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Steve was making breakfast, and it was a morning like any other in the mansion, waiting for his fellow Avengers to join him for the first meal and coffee of the day.
Except for in all the ways that it wasn’t.
Because nothing felt the same. Not when Steve was still processing the earth-shattering revelation that Tony Stark was Iron Man. Iron Man was Tony Stark.
He didn’t know how he felt about it.
Shocked, definitely.
Hurt? Perhaps.
Angry? Not really.
Now that he knew the secret identity Iron Man was protecting so carefully, it made all the sense in the world. He was such a public figure that outing himself as Iron Man would put him in even greater danger then he was already. Not to mention, he was entitled to privacy. Steve could understand that he might not want everyone to know Iron Man was really Tony Stark, just as much as he didn’t want them to know that Tony Stark was Iron Man.
Steve understood it, and he didn’t blame Tony for the secrecy. It was a foolish thought, but a part of him just wished that Iron Man, Tony, could’ve felt that Steve was trustworthy enough after all these years to share his confidence with. Tony knew everything about Steve, and yet Tony had kept his true self buried under so many layers, regardless of which persona he was in, that it felt like Steve had only ever been shown the tip of the iceberg.
He did feel a bit of an idiot, for thinking he had two distinct relationships with two different men. Iron Man, his best friend, his teammate, his confidant, his… crush. Then there was Tony Stark, the Avengers’ benefactor, his—something between acquaintance and friend… his crush.
Okay, yeah, he happened to have a crush on both of them, which was a bit embarrassing now that he knew the truth, but he was the only one who knew he felt that way, so that was something.
It simplified the problem of wanting two different men, if nothing else. He could focus all his hopeless yearning on the one and only Tony Stark… AKA Iron Man. Great, just great. He may not have known who Iron Man was underneath the mask, but at least before he could pretend that he was someone a little more achievable than eligible bachelor Tony Stark, wanted and desired by all. He couldn’t do that anymore.
But who did Tony want? Not Steve. He’d never given any kind of indication that—
Tony walked into the kitchen.
But most importantly—Tony walked into the room naked. Or, what Steve took to be naked, because all he could focus on was skin, skin, naked skin, defined muscles, exposed flesh everywhere.
Well. Not quite everywhere.
He was wearing the world's tiniest red briefs, which provided only slightly more coverage than the red thong he’d been wearing under his suit when the Molecule Man melted his armor away.
That was something Steve had been trying desperately not to think about—the glimpses he’d had of Tony’s bare skin, the globes of his ass, not to mention the way his underwear cupped Tony’s package so lovingly, so revealingly, until he sadly covered himself in Donald Blake’s shirt—trying to focus instead on the more important revelations of the day.
But now Tony was standing in front of him in similarly small, tight underwear, his only concession to modesty being the fact that they at least covered his ass, if not much else, baring all that skin, and giving Steve a perfect look at the size of his bulge, this time without anything to distract him.
It was torture.
Steve dragged his gaze up—with extreme reluctance—because a, he was ogling, and b, he needed to see Tony’s expression to decipher just what the hell he was thinking walking around like the best worst kind of temptation at eight in the morning.
Tony’s eyes glittered. No. Sparkled. Deviously. Sinfully? He was certainly looking pleased with himself.
“What are you wearing?” Steve demanded, voice coming out strangled. “And what happened to the rest of it?”
Tony shrugged, a sly smile curving his gorgeous lips. “After what happened, I figured, I’ve got nothing left to hide, you know? Why not flaunt it instead?”
Steve gaped at him. Then his gaze slid downwards, because he had lost all control, apparently. But there was so much to look at that his eyes couldn’t decide where to land. Tony’s nipples, his abdominals, his bulge, his thighs, his calves, and then back up to repeat the journey all over again. Not even the scars on his chest detracted from the glorious sight of him, it only improved his attractiveness in Steve’s mind. It was too much to take in all at once. Steve felt flushed and uncomfortably aware of how he was hardening in the confines of his pajama pants, which were a lot more modest, but could only hide so much.
“Steve?”
“Yeah? Yes?” Steve blinked, refocusing on Tony’s face, flushing even further at the way he was watching him with such amusement and delight.
“Coffee?”
