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1. When Steve is drunk
Tony would call Steve a responsible drinker in that he’s sober three hundred and sixty days of the year, and once every few months dependent on Earth’s security status and the Avengers calendar, he agrees to get completely plastered with the team.
He can’t get drunk from sharing a bottle of wine with Tony at dinner or sipping on a beer to share in everyone’s fun, but the Asgardian mead Thor hauls in sure does the trick, and drunk Steve is a crowd favourite if Tony’s ever seen one.
After the whole team has gotten their turn putting Steve’s curves to good use by spreading him out on a table and taking body shots off of him, and Steve has made at least two attempts at fashioning some honestly impressive weapon with empty bottles, stray shots of liquor, and items like Natasha’s hair ties and Bucky’s lighter that he finds unattended, it usually isn’t long before he turns into two hundred pounds of dead weight.
By the time Steve is all partied out and sprawled out on a sofa, everyone else is pretty much ready to turn in for the night, too, and that’s about when Tony rolls up his sleeves and goes for it—like tonight.
“Alright, big guy, here we go,” Tony says, thumbing at Steve’s flushed cheeks and smiling when Steve blinks up at him with out of focus eyes, still endlessly adoring. “We’re going to bed.”
Steve pats around Tony’s chest before finding the collar of his shirt and tries to pull him down. “Right here.”
“Nope. I want you in my bed. Come on.”
Steve gives his best puppy eyes and an honest to god pout, which he’s shameless about when he’s drunk. “But I love you.”
Clint makes a retching sound from somewhere in the room and Tony decides not to think about if he’s mocking them or if he’s seriously about to throw up.
Tony sighs down at Steve.
“You’re gonna make me do this again?”
Steve smiles dopily at him.
“Fine. Let’s do this.”
He leans down, scoops one arm under Steve’s knees and loops his other arm around Steve’s back, and then lifts him off the sofa in one fell swoop. Tony hears Bucky whistle behind him, followed by Natasha’s laughter, as he carries Steve out of the room that way like he’s holding an enormous puppy.
“Nighty night,” Tony calls to the room over his shoulder, eliciting some incoherent noises and slurred attempts at bidding him good night back. “You all know where the blankets are.”
When he gets in the elevator to the penthouse and glances down at Steve in his arms, Steve is staring up at him with that look blown across his eyes, and Tony knows how this night ends. His mouth quirks.
“Can you stand, Steve?”
“No,” Steve lies.
“You like it when I carry you, huh?”
“Mmh.”
2. When Steve is de-serumed
Steve is practically half the size Tony is used to and he can tell Steve is disoriented by it.
He’s been quieter than usual since the incident and keeps sneaking glances at himself, but as he stands there at their bathroom sink brushing his teeth, Tony splays one palm over Steve’s ribs, leans down to kiss his ear, and secretly wouldn’t mind if Steve stayed this way.
Steve bends over to spit out his toothpaste and rinse his mouth, and when he straightens up, he tucks right back up against Tony. He loves the way Steve fits perfectly into the space carved out by his arms and chest, at this size.
“Tony—”
“Yeah?” Tony pulls away a scant inch and sees Steve flushed pink all the way to the tips of his ears. “You okay?”
“You’re bigger than me.”
“Captain Obvious.”
Steve twists around in his arms and gazes up at him, something mischievous in the small smile he offers up to him.
“You’re stronger than me until this wears off. Think we should take advantage of that?”
“Oh, you don’t have to ask me twice.”
Then he’s picking Steve up by the thighs, sweeping out of the bathroom and throwing him down onto their bed. Steve laughs, propping himself up on his elbows to get further up the bed, but arousal writhes through Tony's gut and he reaches out without thinking, wrapping his hands around Steve’s ankles and pulling him back.
Steve’s lips fall open, soft and pink, and his eyes go wide, then dark. Tony watches his every little reaction like a predator hunting prey.
He gets onto his knees on the bed, covering Steve’s body with his own, and pins both of Steve’s wrists over his head with one hand. Steve pushes against his hold, experimenting, and Tony can feel the moment Steve really realises that he couldn’t break Tony’s grip if he tried.
“You want a turn with your back up against the wall? Wanna know what it feels like?” Tony whispers, low and rumbling between nips and kisses down Steve’s throat, and Steve is already hard and breathless beneath him. “Or do you want to sit in my lap and do none of the work, wait for me to pick you up and slam you back down? Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”
“Everything,” Steve gasps, eyes glistening, and Tony’s grip around his wrists tightens.
