic stroking of Tony's head slowing, his hand, trailing down to rest possessively on his neck. "He's mine, and he wants to be here, don't you, pretty?"

Fifteen centimeters.

Steve's not sure if it's better or worse that Tony doesn't vocally respond, instead smiling enough that it reaches his blank eyes, sliding up smoothly, so that he's settled on the man's lap.

"He's mine," the man says again with a firm nod. "I earned him. Do you know how long I slaved at Stark Industries? I poured my life into that company, and that man -- that monster, Howard, he just -- just cut me lose! He made a fortune out of my sweat and blood and tears, I *deserve* this!"

There's a few malfunctions in that train of thought, and Steve would be glad to point them out, if only he weren't gagged and bound on the opposite side of the room. Steve doesn't bother to hold back the glare when Tony leans, head against the man's chest, stroking.

It's either the collar or the armbands. He's betting the collar. It's a new kind of rage, a cold rage Steve's never felt before, not to this extent, that washes over him as the man begins running his hands up Tony's thighs, up his sides, stroking his cheek. He winces at Tony's goatee, running his pointer finger down the right side. "Of course, that will have to go."

Ten. Nine.

Steve feels a surge of indignation on Tony's behalf. Tony blinks twice, then leans forward, nuzzling the man's neck.

He can feel his eye actually twitching; and made the mistake of wondering how it could possibly get any worse.

Tony straddles the man's legs, back to Steve. The man runs his hands down to Tony's ass, gripping tight. Tony obviously enjoys it; Steve can't see his expression, but he can hear just fine. First, just hums, just little, soft 'ohs' and 'ahs.'

Then the moans. Steve closes his eyes, unable to watch as Tony ruts off against the man's stomach.

Five, six. Keeps his breath steady, his fingers moving.

He shouldn't open his eyes, but the moans have suddenly picked up, and he can't help it.

The man's hands have wriggling inside the shorts, where they're obviously working against Tony's entrance. Tony's making noises Steve hasn't heard since Nick dragged him to that three cent theater; loud and mindless, over the top, but as far as he can tell, utterly sincere.

His hips rock forward, then back, apparently unable to pick between grinding and getting filled.

Two. One. The binding around Steve's arms snap free.

Stupid, so stupid of him to leave Steve's shield in arm's reach. Arrogant.

THUNK. THUNK THUNK. He snatches it from midair as he rushes forward. There's blood dribbling down the side of the man's face, and Steve can't help the dark pride that blooms at the sight. Tony's moans stopped the moment the shield made contact with the man's head. He's now draped forward on his chest, eyes and face blank, arms limp and dangling on either side of the throne.

Steve hoists him up with a grunt, and then a scowl when he meets resistance -- the man's hand still -- still tucked in the back of Tony's shorts.

As soon as Steve touches Tony, his expression changes. His eyes -- god, they really are blank, all blue, no pupil -- resting in the direction of Steve's face. "Mmm," he hums happily, snuggling against Steve's chest, arms winding around his neck.

Steve takes a deep, steadying breath through his nose. Grips the collar with both hands. It's plastic and wire, snaps in half with little resistance.

>>82989
djsks Is that all?

>>82989

Dayum! Seconding request!

>>Fic Not By Me, Art Not By Me.

Tony had always assumed that if ever managed to trick or drug Steve into his bed he’d be taking the reins, but he’d discovered he was wrong when Steve jumped him and then proceeded to suck him off like it was his day job. It turns out Steve learned a few things in the army and he intended to show Tony every single one.

Not only that, but he doesn’t put up with Tony’s insecurities in bed. He’d tried to keep on his shirt and Steve had proceeded to sit and stare him down until he took it off. He learned after a while that it was easier to just let Steve do it while lavishing his body in attention, then to try and resist and end up having to do it himself.

Steve finds Tony’s arc reactor fascinating. He touches it through Tony’s shirt, he touches it when they’re in bed. Fleeting, cautious touches at first, then a flat palm or running his nail over the rim. One day he licks around it and Tony, already over-sensitized, cums on the spot.

This becomes a thing. Something Steve does with a glint in his eye and Tony tries to get used to it, tries to will the scar tissue to be less sensitive, but he still melts under Steve’s tongue every time. He often finds himself with his hands tangled in Steve’s hair, begging and moaning while Steve fucks him and toys with the skin around his arc reactor with tongue and teeth.

Tony’s pretty sure he’s ruined for sex with anyone else ever the night he ends up cumming all over his stomach, and arc reactor, the fluid glowing blue. Steve stares for a bit, still buried inside him. Then he leans down and slowly licks his way up right to the arc reactor.

“God fucking damn,” Tony says.

“Don’t swear,” Steve answers, licking up the last of Tony’s cum and swallowing.

>>83010
Wait, is he sitting down or is he super short?

>>83005

Yeah, anon, sorry. :( That's why the burning need for a Steve/Tony continuation. Broken!Tony/Steve is just so damn addicting. :/

>>83019

Dude. Sitting down. ¬_¬.

This is the two standing together. AEMH!Tony's just a few inches shorter, but the body mass and muscle on Steve! The size difference there totally kills me dead. Yummm.

>>83022
> in honor of this, have some steve holding tony down fic. there can never be enough. fic not by me. author: letterblade

Submission Hold





It's not really a question, when they're sparring, of whether Tony is going to win--more one of how long he's going to hold out. He's gone a good two minutes now, circling and backpedalling, keeping Steve at arm's length, because there, at least, he has some chance of holding him at bay when he doesn't resort to painful force. But then Steve pounces and brings him down to grappling, and it's all muscle and grip, and Tony doesn't stand a damn chance.

Steve guesses it's maybe fifteen seconds until he's got him locked down. Arms chickenwinged back, no leverage to use his legs, and Tony gives his usual two point five jerks, gulps air, and Steve expects to hear him give.

Instead there's a long, long moment when he just goes a little limp.

"Tony?" Steve asks quietly. He's very still, holding him where he is--not letting go, because he hasn't called and that's the way of it, not pulling up and forcing a submission hold, because that's just unnecessary pain. He could hold Tony's weight like this for, well, maybe not hours, but a good while.

Tony's hands spread and clench in thin air behind him, and he lets out a shaky breath. "Give," he murmurs.

Steve eases up instantly, rolls him over and down to rest on the mat. Cradles his head until he's lying down full length, because he's still a little limp.

"Tony, you okay?" he asks, crouching next to him.

"Uh." There's a flush to his cheeks, bit of sweat. Steve doesn't break a sweat when they're doing this, but he's not the one getting a workout. "Sure."

Then Steve gets a bit of what Tony likes to call cognitive dissonance, because he's glancing him over quickly, checking to make sure nothing looks pained, and there's a tent in his pants.

"I guess you are, then," he says. "Are you letting yourself get distracted?"

"Only a little," says Tony, slightly indignant, and rolls up to sitting. "You're hot," he adds, in response to Steve's unwavering stare.

Steve's not used to hearing it quite that bluntly. "And you're paying attention to that instead of this?" He pounces. Tony doesn't see it coming in time to stop it--distracted--and they roll, come out with Tony on his back with Steve on top of him, both arms pinned up between Steve's elbows and chest. Not particularly tightly, but effective, given relative strength. Tony breathes, lets his head fall back against the mat, and then Steve feels his cock hot underneath him and puts two and two together.

Tony closes his eyes, keeps breathing deep and steadying, and his tongue darts out over his lips for a moment, and Steve lets his arms go and feels himself frowning slightly, more in bewilderment than anything else.

