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cap_ironman2008-10-20 04:51 am
duffnstuff.livejournal.com) wrote in cap_ironman2008-10-20 04:51 am
Entry tags:
Long time appreciater, first time poster...
Author: Duffnstuff
Title: Four Ways Tony Liked To F**k, and One Way Steve Loved To
Rating: NC:17. This is...just porn. Just lots, and lots, of porn. I'm not even kidding.
Archive: Y
Word Count: 2132
Summary: Tony likes a physical relationship, Steve likes Tony to be happy, and they both like to mix it up every now and then.
Notes: Eee, hi! This is my first time posting, and you all had better believe I'm nervous. Consider this canon in flux, it's a little movie, a little comic, it's Marvel Adventures on Crack. Go easy on me!
The first time Tony referred to it as fucking, Steve turned bright red and almost rolled from the bed, attempting to hide his shame beneath a pile of clothes on the floor. Tony had been on top, fingers splayed out across his chest, narrow hips working backwards as Steve tried his damnedest to hold back. It wasn't a matter of finishing too soon, his stamina was quite the bane of Tony's existence, it was simply the typical fear of really letting go and hurting the much smaller man.
Tony, to his credit, had managed to stay in place as Steve jerked back in surprise. Any lesser man would have been thrown against a wall, left with nothing more than an embarrassing explanation for a chiropractor. Tony, however, dug his nails into Steve's chest and gritted his teeth, pushing back as he felt Steve slip out an inch or two. It was damn hard work getting him in there, he wasn't about to let him get away so easily.
"Don't call it that..." Steve had muttered, propping himself back against the headboard and pulling Tony a little closer, arms around his waist, knees either side of his thighs. "It sounds so...unhealthy."
Tony had laughed, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Steve's, silencing the latest in a line of quirks that Tony had come to affectionately think of as 'Steve's way'. He twisted his hips just as little as he pushed back down, fingers clenching the headboard either side of Steve's neck. His cock twitched impatiently against his abdomen and Steve grunted, a hissing little moan that gave away nothing save to those who knew what to listen for.
***
Shield Sex had happened, to Tony's great dismay, only once during the course of their relationship so far. It had been dark in the armory, too late at night, and Steve had been uncharacteristically aggressive in his approach. Five hours in the gym, two on the wrestling mat had been enough to almost exhaust Tony, but Steve was merely reaching the peak of an adrenaline high. He'd shut the door as he approached Tony from behind, cuttingout almost all of their light and taking him by the back of the neck, quietly appreciative for Tony's loose sweatpants and damp wifebeater.
Although Steve's huge, thick-fingered hand hadn't been entirely unexpected, Tony had still jerked forward, pressing his face to something cool and slightly convex. He hadn't recognized it at first, his fingers spreading out over the subtle ridges of ever increasing circles, nails digging into the angles of a center geometric shape. He knew what it was once he turned his head to the side, cheek flush against the warming metal, two of Steve's calloused fingers pressing against his lips and between his teeth. He caught a glimpse of white edged with blue, and the sudden growing ache between his legs was enough to realize it was better to not bring the shield's proximity to Steve's attention.
The fingers left his mouth wet, vanishing from touch for a few seconds before he felt his sweatpants yanked firmly down to his knees. Steve pressed him open, one after the other, easing in with the familiar gentle, cautious motions. Tony had whimpered, just enough for Steve to hesitate, before nodding for him to continue. His lips had been parted against the Shield and he could have sworn it hummed against the touch, leaving his mouth numb and metallic-tasting for hours after. When he came, he came with Steve pushed deep inside of him, hips against hips, one arm around his waist and the other pressed up against the wall just beside where the shield hung. Tony slouched forward, practically hugging the disc while Steve gasped and panted, mouth resting against Tony's shoulder.
Tony, in a moment of not unusual wisdom, had suggested that Steve head back to the locker room to shower, while he cleaned up a little. Once his noticeably flushed other half had dissappeared into the hallway, Tony took a moment to turn on the lights. For the first, and no doubt last time, he could see the faint imprint of his warm, sweaty handprints on the shield, one either side of a bright, white star.
***
Costume sex, on the other hand, had never happened. And, as Steve had made very clear, it never would. He could be a man of the 21st Century. He could gladly accept the iPod that Tony had given him, laden with retro and classical music that he knew for a fact had sounded better live and on vinyl. He had even gotten to the point where he would no longer stare in shock at barely teenage girls parading through the streets in cut-off jeans (which Tony had laughingly referred to as 'pantie shorts'), instead simply smiling and suppressing the urge to wrap them in knee length boarding school uniform skirts.
But there were some thing he could simply not be a part of.
Tony had begged him. Bribed him. Blackmailed him. On one memorable occasion that had ended with Steve laughing himself dizzy, Tony had even threatened him. It wasn't going to happen.
Of course, Tony was a man accustomed to getting exactly what he wanted, through either monetary or charismatic means. He couldn't understand how Steve could refuse him, and his mind was set on what had become something of a favored fantasy scenario.