3. When Steve wants to be manhandled
Tony cuts a leather harness, which Steve thinks is for his shield at first.
“There’s no magnet in the back and it’ll have too much give in the front,” Steve says with a furrow between his brows, turning the harness over in his hands. He looks up at Tony and jokes, “What is this for, posture?”
“I’ve stumped the greatest strategic mind of our time,” Tony says, dragging Steve in close by pulling on the harness in his hands. Steve’s eyes flick down, then back up to Tony’s face with some realisation, and Tony grins. “Yeah. That’s what it’s for.”
Steve opens his mouth like he wants to say something, then closes it like he doesn’t know what. It’s cute that he still manages to be shocked by Tony’s brilliant debauchery after all this time together.
“Wanna try? You put this on and I’ll have all the leverage I need. One tug and you’re on your knees for me. You like that?”
Steve’s already reaching for the hem of his shirt and shoving into Tony’s space, sweet and impatient.
Tony knows him, and he knows that just because Steve can hold a helicopter down with his bare hands and throw around seven-hundred-pound motorcycles like they weigh nothing doesn’t mean he doesn’t love being pushed around. With the harness and the anchorage it offers, Tony can pull Steve in any way he likes.
When Steve’s shirt comes off and the harness goes on, there’s a second before Tony starts thinking exclusively with his dick where he wonders if he’s dug his own grave, because there’s no way he can look at Steve in his uniform again without thinking of him like this, rich leather bounding his perfect shoulders and stretching across his chest and back, waiting for Tony to do as he pleases.
But he pulls hard on the front of Steve’s harness, making him stumble, and he forgets why that might even be a problem.
4. When Steve walks in on him working
Tony’s workshop gets loud, what with his insistence on listening to AC/DC the way god intended (loudly) and all of his jackhammering and metal sawing and concrete drilling, so he doesn’t hear Steve the first few times he calls his name.
He’s got a crow bar wedged between two sheets of stubborn metal, trying to pry them apart because he wants the material, when Steve rounds his workbench.
“Hey, hot stuff. JARVIS, turn it down.”
“You can keep doing what you’re doing,” Steve says, and he’s the worst person in the world at feigning nonchalance because his gaze is dragging heavily down Tony’s bare arms in a way that makes heat prickle under his skin.
For the most part, Tony considers his muscles a functional thing because piloting the Iron Man suit is physically demanding as it is, and the ever-present threat of another kidnapping or alien invasion is great fitness motivation.
He won’t deny his own vanity when it comes to the particular way he likes to keep his beard or his astronomically expensive watch collection, but before Steve came along and started looking at him like he’s worth going to hell for, Tony never much cared about what he looked like down in his workshop, in his old black wifebeaters. He wears them because he’d sweat through his other clothes, and the inevitable stains and grease smears aren’t so awful on black fabric.
“Mr. Rogers,” Tony chides. “My eyes are up here.”
“Yeah,” Steve says distractedly. He meets Tony’s eyes after a second and gives him a little grin. “Hi.”
“Did you come down here for something?” Tony teases, leaning against his workbench and gesturing for Steve to come closer. Steve heeds without hesitation, inviting himself to stand between Tony’s knees.
“Probably,” Steve says, taking one of Tony’s hands in his and sliding it up his chest to rest around the base of his neck. Tony’s breath catches. “Can’t remember now.”
“You’re bad for keeping my ego in check,” Tony sighs, and Steve has the audacity to smile at him. Tony wraps his hand around Steve’s throat, enough pressure to betray how much he’s holding back, to make Steve’s eyes go dark, and he can feel Steve swallow against the palm of his hand, his pulse jumping.
Steve ends up bent over Tony’s workbench, pulling one of Tony’s hands from his hips to his back, begging to be held down and desperately trying to keep his head up so he can watch their reflections in the glass. Tony tracks his gaze.
“Oh my god,” Tony groans, hips stuttering when he realises where Steve is looking, an obscene sound spilling from his lips whenever Tony grabs him a little harder and his biceps bulge. Tony leans down just to look his fill of Steve’s blush when he says through his teeth, “You’re a little bit of a slut, you know that?”
Steve makes a satisfied noise and doesn’t even try to fight him on it.