"Tony," he says, somewhat gently. "So you're saying, what, that you like it when I hold you down?"

"I didn't say anything of the sort," says Tony. Steve just looks at him. "Okay, fine, so my dick said it for me."

Steve chuckles and shakes his head. "I know you attribute great powers to it, but it doesn't talk."

"No, but I think I could do Morse code." He pumps his hips lightly, grinding against Steve, and because Steve's old-school army and could decipher Morse code in his sleep, he catches f, then u, and then rolls off of Tony and rubs knuckles to his head.

"You're horrible."

"So horrible I can't resist being helpless in your arms," Tony says, not sounding the least bit sweet or sappy, but it still warms something rather incongruous in him.

Steve shakes his head, hides a smile, and gets to his feet. "Are you going to be too distracted to make the most of our gym time?"

Tony looks up at him; he's still sitting, and looks perfectly happy there at crotch height. "Only if we skip the sparring and go straight to the holding me down part." Steve sticks out his hand, tugs him to his feet when he takes it. "Can we?"

"Is this," says Steve after a moment, "like that thing where you liked it when I hurt you?"

Tony's hand goes to his neck, the very base of it, where the tugged-askew collar of his t-shirt shows the fading bruise from Steve's teeth, strategically low so it doesn't show in a collared shirt. The motion looks almost involuntary. "Yeah," he says. "I suppose it is."

"I'm not sure I'll ever make sense of that."

Tony looks at him evenly. "I--well, I'm not sure I can explain."

"I'm beginning to think you have ulterior motives for the heroing business, at the rate you're going."

Tony laughs and shakes his head. "Context, Steve. And you. I need to be at least a little safe before this sort of thing turns me on. And..." He trails his fingers up the muscles in Steve's arm. His sudden, quiet frankness is almost startling. "You. You don't even realize the effect you have on me, do you? How damn hot you are?"

That tugs at something deep, deep in Steve's gut. "So," he says, quiet and a little hoarse, and puts his hands on Tony's shoulders and starts backing him up, heading for the wall, "you're saying that if I did this--"

Tony's back hits the wall. Steve goes for his wrists, presses them unyielding to the wall, just about smells the wave of arousal that hits him, and kisses him. Tony kisses back, hungrily, little groan in the back of his throat; Steve tucks his thigh up between his legs and lets Tony grind against him. He's straining, tugging at the hands pinning his wrists, but Tony doesn't have the strength to throw him off like that, plain and simple, and Steve breaks the kiss, ducks his head, and suckles on Tony's bare throat. Gently, at first, gently, until he's down to the base of it and can use teeth, a little, just what he's found he likes.

"Ohfuck," Tony breathes, arches against him, and he's really very hard against Steve's leg.

"If I did this," Steve finishes, at a whisper, "you'd like it?"

Tony catches his breath as Steve pulls back, lets him shift both his wrists to one hand, and gasps and grinds as Steve palms his crotch.

"Bedroom," Tony whispers. Then he gives a small, crooked, utterly salacious grin. "You want to do this right, you could carry me there."

Steve honestly considers it for a moment. He could pretty much carry Tony under one elbow--not because Tony's that small, just because he knows how to carry just about anyone under one elbow--and he won't deny the fact that having the weight and warmth of his body in his arms is--yes.

"And then Peter sees us and never lets us forget it," he says.

"Oh, fine. That guy's like ten tabloids in one, with the influence he has on my sex life."

So they just walk to the elevator. Tony grabs a drink of water, Steve feels like a kid sneaking off into the shrubbery--he's never quite shaken that, no matter how much Tony assures him that the bedroom's soundproofed damn well enough and Peter's just shooting the shit.

The upstairs hall, though, Steve notices, is empty.

He looks back and forth for a moment, then, no warning, scoops Tony up over his shoulder. The indignant yelp is priceless; so is the purr as he subsides with Steve's hand splayed over his ass to steady him, fists his hands in the back of Steve's shirt and nuzzles him. Mumbles something gleeful about being carried off and ravished.

Steve has to admit that he'd never quite considered how carrying a man this way could press his hard cock into his shoulder. He makes the distance to Tony's door, opens it, crosses the room in a few quick strides, and tumbles him into the bed. Tony lands on ass and elbows, legs spread wide, and smolders at him.

"C'mere, you."

Steve busies himself pulling off his shirt.

"Steve..."

He pauses, tosses it into the corner, and looks at Tony. "I think..."

"Yes?"

"I think you should be naked."

Tony grins and pulls off his own shirt. "You don't have to be so polite about it, y'know. Just a simple strip would do."

"But that would be crude," Steve protests. He hasn't bothered with his pants yet, just watches Tony shimmy out of his.

"And I'm not crude how, exactly?" Tony shucks his boxers, sending a dark and generous erection bouncing slightly, and grins up at him buck naked.

"You are, sure. But I try not to be." Steve comes over, puts an arm round his shoulders, and picks him up again, just scoops him up and lays him out with his other arm behind his knees, and Tony loops an arm up around him and relaxes, lets Steve heft and balance his weight.

"Mmm. Of course not. You only bark orders on the battlefield."

Steve pauses with his face inches from Tony's. It takes a bit of a balancing act, sure, to kiss somebody in his arms, but he used to do it with Sharon, when he wanted to make her giggle about being swept off her feet, Tony's extra weight doesn't make it that much harder--

"What," he murmurs, "you want me to order you around, too?"

Tony blinks up at him, a strange hunger in his eyes. "I admit there's a certain appeal to a big, handsome fellow ordering me around or pinning me down because he wants me. So much. He can't bear to let me go."

That tugs at Steve's cock because it's pretty much true. He tightens his hand on Tony's shoulder. "I'm not letting you go," he breathes. "You know that."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, kiss me," Tony murmurs.

"Now who's giving orders?" But, of course, he does. Rocks Tony bodily in his arms and kisses him like they're in an old pulp, with Tony's fingers digging into his arm and Tony's mouth all lips and tongue and hunger. Lays him back out on the bed and gets atop him this time, straddles his waist, just lets his weight pin him down.

"Tony."

"Mmm." Tony's twined his fingers into his; his eyes are closed and he's breathing a little hard.

"Tony. How much of my weight can you take?"

He opens his eyes, looks up at him. "Just don't collapse on me, I should be fine."

Steve bears Tony's hand back down to the bed, then pins the other, too, thumb rubbing absent circles in his palm. Doesn't even have to push down, just holds him there as he strains and wriggles, lets his head fall back panting, because Steve's got fifty pounds of solid muscle and years' worth of training on him, and he's pretty much helpless.

Steve gives that a long, slow moment of thought. Helpless; Tony couldn't throw him off if he wanted to. It's more than a little frightening. But right now--he's pretty much completely sure Tony wants this.

"That," he says after a moment, "doesn't explain the pain."

"Hmm?"

"I can't bear to let you go." He doesn't tighten his grip, but tugs it up a bit, watches the arch in Tony's shoulders. "But that doesn't explain the hurting you bit."

"Ahh. Well--" Tony's breath comes ragged as Steve bends over him, nuzzles his throat. "It's an--it's an intensity thing. It--" His voice trails off in a shaky groan as Steve nips at him--the other side from before, so Tony's coming out of this with a matched set. "Oh, fuck yes. That."

Steve chuckles. "I'll just have to take your word for it, then."

"Oh, stop laughing at me and fuck me."