“Right! Coffee, I’ll get that for you.” He turned around, his movements clumsy and awkward, almost dropping the cup he picked up—Tony’s favorite mug. Couldn’t have that.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself and marshaling his wayward arousal into something semi-functional. He poured the coffee and carefully handed it over to Tony, the brush of their fingers sending a jolt through him, but he controlled the instinct to flinch. “Careful you don’t spill it, it’s hot,” he said, gaze already drifting to Tony’s chest. It would be such a shame to burn any of that lovely skin… How soft would Tony’s body feel under his hands, Steve wondered dazedly, imagining running his hands over every exposed inch of him.
“Thanks, Steve,” Tony practically purred. A reaction to the coffee, most likely, but maybe not? Maybe he was enjoying the way Steve was devouring him with his eyes. He hoped so, because as Tony walked away (saying something about something he had to finish, Steve wasn’t really listening) there was nothing he could do to prevent himself from watching the flex of Tony’s cloth-covered asscheeks and his long, lean legs as he walked away.
Only when Tony had disappeared entirely did Steve get a measure of his sanity back, and he was able to wonder exactly what the hell just happened.
If Steve expected that to be a one-off situation, he would’ve been sorely mistaken.
In the weeks that followed, Steve came across Tony in nothing but his briefs inordinately often. They weren’t always red—Tony seemed to own an endless supply of colors—but they were always unbelievably tight and short. Sometimes he had a flimsy robe on, undone, leaving a tantalizing section of his body available for Steve’s perusal, from his chest down to his legs, but most of the time it was the briefs and nothing else.
He was in a near constant state of arousal as a result. It was endlessly frustrating, but the thing that kept Steve from being completely aggravated by it, was how much enjoyment Tony was clearly having at Steve’s reactions. He’d doubted it at first, due to his tendency to dismiss any wishful musings as only that.
But whatever Tony’s reasons for dressing—not dressing—the way he was, Steve’s inability to think straight in his nearly naked presence seemed to be spurring Tony on. But it didn’t feel like he was mocking Steve. More like he was relishing every stuttered word, every second that Steve was entranced by his body, the way he seemed to lose all coordination. Steve dropped things. Cut himself off mid-sentence, entirely lost his train of thought. Everything in Steve zeroed in on Tony, and he wasn’t released from his spell until Tony disappeared or added more clothing.
A regularly clothed Tony was something to behold, but it was, at least, something Steve was equipped to handle. He’d been handling it for years now. Tony’s handsome face was enough to cause heart palpitations, but Steve had learned to put that aside and see him as Tony, not just gorgeously soft dark hair, stunning cerulean blue eyes, a sharp jawline he wanted to cut himself on, and a tender neck he wanted to suck on. That was where the temptation used to end, because the rest of him was always covered in his stylish suits, which were tailored to perfection and gave an enticing impression of the figure hidden underneath, but they at least left the reality to Steve’s imagination. It made it easier to redirect his thoughts somewhere more appropriate, especially with the professional distance imbued into Tony’s usual outfits.
But now nothing was left to his imagination except for what lay hidden beneath those briefs, and all appropriateness had vanished from Steve, his imagination busy speculating on the removal of that last barrier, and getting to see Tony bared to him—fully and completely.
The turning point happened where it all first began—the kitchen. Tony had once more entered the room in nothing but briefs—a bold blue color that reminded Steve of his uniform, which gave him a possessive little thrill. Ridiculous. He didn’t own the color. But nevertheless, Steve was on edge. He knew he was reaching his breaking point, but if he could just breathe, and not think too hard about anything, he might get through this unscathed.
Tony didn’t like that though. Steve was studiously focusing on Tony’s eyes, and that was how he saw the frustration in them, followed by a glint of determination. He didn’t want Steve to behave. He clearly liked the attention. He wanted to be ogled.
Steve just didn’t know if that meant something. If it meant everything. Maybe Tony was only enjoying the admiration. Maybe it wouldn’t matter who it came from. He hoped it did.
But when Tony sidled past Steve, brushing an unreasonable amount of his barely clothed body against Steve—it was a mansion, there was plenty of room—that was about all Steve could take.
“Enough!” The words burst out of Steve, and he turned around and shoved Tony up against the fridge. He held back most of his strength. He hadn’t completely lost it, and he wasn’t about to injure Tony. This was just—too much. All this temptation. Was Steve supposed to stand there going out of his mind?