5. When Steve wants to be marked up
It only has to work once is one of Tony’s favourite philosophies, especially the time he wakes up and finds, somewhat incredulously, faint fingerprinted bruises still on Steve’s hip from last night. It’s the first time the marks he leaves on Steve don’t fade overnight, and Steve is even crazier about it than he is.
He hasn’t quite given up begging Tony for overnight marks since then, and Tony is happy to oblige because it’s a mindblowing power trip, Steve Rogers of all people spreading himself out for Tony to take, so hastily surrendering his strength in exchange for a ghost of Tony’s touch beneath his uniform the next day.
“Harder,” Steve nearly sobs when Tony sinks his teeth into the mark he’s sucked into Steve’s shoulder, staining the gorgeous muscle there maroon. “More, let me earn it—ah, god, Tony!”
Steve crying out god and Tony’s name in the same breath is etched into his brain forever.
His fingers dig even harder into Steve’s hips and he twists into the pain, wanting to earn Tony’s marks, and the beautiful thing is that Steve knows what Tony is capable of and Tony knows Steve can take it.
Tony admits he gets a little out of control that night because as much as he loves it when Steve goes toe to toe with him, he’s heaven on earth when he yields, and he does it so exquisitely.
“Does it hurt?” Tony rasps after, when he can think complete thoughts again because Steve isn’t sucking his brain out through his cock, running his hands gently over the strokes of colour he painted into Steve’s skin.
Steve is half sprawled out over him with his cheek pressed into Tony’s collarbone, a heavy, warm, comforting weight. Tony doesn’t doubt the marks will last through the night, but there’s an anxious voice nagging at him, telling him he did too much and he isn’t so different from the people who treat Steve like he was made to be hurt.
“Feels good,” Steve hums into his skin, catching Tony halfway down his spiral to rock bottom. “Like you.”
“Okay,” Tony whispers.
“Again tomorrow,” Steve adds sleepily, and Tony huffs out a soft laugh. He kisses the top of Steve’s head, and the nagging voice shows itself out.
+1. When Steve needs a little saving
Steve’s presence on the field always gives Tony a surge of confidence and power he can’t quite explain. When Steve is in his line of sight, an unrelenting streak of blue and the bright gleam of his shield, shouting out orders and knocking out combatants, Tony feels like they’ve already won.
It isn’t just about his superhuman speed and strength because Tony has the same feeling everywhere else—every time he’s in danger of falling short, Steve squeezes his hand and Tony feels fearless again; he thinks of unwavering blue eyes brimming with that resolute sense of belief, believing in him, and he refuses to lose. (He’s his rock, six feet tall or five foot four or small enough to fit in his pocket.)
That’s why, when he whips around mid-air and sees Steve redirect a swarm of bots by letting them tackle him through the air, crashing him into the remnants of a broken building as it collapses on him, Tony forgets to breathe long enough for JARVIS to update him on his vitals.
For one enormous, horrible moment, Tony thinks he’s lost him, but his communicator crackles and there’s Steve’s voice, raspy with dust but so alive.
“I’m fine,” Steve grunts, and Tony’s so relieved he almost goes lightheaded. “Just stuck under some concrete—”
From what Tony can see, some concrete is the understatement of the year. Steve is one man trying to shore up half an apartment building and one scan of the battlefield tells him the air is clear and they’re almost finished on the ground, but no one else can spare an assist yet.
“Don’t,” Tony blurts out, taking off in his direction. “Honey, I’m gonna be right there.”
It’s a close call even with the Iron Man suit, but Tony maxes out his repulsors and finally lifts the building enough for Steve to haul himself out. There’s a gash running down his leg that makes Tony wince, but he scans him and nothing is broken, and the rest of Steve is miraculously mostly unharmed.
Tony drops to his knees and retracts his helmet, crushing Steve in a hug.
“Oh my fucking god,” he breathes, heart still racing as he presses his face into Steve’s hair, not caring that it’s dirty. He gives Steve a shake. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack someday. You’re what’s gonna kill me.”
Steve’s laugh chokes off into a cough, and he has the good graces to look guilty for pulling a stunt like that. He switches the outgoing channels on their communicators off long enough to say, “Would you forgive me if I told you it’s really hot that you lifted up a building?”
Tony stares at him, biting his smile. Steve Rogers pulling a swan dive and making a flirtatious comment before the fight is over—Tony really must be a bad influence.
“We’ll see,” Tony says finally, giving Steve’s dirt-smudged forehead a kiss. “Come on, let’s load you up on the jet and you can keep begging my forgiveness.”