Steve looks down at the two of them, Tony pinned at the wrists with him straddling his waist. "I don't think that would quite work right now."

Tony just licks his lips and gives him a smoldering, slatey-blue stare from under his mussed bangs.

The challenge, Steve thinks, is not so much holding him down as it is getting the lube and leaving himself a free hand. Once he starts thinking of it in terms of logistics, grip and angle and force, it's a satisfying sort of puzzle. Roll him around, toss him half off the bed so he's on his knees on the floor, and bear him down with his arms pinned behind his back, his legs locked down with one of his own legs hooked behind his thighs, and, yes, he can just barely reach the nightstand.

"That," Tony pants into the mattress with a grin, "was impressive." He's pressed down with his ass out in the air, struggling a little to no avail, and Steve feels a twinge in his gut which might be guilt, fear, or glee; he isn't quite sure which.

"I don't," he says with his own slight grin, "think this was quite the intended use for my skills."

Tony just arches his ass out and laughs. Steve smoothes his free hand over him, trails fingers down between his legs, and then stretches to the nightstand to pump some lube onto his fingers. Not that he hadn't thought it a bit obscene at first, Tony keeping the stuff in a big pump bottle right there, about as discrete as a bikini, but it had come in handy more than once.

"You ready?" he murmurs.

"What the hell do you think?" Tony bucks against the big hand pinning his arms and back with a satisfied grunt. "Fuck, you're amazing, this is so fucking hot..."

He trails off groaning and mumbling obscenities into the sheets as Steve slowly circles his ass, slowly presses a slick finger in. Slowly slides it deeper, slowly back out a bit, until he feels Tony straining against him, a little sweat-slick and pulse coming fast, because he's literally trying to back onto his finger. Steve chuckles to himself, shakes his head slightly, and carefully adds a second finger. Slow until Tony starts rambling incoherently, soft and throaty, sounding a lot like he's begging.

"You're shameless," he murmurs, a little in awe.

"Fuck yes. Jesus fucking Christ, come on." Steve is so not in control of this. Presses his fingers deeper, fucks him with a flick of his wrist, and Tony groans filth, and he must be doing something right, he thinks, he's not usually this-- "Oh fuck, Steve, I am insanely turned on by this, you realize this, right?"

"Yeah, I'm getting there," Steve says, adding a third finger. A little more force now; there's this beautiful man pinned under him, groaning encouragement, and he's tenting his own pants because it's all going to his head, dragging him rushing ahead--

"Ready, I'm ready, I'm ready..."

He yanks his hand out and wipes it on his pants. Stands to shuck them, and Tony whines in the back of his throat and lurches to his feet like he's going to make a bolt for it. Steve catches him easily, snatches him midstep with an arm round his ribs, tucks him under his elbow, and tosses him back on the bed. Rolls atop him, and they grapple, naked skin and groaning, for a few seconds until he gets a grip on him, pins him.

The look in Tony's eyes catches him, freezes him in place. They're pressed cock to cock. Tony's pupils are huge, drowning black, flushed, looking--ecstatic. Like he's rocketing down the freeway with wind in his hair. Bruises from Steve's teeth branding his throat.

"Steve..."

He's about done with talking now. "Condom," he says, short and soft, and gets up, locking one of Tony's arms under his own. "Stay there."

Tony breathes, and he almost catches words in it. His hearing's fantastic, but even then, he's not entirely sure whether Tony's just said yes, Sir.

He rips it open with his teeth, fumbles it on, and shoves Tony back down on his back. Hooks his legs over his shoulders, running his palms up long wiry muscles as he strains for freedom. But he can't bear to let him go.

And then he's buried in him to the hilt. Pinning Tony by the wrists, and he growls and snaps and strains and groans "oh fuck yes, yes, don't you dare fucking stop," but he's not just done talking, he's done thinking. Invitation and permission and begging, Tony wants this, and Steve wants him. They kiss, deep and devouring; Steve digs teeth into Tony's shoulder as he shouts in blind pleasure; Steve catches both of Tony's wrists in one hand, awkward and tight, and spits on his palm and reaches down for Tony's cock because it's really not an option, not an option at all, whether Tony comes under him right now, because he wants it--

Tony comes with a jagged yell, trailing off into sharp groans on each stroke as Steve finishes himself off, rocking Tony's body back and forth, losing his grip on his wrists--

Steve's on all fours over him, sliding slowly out. Staring down at him as he tries to figure out whether it's time to think again yet.

Tony grabs his face with shaking hands and kisses him. Fierce at first, then trailing off long and slow and sweet. Their lips part softly, and Tony whispers, breath hot on his face, "That was so fucking fantastic."

Tony seems to think it's time to talk again. "Yeah," he manages.

"We should do that again. Lots. Fuck. You liked it? I mean--"

Steve eases back to sit on him, strokes a hand slowly through his sweaty hair, down the side of his face. The more he thinks about it, the more it scares him. How much he'd liked pinning him down and-- "Yeah."

Tony smiles, wriggles until he rolls off of him, lets him dispose of the condom, and curls around him like a purring cat. "So," he says with a sleepy chuckle, "that's what happens if you do that. Fuck."

Steve hugs him close, lets his head fall back on a pillow, and, well, he'll have to give it a lot more thought later; but, really, it's been a long, long time since he's let fear do anything to him. Right now, it's just Tony in his arms, shameless, twisted, wonderful Tony, and that's exactly what he wants.

>>83096
Hello now-broken heart...

>>83096
/gross sob

>>82305
I need this to continue...

>>83253
Ditto.

>>82309
>>82324
>>82525
>>83253
>>83302

Thanks, all. Still working on it. Haven't figured out where the story is going, so it's taking me a while to get it written. Hopefully there will be more sometime soon.

Goddamn, I am in *love* with the artist's neck fetish. So hot. X_X

is bottom!steve okay?

>>83660
jesus this has like 900 notes on tumblr and i only just noticed that i misplaced Steve's left leg at some point while drawing and never put it back. lol. now i can't decide if i should fix it or just let it go.

sage for idiocy.

>>83660 That picture is on the previous page, Steve/Tony#4. Try to look through the old posts once at least to make sure that you don't keep reposting the old crap.

>>83663

Tell people it's bottom!amputee!Steve. Double the kinks.

Bored, feel like drawfaggin', don't want to take requests through my tumblr. Anyone here?

>>83701 Steve fingering Tony, please? There's none of it around.

>>83702

>>83701

Alternatively: Steve sucking Tony off. Bonus for blushing. Triple jumbo bonus for Tony's hands in his hair.

>>83702
on it

>>83705
not quite what you wanted, but i can't remember if this ever got posted here: http://stereowire.tumblr.com/post/14302094802/tonight-in-bad-decision-theater-staying-up-to
if i finish the first one i'll do yours too :D

>>83702
lol what is anatomy

>>83709 OMFG, THIS IS ABSOLUTELY PERFECT! You're so fucking talent!!!!!! 1000 kudos to you!

>>83709

HOLY SHIT! ALL MY GUHS! *GUH* (fuck that's really hot)

>>83709
>>83706

Scruffy approves of these arts.

Yep.

(Aside: You're the person who drew Agent Coulson in Clark Gregg's showgirl hat?! I cannot express my love. And Dogvengers! This is everything I want.)

>>83728 Holy fuck, where's this coming from? I love the soft color usage and the lovely background especially. Now, we need some writefags.