“Steve?” Tony questioned, all innocence. Except for the look in his eyes. The deliberate swiping of his tongue. The curve of his grin. Tony knew exactly what he was doing, and Steve thought it was about time he knew as well.
“Come with me,” he demanded, turning around and storming away without checking to see if Tony was following. He would. He was sure of it.
Steve strode out of the kitchen, down the hallway to the first private place he could find, which happened to be a small sitting room. He threw the door open, and waited for Tony to saunter inside before he slammed it shut. He walked past Tony, and threw himself down on an elegant couch fairly aggressively.
Tony was standing still in the middle of the room, and he looked some combination of startled and amused. He put his hands on his hips, which would make him look serious if he’d been wearing clothes, but instead just brought Steve’s attention over his naked everything, and back to those tiny little briefs. “Well?” Tony asked, exasperation lacing his tone as if he was the one who was feeling put out here. “We’re here, apparently. Now what?”
“Now?” Steve asked, settling in and making himself comfortable. “You seem intent on putting on a show, and riling me up to the point of insanity. I thought I’d cut to the chase and give you the captivated audience you so clearly desire.”
“Uh...”
“Go on,” Steve said, waving a hand at Tony. “Give me something to really look at. Unless an audience of one is not good enough for you? Do I need to find some of our friends to watch too?”
Tony’s eyes widened, whether at Steve’s tone or his suggestion, it was hard to say.
But it was nice that the shoe was on the other foot, and now Tony was the one taken aback and flustered. “No, no. You’re uh, fine. Good! You’re good.” His hands had fallen off his hips, but hovered around his body, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. Tony looked at Steve, his expression searching, before he seemed to find what he was looking for. “You want to see more? Of me?” His voice trembled, and he looked down at himself, as if seeking confirmation that the only thing left to remove was his underwear.
“I do. If it’s what you want. Maybe you just like walking around in your underwear and I’ve been reading into things.” God he hoped that wasn’t the case. That would be beyond embarrassing, not to mention disappointing. Steve was beyond ready for more after these past few weeks, but if that’s not what this was about for Tony—
“I do have a bit of an exhibitionist kink,” Tony admitted wryly, and just as Steve was starting to worry he had misinterpreted, Tony added: “But I especially like the way you look at me.” He murmured, hands playing with the band of his briefs. “That first morning I was… making a point. It was the first day since you found out about me, and I didn’t want to be ashamed or afraid so I decided to be bold, instead. Steve—the way you looked at me. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of me, you were so aroused, and adorably flustered, and it made me so hot. Knowing that you were seeing me, all of me, and liking what you saw.”
“I did. I do. So much. Whether you’re in the room or not, you’re all I can think about. You’re such a distraction.”
“Oh yeah? The good kind or the bad kind?”
“Bad when I’m so hard I can’t think straight,” Steve admitted. “Mostly good, though. I like you showing more of yourself. Iron Man or Tony Stark, I want to see all of it.”
“Yeah? You’re not mad?”
Steve shook his head, any further words escaping him. Tony was inching his briefs down ever so slowly, revealing more of his hips and groin, a few curly black hairs poking out.
“You forgive me for lying?”
He nodded, transfixed by the bulge of Tony’s cock pressing against his underwear, the tip becoming visible as he continued to inch the material down.
“Not disappointed that I’m me?”
“Never,” Steve breathed, because that required an answer. Tony needed to know that he could never be a disappointment, and that finding out he was Iron Man was something he was happy about. They were both brilliant, wonderful, handsome men that meant a lot to him. He had no issue with finding out they were one in the same. His only regret had been that Tony Stark didn’t seem as approachable as Iron Man, and therefore made Steve’s hopes for them feel rather foolhardy. But the man standing before him looked very approachable, and what’s more, he was looking at Steve like he wanted him as desperately as Steve wanted Tony. This was everything he could have hoped for.
“Well, then.” Tony shoved his underwear to the floor. His dick jumped up and down after being released so quickly, and Steve was mesmerized by its bob. It settled into place, thick, flushed red, pre-come beading at the tip, jutting out proudly.
Steve’s mouth watered at the sight.
“What do you think?”
“I want to taste it.”
“Uh-uh, I don’t think so. No touching.”
Steve finally looked back at Tony’s face, his expression no doubt distressed. “No touching?”