"You could fuck me in the armor," he had bargained, sitting in a corner of the sprawling kitchen,the two sharing a small table and a pot of coffee. Steve flinched, glancing up from the folded newspaper, where he had been trying to figure out exactly what the hell was nine letters across, started with M I, ended with A V E, and was described as a miniature, more efficient way of cooking.
"Fine," Tony rolled his eyes, sipping from his mug with no small amount of exasperation. "You could make love to me in the armor. Happy?"
"No," Steve replied, giving up on the crossword and tossing the paper to the table. "Besides, how would that even work? That thing comes off in pieces..."
The delighted voice of Clint rang out from the adjoining lounge, rife with glee at his as yet undiscovered eavesdropping, shouting with no little amusement "Access panel!"
Steve groaned, kicking the door shut with one outstretched leg, almost knocking it from it's frame. Tony covered his laugh with another gulp of scalding coffee, shrugging.
"You could wear yours...maybe just the mask..."
"Absolutely not," Steve didn't even look up to reply, having memorized this conversation by now. He could already predict the next words from Tony's mouth.
"Well, why the hell not?"
"Because," Steve replied, always the same excuse, always met with the same frustration. He had his reasons, and even if Tony didn't understand...they were good enough for him.
"Captain America isn't gay..."
***
A very long time ago, Tony had learned that there were two types of strength. There was strength of mind, of heart and of will, the strength that his father had possessed when building a multi-billion dollar company up from the ground, the same strength that Tony hoped he had inherited. And then, there was physical strength, something that Tony thought he knew a little about. But that was before he had met Steve.
Sure, he knew strong men. Happy was strong, his strength relative to a man his size. Rhodey was strong, as was Fury, and a number of the members of SHIELD he'd gotten to know over the years. But of course, there was no strength he knew quite as personally, as he knew Steve's.
He was reminded of it every time he found himself held up against a wall, the back of the shower, a row of lockers, anything sturdy enough to take both his weight, and the deep, strong snapping of Steve's hips, back and forth, lasting almost longer than Tony could stand. He would let his head fall back, resting against Steve's surface of choice, while his arms arched back over his shoulders and his ankled locked behind Steve's back.
Steve would always hold him the same way. One hand curving below his hip, grasping firmly and helping him to lift, urging him up before forcing him down. Tony felt himself stretch every time, hips pivoting down against Steve's prick, pushing deeper, harder, more insistent with ever thrust. Steve's other hand would push against the wall just beside his head, close enough for tony to turn go the side and encourage two, three fingers into his mouth, just in case he needed a makeshift gag of sorts.
Of, as if the situation would ever call for it, the desire to feel just that little bit fuller.
Steve lifted him effortlessly. On more than one occasion he'd decided against backing Tony up against something inescapably sturdy, instead just holding him. Up on his knees in the middle of the bed, Tony clinging to him and crying out every time Steve dropped him those few inches, eyes rolling back and nails drawing blood, scratched healed within hours. Laying him out on the bed, fucking him until he was sure his hips would separate, only to pull back and lift him, holding him tightly in his lap as they both came.
Strength, Tony had learned, came in two distinct types. And he was starting to appreciate them both in equal measure.
***
Steve had noticed, after several years in Tony's company, both intimately and not, that most nights ended the same. In a thankful contrast to their every day life together, evenings were often a quiet affair. There were the parties, the benefits, the long nights of broken bones and healing wounds, nights spent at SHIELD, nights spent in the field, and nights that had turned into marathons of exploiting one another's company, naked and exhausted until dawn.
But for the most part, they were fairly sedate. A huge, plush couch, one of Tony's many exotic, ridiculous pieces of furniture that Steve could actually appreciate. A bowl or three of popcorn. A drink over ice, and then later a soda or vitamin water, as Tony's tastes were forcibly changed. Tony would fall asleep, Steve would drag a ludicrously expensive blanket over him, and he would end up either waking him or carrying him in order to reach the bedroom.
Perhaps it was a result of too much Tony in his life, but every now and then, Steve couldn't resist throwing a little spanner in the works. Particularly when Tony's shirt had ridden up over the angled sweep of his hip, showing off the pale-ish skin and more of a dark downwards trail of hair than Tony would have liked to admit.
On most of those occasions he would simply ease him, fingers over his lips, around the warm edge of the reactor, brushing a nipple as he headed further south. He would pluck at the hem of his boxers or pants, eventually slipping inside and gently stroking until Tony woke grinning.
There were nights, however, when a certain mood would take him and he would go a little further, take the initiative that Tony would usually handle. He would slide form the couch, careful not to wake Tony, and settle between his legs with a gentle, quiet ease that only a man of his size possessed. It was easy enough to slide Tony's pants down to mid-thigh, and even easier to take him into his mouth, sucking gently, still slightly unsure even after so long with the same person.
Tony would wake long before he would move, relaxing into the couch and enjoying the quiet moment, eyes closed and fingers twitching against the couch, moving then to the side of Steve's head, moving restlessly against blond hair. He would groan, lift his hips, feel sparks of arousal well up from his abdomen when Steve pushed them down again. He would always keep his eyes closed, trying to make it last as long as he could, knowing that the sight of Steve on his knees, huge, powerful, and his, would be the end of a very good thing.