>>83728

Fucking god, that is beautiful. Aaaah, that green and unf unf unf the boys themselves! A++ fuck. *_*

[small]not mine[/small]

>>83820

Yeah, Steve. If I knew someone who looked like that, I'd spend all my time staring at them (and creepily watching them sleep) too. Don't blame you at all.

>>83840

LOL

:O

spector knows wassup~~~~<33

>>83903
Where is this from?

>>83875

BEST! :D

I need fic. Anyone have any suggestions?

Was actually kinda hoping to get this out sooner, but 1) I'm writing the story on the fly, and 2) a loss of a very dear family member has kinda shaken my concentration. Hopefully there isn't a major difference in the writing. Like previous parts before, this is completely unbeta'ed. Concrit is awesome and welcome. You can even flame if you like. I won't fight back.

Continuation of >>80988, >>80989, >>82304, and >>82305



A few days later and it's still all over the news. The reporters jump on every bit of information they can find, from the terrorists' pasts to startling coincidences with the original Hydra organization. Apparently the leader and two other men were a part of an Aryan supremacy gang, making Tony right about the whole Nazi-wannabe thing. But why Hydra and not just neo-Nazis? Were they actually trying to get SHIELD's, maybe even Captain America's attention? And if they were, why? Were they going for a diversion? Maybe trying to draw Steve out? Too many variables and not enough data leaves Tony without a working theory.

Tony pauses in writing up a proposal of security measures Stark Industries wanted to provide the Staten Island Ferry service to catch a montage of images and video on the news feed. The television on his wall shows the report again of the incident, eyewitness pictures and cellphone videos of the ferry evacuation are blurred and shaky. Still, he can make out himself, Thor, and Steve helping with the victims.

A clip in particular always grabs Tony's attention--Captain American kneeling near a crying little boy, folding himself down to bring him to the child's height. He puts a hand on the boy's shoulder, whispers something, only to have the child crash into Steve's arms, clinging and sobbing as Steve hugs him. Tony thought that maybe Steve had said something cheesy and lame like the comics Tony used to read. /"Chin up, soldier. Don't let them think they've won!"/. But Jarvis analyzed the movements of Steve's lips to find something much more touching. /"It's okay to be afraid. I was, too. But we're all going to be alright now. I promise."/

Just the clip alone is perfect public relations fodder for SHIELD and The Initiative. But the promise to the little boy? That was a solemn vow from the Star Spangled Sentinel himself, which was no act of show for anyone.

An angry staccato of heels on the floor have Tony's sudden attention and he unmutes his TV to turn the volume up to blaring, hoping to ward off the incoming wrath of whichever ginger woman was on her way. Natasha bursts into his office like she owns it, not at all phased by the sound, and Tony curses her for being so beautifully, deadly impervious to anything he throws at her.

Swiveling around in his chair, Tony moves to get up, waving his hand around and attempting apologetic facial expressions. "Oh, you just missed me. I'm leaving now. Five minutes late to an R&D meeting."

"Rescheduled yesterday," she says matter-of-fact-ly, tossing down a ridiculously thick folder on his desk. "And for the record, if you stick another finger in my face again, you will pull back a nub."

For just a second, Tony looks at his hands, contemplates calling her bluff. He considers the possibilities of a cybernetic replacement before frowning over having to create it while missing a finger, which could be important. Blinking, he pushes the thought aside to focus on the official SHIELD insignia emblazoned on the folder.

"Whatever Fury wants, I'm not selling," Tony says, pushing the folder back toward Natasha.

"I can assure you, this has nothing to do with what the Director wants," Coulson says, suddenly standing in the doorway. His silence really shouldn't bother Tony anymore, but he still can't shake the feeling of Coulson being a creeper.

Giving both agents a steady look, Tony sniffs and rolls up his sleeves, settling in for what will probably be a long, eye blurring run over paperwork. "Should I get Pepper and the legal team involved?"

"It's classified," Coulson says easily, crossing his arms in front of him.

“Of course. Why else would Agent Super Nanny be here?” Tony quirks his mouth in a sarcastic grin as he flips open the folder. He gives a quick scan over the content of the first couple of pages, humming to himself in a manner he could only hope was annoying enough to drive them away. They don’t leave, but he stops short anyway as he realizes what exactly was being detailed in fine print and SHIELD legalese.

“Full classification access... Initiative priority...,” Tony reads, looking up at Coulson. “So, you guys are finally letting me into your secret club? How did that happen?”

“A petition was championed in your favor by Captain Rogers,” Coulson says, no emotions betraying his own opinion of the matter.

Tony sits back in his chair and grins smugly. “Please tell me one of you was in on that meeting. Was there yelling? Did Fury get that vein going? Please tell me he was pissed.”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha shakes her head. “You’re such a damn child.”

Giving a laugh, Tony flutters through the rest of the papers in the folder. “So, what happens if I don’t sign this?”

“You’re lucky you’re getting this one chance. Don’t expect another,” Natasha says curtly.

“I don’t believe Captain Rogers would be too appreciative of having his efforts tossed back in his face after sticking his neck out for you,” Coulson supplies.

Tony doesn’t pick up a pen, opting instead for a highlighter. He flips back to the first page and begins reading in earnest. “I hope you’re not needing this right away,” Tony says offhandedly, marking along a line about full access to SHIELD technology.

Natasha narrows her eyes impatiently. “This isn’t negotiable.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Tony smiles at her. He leans back in his seat and throws his feet up on his desk, going over each page in detail. By page four, Coulson’s clearing his throat.

“Stark, there is nothing in there about the Iron Man suits,” he says evenly. “Captain Rogers made sure the contract was for your person alone.”

Tony sits in his chair properly and looks at the folder. He doesn’t know what to think about it, about how Steve specifically made this request. He can still remember Steve’s voice over the phone, maybe weeks ago now. /If you push this... They’ll find a way to take your suit from you. I don’t want that to happen./ Goddammit. He trusts Steve. They can barely stand each other, but he still trusts the moody bastard.

Tony flicks through the files to the tabbed pages, adding his name or initials next to the marked lines. When he’s done, he pushes the folder to Natasha and watches as the agents leave him in silence.

**********

Being a full fledged member of the Initiative means Tony ignores the unlisted SHIELD numbers as well as numbers coming from Stark Industries offices. Encrypted emails listing meetings he’s required to attend are deleted, and said meetings are completely blown off. He doesn’t want Fury to think being on the Initiative is more important to Tony than his work with his own company.

Conveniently, Tony can use SHIELD to his advantage to get out of Stark Industries events as well. He skips out of a board meeting to wander into the SHIELD headquarters to pick up his access passes for the Initiative. Much to Tony's smug delight, this reinstates his computer log-in and opens security protocols to his use again. Which means, if he wanted to hack Steve's room again, he has full access and no worry of repercussion.

Funny how he never thought it could go both ways.

When an email pops up in his inbox from ‘Natalie Rushman’, Tony wants to laugh, preferably in her face, but he knows better if he wants his nose to remain unbroken. He thinks it’s some stupid joke, considering Natasha’s in his office with him, going over what needs to be signed now and what should be combed over by legal. He rolls his eyes and gives her his most sarcastic really? smirk as he opens the email.

|Tony,
You wanted on this team, and now you’re on it. So act like it, please.
- Steve|

“Huh,” Tony blinks at the screen before turning to blink at Natasha. “Either you’re being a pain in my ass, or Steve has hacked your email.”

Natasha stops filing papers into piles to swing his screen around so she can see. “Dammit. He’s getting good at this.”