“You wanted a show, I believe?” Tony’s fingers trailed over his collar bone, before making a slow journey down his body, one that had Steve captivated. “I want you to watch. I like it when you watch.” His fingers traced the curve of his right pec, moving them around and back up again, circling ever closer to his nipple, but taking an eternity to get there.
If it were Steve, he would already be cupping both of Tony’s pecs and squeezing his nipples, and then bending down to suck on them. What he wouldn’t give to suck and nibble on those pretty red nubs, before kissing his way down Tony’s happy trail and sucking his lovely, aroused cock head into his mouth, holding onto those gorgeously thick thighs of his.
But Tony was drawing this out, still working his way ever closer to his nipple. It was maddening—but so damn erotic. Steve perched on the edge of his seat, hands fisted as he resisted the urges to jump up and take over, and to pull his own cock out of his pants and quell some of the raging need inside him by getting some relief. But he didn’t want to do either of those things.
Not yet.
Tony liked being watched. He liked it when Steve was the one watching. That was the sexiest thing imaginable. So even though his arousal throbbed insistently, pressing uncomfortably against his pants, Steve ignored it. All his focus was on being the voyeur to Tony’s erotic display, his eyes glued to his every movement. His breath caught as Tony finally brushed his fingers around his nipple, willing him to close the distance and squeeze it between his fingers.
Instead, he continued dancing his fingers over and around it, as his other hand came up to begin the same process on his left pec. Steve’s groan was plaintive but it made Tony laugh.
The bastard. He was enjoying Steve’s pain far too much.
“You’re awfully impatient,” Tony teased him. “I’ve barely even started, and yet you want me to hurry up?”
Steve narrowed his eyes. “I’d say I’ve been very patient. It’s been weeks, and I haven’t done a thing.”
“I know. It’s been very disappointing.” Tony shook his head, a sad pout forming on his oh so kissable lips.
Steve had a lot he wanted to say in response to that, but before he could even blink, Tony squeezed his pecs with each hand, trapping his nipples between his thumb and forefinger in a punishing grip. Steve gasped, his own nipples tingling with the imagined pleasure of how it would feel to have those fingers squeezing him. He loved a rough touch on his nipples, too gentle pressure never felt like enough. He hadn’t expected Tony to feel the same, but he did, if the satisfied moans he made were anything to go by.
“You like that, huh?” Steve asked, not even trying to hide the eagerness in his voice.
Tony’s eyes that had closed in pleasure flicked open again, dark with arousal. He bit his lip, inclined his head. His thumbs and fingers moved against each other with his nipples trapped in between, increasing the pressure and reddening his taut nubs. “I like to squeeze them until they’re so sensitive even a brush makes me gasp. Makes it feel so good when I finally stroke myself.”
Steve moaned long and loud at the images that came to mind of Tony lying in a bed not far from his own, pinching his nipples and rubbing his cock, squirming against his sheets at the contrast of pleasure and pain.
“Tony, please,” he begged, not in the least bit ashamed of how desperate he sounded. “I need you. I need—” he cursed, lifting his hips and shoving his pants down and kicking them away, sighing in relief as his suddenly desperate cock was released. He wrapped a hand around the base, squeezing it roughly, closing his eyes at the pleasure of touching himself at last, mixed with the pain of being so turned on it almost hurt.
“Fuck me,” Tony groaned, and then he was stumbling forward, and climbing onto Steve’s lap. The sudden press of Tony’s skin against his own when he’d been craving it for so long made him shudder. “I knew you were hiding something nice in your pants but look at you.” He pushed Steve’s hand away to replace it with his own, his fingers struggling to meet around Steve’s girth but still feeling absolutely amazing.
“I thought you said… no touching,” Steve gasped out, calling himself all kinds of idiot for bringing it up.
“I said you couldn’t touch,” Tony teased, stroking a firm hand up Steve’s shaft and rubbing it all over his leaking slit. “Not that I couldn’t.”
“Tony. You’re making me insane.”
“Oh yeah?” Tony asked, leaning forward to whisper it in Steve’s ear, his warm breath hitting Steve’s neck and making him shiver.
“Can we leave the games for next time?” He pleaded. “Literally anything you want. But I’m going to combust, so can we please, just—”
“Next time?” Tony asked, leaning back to look at Steve questioningly, even as he still held onto his cock. “This is a next time kind of thing?”