“What was it they said in his file? About him being adaptable?” Tony smiles. Though he's mother hen'ing him in the process, Tony’s amazed and more than a little pleased that Steve is making such wild and risky progress with technology. Tony feels like maybe asking Steve to join him in exploiting loopholes just to piss off Fury. They could make a Saturday night of it.

The smug smile is wiped from his face when Natasha deletes the email. "What? No! I was going to keep that!"

"According to policy, unauthorized communications are to be destroyed after reading," she recites, like Tony hasn't had that information shoved down his throat by Coulson since he was let in on all the fun as a consultant.

Tony just grins at her. "You're jealous that he's still using you to send me love notes."

Her expression takes on a very unimpressed, flat look. Rolling his eyes, he wonders why he couldn't be stuck with an agent with an actual sense of humor. Barton seems like a cool enough guy...

"Fine. So, when is the next meeting? Can I get that penciled into my schedule somehow?"

Snatching his phone off his desk, Natasha brings up the calendar app, highlights tomorrow's date, and holds it up in front of his face. The morning's nine o'clock slot is filled with /contractual meeting with SHIELD/. Tony takes the phone and changes it to /breakfast with Cap~!/, drawing a heart around it before giving it back to her.

"Just be there," she grits out, and is gone with a stormy about-face.

He's a few minutes late, but Tony does show. It turns out to be an employee-wide meeting for SHIELD, going over new policies and anniversary announcements. It all makes Tony want to close his head in a folding chair. And what's worse is Steve is nowhere in sight. He manages to nearly trip over Banner, who seemed to have had a good nap during the meeting. The guy looks as shocked to see Tony there as Tony is frustrated to even be there.

"So where the hell is our fearless leader?" he demands.

Banner just shrugs. "Fury gave him the day off."

Oh, of all the... "Can you just vouch for me? Tell him I was here, so he doesn't throw a fit or something. Jesus, what a waste."

Tony wonders what kind of look will cross Steve's face when he finds out Tony actually came to the meeting. He was hoping he could have seen it for himself.

**********

The gala is about as mind numbing as the SHIELD meeting, but in a much more frustrating way. While sitting in one place and listening to government lackies drone on about things he doesn’t care about feels like an endless waste of genius and time, Tony’s sure it could have been worse.

The seemingly endless hall is full of philanthropists and debutantes of old money and eagerly rising stars trying to rub elbows for prosperity. Tony understands that he fits easily into both categories in his own way, the whole reason why both sides of the coin have been brought together. But always somewhere in the mix, there are three or four military suits, loaded down with metals and sparkling brass more often than not, that have weaseled their way into the soirée through connections. They see it as a chance to do their duty for God and their Country to talk Stark into seeing the error of his ways.

Tony’s cornered at the bar by two of these men, Lieutenants, wanting to tell him that telecommunications won’t pay the bills like a government Defense contract. They don’t care that Stark Industries’ stocks are up, that Tony would much rather be in a conversation with the nerdy kids in the corner that think they can take on his repulsors to build smaller and more efficient jets. They care that innocent lives are being taken--that’s why they need the next step forward in weapons.

“So, what? When crates are hijacked and stolen weapons are raining down upon our own guys, what is that? Friendly fire?” Tony asks, his voice sharp and maybe a little louder than he would like it to be. Pepper’s eyes are trying to meet his from across the room, trying to gauge the situation to pull him out. He won’t look at her, though, won’t use her as a shield to slink away from these men trying to poke at an old wound.

They make excuses, try to rationalize how the need outweighs the risks, but Tony’s seen enough, has the fake heart to prove it, and is more than a little pissed that he’s being pushed around by these jackasses. He’s ready to demand if they’ve even been out there, ever rode with the troops, ever been fired at with their own weapons, when a new suit comes into his peripheral.

“Stark Industries is tied up with Homeland Security contracts at this time,” the newcomer says, receiving salutes from the Lieutenants with Tony. Tony turns to find Steve in the crisp Dress Greens of an Army Captain, rank and valor displayed prominently on the broad chest and squared shoulders of his perfectly cut jacket. He’s intimidating with his size and honor, if that’s at all possible, his returning salute proud and exact. “In fact, that’s what I am here to discuss. If you’ll excuse us, gentlemen?”

Steve neatly plucks the tumbler of scotch from Tony’s hand and sets it on the bar before steering him away with a hand on his shoulder, blazing a warm heat through Tony’s suit to his skin. Tony’s too distracted by the sight to protest, his brain trying to switch gears from anger and being defensive to... whatever mental state he needs to be to not say something that could lead to a potential sexual harassment lawsuit with Captain America, of all people. He’s a genius, so it shouldn’t be so hard.

But it is, because he’s just a tad bit tipsy and he just knows the filter between his brain and his gone-dry mouth won’t work for him. And right now the last thing Tony wants is to piss off Steve, with that immaculate suit that looked like it was stitched together on him, and have him walk away. Oh. Actually, walking away could be a nice sight, too.

“Thank you for coming to the meeting the other day, like I asked,” Steve says as they stop in a little alcove, far enough from the majority of the crowd that it seems like they held a little bit of privacy. “I think you might have shocked Bruce a little bit.”

Steve’s hand slipped away from Tony’s shoulder so they could stand face to face, and while he mourned the loss of heat, he was now up close and personal with the view of Steve’s suit. Perfectly good trade-off. Well, for his libido maybe, but not his brain.

“How are you even here?” fights to the forefront of Tony’s mind and bypasses any attempt at being filtered.

A sneaky turn at the corner of Steve’s mouth gives him a slightly amused expression. “I asked Natasha if she would mind me being her plus one.”

“That’s usually Coulson’s job,” Tony says, straightening his suit jacket and tie to give his hands something to do. “How did you even know--?”

“About this event? Natasha,” Steve finishes for him, reaching out to fix the handkerchief in Tony’s breast pocket before he could. Tony blinks as his hands fall back to his sides, unable to expend the nervous energy building at not moving. “With her involved with Stark Industries, one of her tasks is to provide the team leader with your schedule.”

It seems like it should be a violation of his privacy, but it’s more like a heated shiver down his spine. “You know everything I’m doing.”

“Not everything. You have a tendency to do what you want, schedule or no,” Steve says, a tilt of his head and raise of his eyebrows meaning the same as an eyeroll, but much more polite.

“And you wanted to come to this?” Tony waves at all the mingling and dancing people in ridiculously expensive clothing. Not that Steve didn’t look perfectly dressed to fit in, even in a government issued uniform. “You could have just made an appointment. Or even just walked right into my office. Natash--/Natalie/ does it all the time. Never stops Coulson, either, the creeper.”

“It’s a team building exercise,” Steve looks around as Tony gestures to the crowd, blue eyes seeming to catch everything in the simple sweep. “To provide presence and support for another team member.”

“You believe that bullshit? Sounds like you’ve been sitting around with the SHIELD psychologists too long,” Tony asks, folding his arms over his chest and giving Steve a sarcastic quirk of a smile.

“Maybe I don’t. You said so yourself a month ago; you’re not a team-player,” Steve gives Tony an earnest look, his baby blues looking so honest and it’s a little awe-inspiring in Tony. “But I’ve seen you try your best a month ago, and then again last week. You’re trying and I want you to know that I understand, that I want to meet you half way.”

Tony licks his lips and smiles, an easy feeling settling in his chest. “So, you got gussied up to come here and tell me that? That’s very sweet of you. Did you want to dance, too?”

Steve really does roll his eyes this time, smiling a little himself at the teasing tones. If not for the low lighting, Tony swears his ears turned a little pink. “Sorry, I don’t know how to dance.”

Tony shrugs. “That’s too bad. I’ve been told I’m pretty good a shaking a tail feather. The music sucks anyway.” He eyes a server passing by with a tray of paltry hors d'oeuvre. “You know what, the food does, too. Wanna get something to eat?”

**********

Steve juggles three hotdogs and a pretzel like a pro on the way to the park bench. Tony wonders if he would have gotten more if he could, since the finger foods of the gala didn't pack enough calories to sustain a super soldier. But Steve insists it was enough, and Tony doesn't push. He really doesn't feel like an argument since they seemed to be getting along so well for the moment.

They eat in silence, watching the civilians pass by them in their day to day clothes, the civilians glancing at them in their suits with their hotdogs. Tony probably looks a little silly with his napkin unfolded and tucked in his loosened tie. Steve, with his mustard, relish, and onions, is pristine in his dress mess, only a tiny smear of yellow at the corner of his mouth the telltale sign of him having ate a thing.

"They're still good, but I still think nothing’s better than a Dodger dog. Was nothing. Are they still good?" Steve asks, floundering with tenses.

Tony snorts. "Hotdogs are hotdogs. They're never as good as you thought after you find out what's really in them."

Steve smiles, a tiny quirk to the mustard tinted side of his mouth. "With the war, I kinda learned to eat anything. My squad didn't always make it back to base before rations ran out. Kinda had to make do with what we could find. Especially if it got to the point when Dugan claimed he was willing to eat the ass end of a skunk."

Tony chokes on his cola, nearly having it come up his nose. Steve smiles broadly and pats Tony's back. "The squeaky clean image doesn't really allow for the sudden language,” Tony laughs through the coughing.

“I could say it’s from all the TV I’ve been watching, but you’d know I was lying.”

“But you don’t lie, anyway,” Tony says, clearing his throat. He blinks and has to clear it again when he sees the sly smirk steal across Steve’s lips.

“I... don’t think we know each other as well as we thought we did.”

Tony licks his lips, then at his teeth with a sucking sound, before yanking his napkin from his neck to wipe at his beard. “We’ve been operating on misinformation. No wonder we try to kill each other all the time.” He stands up and turns around, throwing his arms out wide. “How the hell have we even been functioning as a team like this? Do you have a curfew? Please tell me you don’t. We need to get to know each other, once and for all. You’re coming with me. Let’s go.”

Steve gets up and moves to throw their trash away. “So, you’re kidnapping me?”

Tony scoffs and makes a vague waving gesture. “You’re a grown man. Kidnapping doesn’t even sound right. If I was /anything/-napping you, I’d be... /cap/-napping you. And I will, if that’s what it takes. Fury will just have to deal.”

Actually I really want d/s? Does anyone have any d/s????

Actually I really want d/s? Does anyone have any d/s????

>>83956

I'm sorry for your loss anon, hope you're okay. But this is really really good! New reader here, btw, just found the board! LOVE IT! Specially Cap being a badass with tech! And using language! :D

>>83957
Especially if it got to the point when Dugan claimed he was willing to eat the ass end of a skunk.
Lol, A+ anon, keep going.

>>83963
I second this

Second page? For shame!

late but w/e

>>84371

oh god. is that a fic illustration or something? meaning, IS THERE FIC TO GO WITH THAT??! ;O;

>>84388 Sorry, no.

>>84394
yeeeeeeeeeeeees. hngh. the world in general needs more tied-up Steve.

>>84394

That is an Iron Lady, isn't that? :I (lol jk carry on, idm ;)

>>84388

Speaking of fics, did that dubcon fic ever continue after the author ran off?

>>84408
He/She flounced like a drama queen.

>>84408

Speaking of fic, hey nonnie who wrote drawerfic with watersports and discipline, didja write more? c:? Cause you have given me brand new kinks, my friend and no one else in this fandom will oblige. :c

>>84409
Damn it, I was hoping they had flounced back. Stupid drama queens. It was getting a bit tired anyway, I guess. The last sex scene was really drug out but I was hoping she'd get off that and move on, maybe start bringing in some actual relationship stuff, as they seemed to be moving backwards: sex, then dating. Figured that actual affection was the next step, not three posts of machine sex.

>>84442 I'm not the writefag but be nice and move on please. Here, have some stevetony makeup sex. Oh, and I'm not the artist of this fanart either.

>>84442
Wow, but you're a class act. And we wonder why the content producers always leave us.

>>84402
I am surprised this isn't a thing in fandom considering how much he gets kidnapped and tied up by his enemies.

>ignoring drama

So... I heard about the once-upon-a-4chan-board existence of hot Steve/Tony where Tony has only had 1 dick boyfriend in the past and then masturbatory porn happens as Tony fucks himself with vibes and gets off on the thoughts of what (twisted things, that he thinks are totes normal) Steve would make him do...

And I am craving this SO HARD, I can't even *flail*. Does anyone on board have links etcetra? (Or feels inspired to write somthing???) *hopefulhopefulhopeful* I will worship like a SLAVE if anyone can linky?

>>84459
Uhh, why is this so dead. Not the author, reposting some hot porny bits from longfic I found, that _kinda_ matches this. It's Steve/Tony with Tony bottoming for the first time with Steve cause all his previous experiences were bad.

------------------------------------

Tony Stark was man enough to admit he was purring, or as close as purring as a human could get. He was lying comfortably on his stomach in his ridiculously big bed, exquisite Egyptian cotton under him, silk cover just above his hips, and he was naked, a gorgeous equally naked blonde giving him one of the top ten massages of his life. He loved Steve’s hands; they worked magic on his body leaving him feeling like putty.

“You are purring,” commented an amused deep voice.

“Am not.” Yeah, well, Tony was man enough to admit it… internally only. He hid his face between the soft pillows and sighed. Big strong hands finished working his shoulders and roamed lower, ten points on his middle back and then exquisite pressure on his muscles eased away any tension on their way down.

After a few minutes of bliss, Steve spoke again in his ‘I’ve made up my mind and I’m not changing it no matter what you say’ voice. “I won’t apologize,” he said, “for thinking myself lucky to have you, nor for having said it out loud back at the Quinjet.”

Tony moaned appreciatively when Steve undid the last stubborn knot to the right of his spine. “I don’t deserve you,” he mumbled into the pillow.

“No, you don’t,” agreed Steve with a hum; he pressed a kiss between Tony’s shoulder blades. “But I’m not giving you up so deal with it.”

Tony laughed a hearty laugh as Steve’s hands wandered to his lower back, stopping at the hem of the silk cover on him.

“Are you sure of this? I don’t really mind if you don’t…” started Steve, hands grabbing the bed cloth but not dislodging it, staying very still.

“Of course I am,” this was something that Steve wanted and Tony could and would give to him. He’d do just about anything for this man; he’d give him anything he asked too if it was within his powers to do so. And he had been actually looking forward to the night’s activities. Admittedly, he’d had bad experiences in the past but he would try once more, for Steve, because he hoped he was the one; that maybe he had been doing it all wrong before and Steve would be the one to show him the right way. The one that could bring him the pleasure he hadn’t been able to get from other partners. “Not that it wasn’t welcomed but I still think the wonderful massage wasn’t necessary,” said Tony with a contented chuckle.