Steve blinked, heart racing with nerves that they weren’t on the same page. Because even though he felt like he was about to combust from sensual torment, he wasn’t sure he could do this if it was a one off. He wanted Tony, cared about Tony—loved Tony, far too much for that. “Isn’t it? I thought—”
“I want it to be,” Tony rushed out quickly. “I just wasn’t sure if you—”
“I do, of course I do. Are you kidding?” Steve leaned forward and took Tony’s mouth in a kiss, realizing as he did that this was their first kiss.
It was all a little backward but Steve wouldn’t have it any other way.
Tony moaned into his mouth, resuming his stroking of Steve’s cock with his now slick hand, even as his tongue slipped into Steve’s mouth to brush against his own.
“Tony,” Steve murmured against his lips as the kiss ended.
“Mm?”
“Can I—”
“Whatever you want,” Tony slurred, hitching his hips back and forth, clearly losing sight of his earlier rules, which suited Steve just fine. He ran his hands all over Tony’s back, relishing the feeling of his warm skin, the strong muscles in his back, the way Tony arched into him. He was so gorgeously sensual, Steve couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to have this man in his arms.
“Stroke us,” he whispered into Tony’s ear. “I want to rub off against you.”
Tony shuddered, bucking his hips against Steve and accomplishing that very thing, their cocks rubbing against each other. “Fuck, this is so hot. I always imagined it would be. Dreamed about it constantly, but I never thought it would actually happen.”
“Me too,” Steve said, sliding his hands down to cup the deliciously round curves of Tony’s ass. He could not wait to take Tony to bed and fuck himself against those cheeks before sliding inside him. But this, right here, was utterly perfect, having Tony on top of him and getting to touch him anywhere he wanted was all he needed.
“Oh really?” Tony asked, slicking his hands with pre-come and sliding them over Steve’s shaft and then his own. “Sure I’m the only one you thought about?” He asked teasingly.
Steve blushed, feeling caught. “That was you… technically.”
“Ah, ah, ah,” Tony said, creating a circle around their cocks with his hands for them to move inside, starting a slow rolling movement with his hips that stroked his cock against Steve’s. “You didn’t know that, now did you?”
Steve whined, his concentration seriously compromised by all the sensations currently assaulting him, the feel of Tony’s hands, the press of his cock against his own, the weight of Tony’s body, the lush feeling of his ass in his hands. It was enough to send him into overload, even without the teasing direction of his enquiry. But he pushed through it all to answer, because the sound of Tony’s voice, dipped in arousal, was so seductive he wanted to hear more of it.
“I wanted you both,” he gasped out, rocking against Tony in an ever increasing rhythm.
Tony chuckled throatily, and Steve’s cock pulsed eagerly at the sound. He didn’t want this to ever end, but he was rapidly approaching the point of no return. “Hot for Iron Man, huh? I’m sure we can arrange something to satisfy that need.” The images that brought to his mind were too much for Steve to take, especially when Tony squeezed the head of his cock and stroked roughly back down again. Steve jerked, shuddered, and came in long, insistent spurts over Tony’s chest.
“Fuuuuck,” he ground out, aftershocks of pleasure leaving him feeling shaky and wrung out. The pleasure of his orgasm was visceral. But Tony was still hard and throbbing against him, and that was more important than anything else. Parting Tony’s asscheeks, Steve encouraged Tony to keep rocking against him, while he rubbed a finger over his hole and down to his perineum. He used his other hand on Tony’s back to press their chests more firmly together and rub against Tony’s abused nipples.
“Ah! Oh, Steve. I—oh god.” Tony made a litany of sinfully exquisite sounds, gasps and grunts and moans, all crescendoing in a loud cry of completion that had pleasure sizzling through Steve’s body all over again. Tony collapsed against him in the aftermath, burying his face in the curve of Steve’s neck and pressing his lips and tongue against Steve’s skin, making him feel a shivery low hum of arousal, as well as entirely content.
“That was so good, Steve,” Tony whispered quietly, like saying the words any louder was too difficult. “I’m so glad you—I’m just really glad.”
“Me too, Tony. Me too.” Steve pressed a gentle kiss against Tony’s head. They should move soon but for the time being it felt so nice staying just like this. Sated and happy, Steve drifted into a hazy semi-consciousness, holding Iron Man and Tony Stark in his arms—the man he loved.