“It was. You were pretty tense since that time at the Quinjet. And you have some minor injuries of which I’m going to know about later in detail whether you tell me the whole story or not,” replied Steve levelly, “I need you the most relaxed you can be if we are going to do this,” a sigh, a kiss to the small of his back, “So if you want to back down—“

“Steve, I want you inside me,” cut in Tony and wriggled his ass to better get his point across. Craning his neck to look back at his partner, he caught the good commander’s sharp inhale and noticed his cock swelling. “You like hearing me say that,” he teased, Steve was already half hard.

Cool air caressed Tony’s butt once the cover had been hastily taken out of the way, those magnificent hands he so much loved kneading him seconds later with open appreciation.

“You are getting tense again,” hot breath against his skin, one finger tracing along his right cleft, a tongue following behind. Anticipation coiled at the pit of Tony’s stomach.

“Relax Tony, I’ll be gentle, it’s going to be okay,” promised Steve in a whisper, his lips following the curve of his left buttock.

Tony let out an indignant huff, he wasn’t a blushing virgin and it was annoying to be treated as one. “You know this isn’t my first time,” he said.

Steve planted a kiss to his left inner thigh before replying. “Yes it is,” his tone firm, words full of confidence, “It’s your first time with me.”

Tony melted. And he might’ve been blushing too but he still was no virgin.

>>84505

Two hands spread open Tony’s legs then a hot wet tongue trailed from his perineum upwards and Tony startled but Steve kept him pinned to the bed.

“You are not doing what I think you are doing, Stev—“ Tony moaned out loud, not finishing his sentence when the tongue circled briefly around his hole, shyly poking in next but not breaching.

“Oh God, oh God, you’re—“ Another moan. Steve had gotten his thumbs between his cheeks and separated them, exposing him, giving himself space to better tease his opening. Pleasure assaulted Tony with each swipe, his arousal spiked wildly with each prod of Steve’s tongue, which grew ever more daring each time nudging deeper.

By the time Steve started to really fuck him with his tongue, Tony was a babbling mess. He had been trying to say something, anything but brain functions shut down completely once a hand grabbed him by the hip urging him on hands and knees, another hand sneaking between his legs to stroke him in time with the invading thrusts. It was too much, he was going to come and he couldn’t even say it, moans and whimpers getting in the way. He was almost there, just a little more, a little more, his abdomen tightened, close, so close, yes yes, yes…

“Not yet”, and it was gone.

“You cruel bastard!” bellowed Tony and to add insult to injury, Steve laughed.

“I see you aren’t completely averse to anal stimulation,” he observed smugly and gave a light slap to the firm meaty globe to his left.

“I’m feeling quite averse to you right now,” quipped Tony, then in a lower voice, embarrassed, he confessed, “I do like it, though. I do enjoy it, at first. It’s just that well, it isn’t very pleasurable when trying to fit in something bigger and later it… it hasn’t gone well for me thereafter,” this last part was said with a defeated sigh.

“Let’s see how we can change that,” said Steve. He bit Tony’s right buttock, hard, suckled the abused skin, let it go and licked the red patch soothingly.

“You are the only partner I’ve ever had that likes leaving hickeys there,” mused Tony, “Ouchie, by the way.”

Oh, sweet splendid Steve, Tony didn’t deserve him at all. He trusted the man, he knew he’d do his absolutely best and then some to not disappoint, to redeem Tony’s past unsavory experiences and give him a nice one. Tony didn’t want to doubt him; he desperately wanted Steve to make him feel good.

Steve kissed his other butt cheek, “I love your ass,” probably meant as a response to the hickey comment, then “I want you on your back,” he commanded in his sexy authoritative voice --that Tony had told him once got him hard every time-- and Tony complied.

Steve laved Tony’s testicles, kissed the base of his member and took a long taste of him from base to tip, then went back to service his scrotum with his mouth. With his thumb, he massaged Tony’s perineum while he reached for the lubricant with his free hand. The thumb left a few seconds and when it came back massaging the sweet spot once again, a slippery finger probed at his entrance. Tony’s breath hitched.

“Shhhh, come on Tony, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay, relax for me,” cooed Steve before engulfing him in wet delicious heat. He bobbed his head up and down and Tony was in so much bliss he didn’t entirely notice the intrusion until the lubed finger started to move inside him.

With a loud pop, Steve freed his mouth, “Everything okay so far?” he asked, his finger curling within Tony lighting up nerves that made him arch wanting more.

“God, yes,”

“Tell me if it hurts, alright? I’ll know if you are lying, Tony, but I’d still like you to tell me when it’s too much.” With this and after a quick nod of agreement from Tony, Steve swallowed him down again, the finger left him and Tony didn’t whimper in protest, because that would be pathetic, he made this sound that suspiciously sounded like one but decidedly wasn’t a whimper. Soon enough the finger came back even more slick and accompanied by another one. This time Tony did notice the breach, felt them slowly burn their way in. He let out a shaky breath, still okay so far. It didn’t feel bad. Definitely a lot better than it usually had felt at this point in similar proceedings before, considering the girth of Steve’s fingers. Of course the mind-numbing blowjob, the hand softly fondling his sack, its thumb pressing and kneading the skin behind, was a huge help.

Steve sucked harder, his fingers thrust faster, deeper, scissoring him and then they found his prostate and, “Oh, fuck, I’m coming!” Tony had been struggling not to, hands clutching the sheets but Steve was too good, humming with gusto and taking more of him each time until he was nose deep in coarse hair. Tony arched and bucked up and Steve let him. He twisted his fingers, one last sharp brush against that special spot and Tony’s vision blurred. He came shouting something that might have or might have not been Steve’s name.

Steve swallowed all he could and let him go to lick him clean, mindful of his oversensitive state; his fingers still wedged deep inside moved slower this time, gently stretching him. Tony quivered every time they grazed his prostate but didn’t protest or move, too dazed and satiated to care. He distantly felt Steve’s fingers leave him and if he weren’t drowning in endorphins he would’ve resented the emptiness.

>>84506

He heard the lubricant’s lid pop open again, heard some wet sounds, some thick-liquid was applied around his hole, a bit more barely inside and next came three slick fingers. He was full, he felt full but didn’t have mind enough to care about the burning stretching sensation this time. It was pretty tolerable.

“That’s good Tony, that’s good. You are so hot, just look at you, so beautiful”.

“Mmm’not a woman.” Apparently, Tony had regained speech or part of it at least. Steve’s lips were on his and he opened his mouth to let him in. It was a lazy, slow, deep kiss. Tony’s arms came around Steve’s neck, slid one hand up to thread calloused fingers in blond soft hair. One of them groaned, Tony wasn’t sure who, and then he felt it, Steve’s hard dick pressing against his thigh. Steve rocked into him, let out a moan and his fingers slipped out and then it was Tony’s turn to moan at the loss.

“On your side. Come on,” instructed the good Captain once he’d ended the kiss with visible reluctance. He stroked Tony’s hipbones before helping him move onto the new position and once done, he spooned behind him. Reaching for the foiled packet, Steve made fast of putting on the condom. Tony could feel his hurried movements behind and with the afterglow already webbing away, suddenly he didn’t know if he was ready yet or not. He didn’t want it to be like the other times; he didn’t want to have an unwelcome memory of Steve. A big hand petted his abdomen, trailed down his navel drawing circles on his skin.

“Calm down.” A sigh, a kiss at the nape of Tony’s neck followed by many more quick smaller ones. Steve pressed himself closer and his cock slid between Tony’s buttocks.

“Incoming!” announced Steve smiling, a pretty bad joke, even for Steve’s standards –and it was soul-wrecking how low those standards were—with the worst of timings too, and Tony snorted, then let out a shaky laugh, “Thought I’d told you not to do that again. You are terrible at it, being funny, I mean,” he said.

However terrible it had been, though, the joke had served its purpose and Tony had relaxed. A bit. Steve’s petting his stomach helped further.

“My bad,” apologized Steve with an unrepentant grin that Tony could feel on the back of his head.

Burning. The expected pain that came with anal penetration, but for once it wasn’t so bad, and it quickly started to recede. It was just the tip. Tony tried to move but strong arms held him in place.

“Stay still, get accustomed to the sensation first,” Steve nibbled Tony’s ear shell, kissed his neck.

So Tony waited. Breathed in and out.

“Ready?” prompted Steve, Tony nodded, and Steve’s cock slid in only an inch or two. He didn’t move for some time, until he was sure Tony was ready for more and moved in another inch.

“Too tight still,” would reply Steve every time Tony urged him to move. Inch by inch and after a few minutes that had seemed like an eternity, Steve was only halfway. He moved in another inch and waited. Tony let out an exasperated groan.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No, you’re too slow! C’mon, give it to me! Now!” It didn’t hurt anymore; for a brief moment it had but then it became more of a ‘this doesn’t belong here’ kind of sensation. Usually by this time, Tony would’ve been short of begging his partner to hurry up and finish. Usually by this time, his partner would be deep in him and he’d been in too much in pain to keep on going. He had always been subtle; contrary to popular belief, Tony Stark was as selfless in bed as he was in other areas of his life. He’d always look for his partners to enjoy themselves more than enjoying himself first. It was hard for him to say ‘no’ in bed, much less ‘stop’ when his partner was having a good time. A good time because of him. That’s what Tony liked most about having sex: he could make people feel good, give them the time of their lives.

“I won’t let you let me hurt you Tony,” answered Steve, he moved another inch in and waited.

Tony was desperate. It didn’t hurt and he wanted more. He tried to move again and again Steve’s arms around him stopped the movement. At least this time the wait was shorter. And then shorter, then shorter until Steve was finally flush against his ass.

Finally.

>>84507

“Finally.”

Steve hummed in agreement and didn’t move for a while. When Tony was about to squirm looking for friction, he slid out slowly, applied more lube on whatever little inches he got out, around the hole too, and thrust back in carefully. Tony keened, “Yes!” he shouted.

“How do you feel, is it good?” asked Steve, rocking in and out, always mindful of his movements and Tony’s body reactions to them.

Good? It was great, fantastic. It surprised Tony how good it was. Why couldn’t it have been this good before with his previous partners? Why was Steve different?

Steve’s thrusts were confident but gentle and once he’d found Tony’s prostate, he didn’t miss the sweet spot once.

Tony moaned and babbled and wriggled. Steve licked a line from shoulder to neck and then whispered, not a single hint of doubt in his voice, sure and honest, unwavering in his truthfulness “I love you Tony.”

That was it. Steve loved him. None of the others had ever loved Tony. Not Sunset, not Indries, not Ty, and he and Henry had just been friends finding comfort in each other; the actor had been only trying to help him through his alcoholism the only way Tony had allowed him when too lost in the need for a drink. Maybe if Ru had been into pegging, it would’ve felt good too.

His erection surprised him. He had gotten hard from Steve’s cock in his ass and by the looks of it coming again soon even. Steve took him in hand, swift quick strokes getting him closer to the edge.

“Steve, Steve, Steve,” Tony gasped, white knuckled hands clutching the bed sheets. “More, I’m so close, please, oh please, fuck, please”.

Steve’s thrusts grew erratic, his breathing rough on Tony’s neck. “Tell me Tony, p-please, tell me you like it,” his hand moved faster, Tony could feel Steve getting close inside him too.

“L-love it.”

“You are mine.” Faster, deeper, but never rough or careless.

“Yes.” With a twist of Steve’s wrist, Tony was metaphorically punched in the gut by his orgasm. He spilled in Steve’s hand and on the bedclothes, eyes closed. White stained the fine black Egyptian cotton.

Steve rode Tony’s spasms and bit his shoulder when he followed, coming deep inside him.

They basked together in their afterglow, Steve soothing the bite mark on Tony’s skin with his tongue. He let out a contented sigh and admired his work. Sliding carefully out, he then disposed of the condom.

“Steve,” rasped Tony when a thick finger gingerly explored his anus, “I don’t think—“

“Just checking if you are okay,” explained Steve. He gave Tony a quick peck on the jaw and rolled him onto his back, rested his head on his chest.

==========END OF SEX SCENE===========

>>84448
Um, the flouncer was getting rave reviews and boatloads of attention up until one person said something askance, sending the author running off. Everyone, myself included, told them not to let it bother them, to just ignore the insult, cus it was a stupid one.

It was a really good fic, but yeah, it seemed like the author was running out of ideas. Up until the last three posts, things were moving along smartly, but then she/he got stuck in a three post long, machine sex scene. As I said, "I had hoped they would continue to build on the relationship."

So, no, I'm not sorry about calling her/him a drama queen. Everyone was applauding their work, then one person says she/he "clearly doesn't like Tony" and he/she throws a fit and cuts off the story. That is the definition of a drama queen (unless after her/his last post, they were struck by a car and left in coma, in which case, I apologize).

If said person wants to continue, bully. I support people moving on from insults and continuing to do what they want, but until then, drama queen.

That author was almost certainly Gyzym, you know that, right?

Makes sense now. Did she leave the fandom for good yet?

Um i'm 90% sure of the id of the author and about a 10000% sure it wasn't gyzym. Not only had that author been writing their fic for months before gyzym got into fandom, their writing is completely different. Also, the writer flounced not because of any insult to them but because of a general free for all wank where it was discovered that felt tooo hurt to write upon finding that people did not ahree with their interpretation of Tony in the movies - aka they could be said to be on the side of 'gyzym's fic is ooc' if any.

So not only are you an idiot who can't let sleeping wank lie, you're an idiot with overly poor reading comprehension.

Enjoy the fucking dead board.

>>84540
>>84542
>>84543

These are great! Source?

Hey, hey, hey. No drama. Just sex. ;D

>>84581
Yeah, I think you're right. Never thought asking about a fic I liked would get me jumped and called a moron. I'm out. Geez.

>>83957

This fic is cool. Keep it going, to get back on topic.

nope.. pretty sure it was not Gyzym at all.. very different writing.. let's just continue with porn, shall we? >>84561

>>84603

I am _really_ liking the tiny!Tony thing going on. For once instead of Tony kinking on Steve being huger, is there any porn where Steve kinks on Tony being tinier? Porn not fluffs (though fluffs are awesome too!). Just... waaaaaaaaaaaaant.

>>84608

This is relevant to my interests.

>>84608 ME GUSTA. O_O

have some art of relevance.

relevant because steve is the only one cuting him. >_<

Semi relevant to the Steve/Tony tiny/hugee thing except Steve is the tiny one (For some reason the serum fucked up on him or something).

This is from a preview of the upcoming Captain America comic BTW.

>>84659

>>84660

Haha, oh god. Steve looks so cute in that last panel. <3 And Tony looks so into him. :3

Alas, it appears that we're auto-saging! Who want to make a new thread?

Done. New one here:
http://plus4chan.org/b/coq/res/85711.html