He had never asked, nor expected Steve to swallow. It was something he'd always done on his own, even the first time, choking awkwardly and blushing for an hour straight. Tony appreciated it more than could ever say, always leaning down and taking the notoriously square jaw in one hand, kissing him quietly and smiling at the familiar taste.
Steve had learned, in a very short time, that there were a lot of ways that Tony liked to be fucked...or made love to, and that every way was essentially the same. Tony liked for Steve to be big, and he liked for Steve to make him feel small, protected, and at times adored. He liked it that way, loved it even, but Steve had learned much more than that. For ever way Tony liked to fuck, Steve was only finding more ways to love him.
Title: Four Ways Tony Liked To F**k, and One Way Steve Loved To
Rating: NC:17. This is...just porn. Just lots, and lots, of porn. I'm not even kidding.
Archive: Y
Word Count: 2132
Summary: Tony likes a physical relationship, Steve likes Tony to be happy, and they both like to mix it up every now and then.
Notes: Eee, hi! This is my first time posting, and you all had better believe I'm nervous. Consider this canon in flux, it's a little movie, a little comic, it's Marvel Adventures on Crack. Go easy on me!
The first time Tony referred to it as fucking, Steve turned bright red and almost rolled from the bed, attempting to hide his shame beneath a pile of clothes on the floor. Tony had been on top, fingers splayed out across his chest, narrow hips working backwards as Steve tried his damnedest to hold back. It wasn't a matter of finishing too soon, his stamina was quite the bane of Tony's existence, it was simply the typical fear of really letting go and hurting the much smaller man.
Tony, to his credit, had managed to stay in place as Steve jerked back in surprise. Any lesser man would have been thrown against a wall, left with nothing more than an embarrassing explanation for a chiropractor. Tony, however, dug his nails into Steve's chest and gritted his teeth, pushing back as he felt Steve slip out an inch or two. It was damn hard work getting him in there, he wasn't about to let him get away so easily.
"Don't call it that..." Steve had muttered, propping himself back against the headboard and pulling Tony a little closer, arms around his waist, knees either side of his thighs. "It sounds so...unhealthy."
Tony had laughed, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Steve's, silencing the latest in a line of quirks that Tony had come to affectionately think of as 'Steve's way'. He twisted his hips just as little as he pushed back down, fingers clenching the headboard either side of Steve's neck. His cock twitched impatiently against his abdomen and Steve grunted, a hissing little moan that gave away nothing save to those who knew what to listen for.
***
Shield Sex had happened, to Tony's great dismay, only once during the course of their relationship so far. It had been dark in the armory, too late at night, and Steve had been uncharacteristically aggressive in his approach. Five hours in the gym, two on the wrestling mat had been enough to almost exhaust Tony, but Steve was merely reaching the peak of an adrenaline high. He'd shut the door as he approached Tony from behind, cuttingout almost all of their light and taking him by the back of the neck, quietly appreciative for Tony's loose sweatpants and damp wifebeater.
Although Steve's huge, thick-fingered hand hadn't been entirely unexpected, Tony had still jerked forward, pressing his face to something cool and slightly convex. He hadn't recognized it at first, his fingers spreading out over the subtle ridges of ever increasing circles, nails digging into the angles of a center geometric shape. He knew what it was once he turned his head to the side, cheek flush against the warming metal, two of Steve's calloused fingers pressing against his lips and between his teeth. He caught a glimpse of white edged with blue, and the sudden growing ache between his legs was enough to realize it was better to not bring the shield's proximity to Steve's attention.
The fingers left his mouth wet, vanishing from touch for a few seconds before he felt his sweatpants yanked firmly down to his knees. Steve pressed him open, one after the other, easing in with the familiar gentle, cautious motions. Tony had whimpered, just enough for Steve to hesitate, before nodding for him to continue. His lips had been parted against the Shield and he could have sworn it hummed against the touch, leaving his mouth numb and metallic-tasting for hours after. When he came, he came with Steve pushed deep inside of him, hips against hips, one arm around his waist and the other pressed up against the wall just beside where the shield hung. Tony slouched forward, practically hugging the disc while Steve gasped and panted, mouth resting against Tony's shoulder.
Tony, in a moment of not unusual wisdom, had suggested that Steve head back to the locker room to shower, while he cleaned up a little. Once his noticeably flushed other half had dissappeared into the hallway, Tony took a moment to turn on the lights. For the first, and no doubt last time, he could see the faint imprint of his warm, sweaty handprints on the shield, one either side of a bright, white star.
***
Costume sex, on the other hand, had never happened. And, as Steve had made very clear, it never would. He could be a man of the 21st Century. He could gladly accept the iPod that Tony had given him, laden with retro and classical music that he knew for a fact had sounded better live and on vinyl. He had even gotten to the point where he would no longer stare in shock at barely teenage girls parading through the streets in cut-off jeans (which Tony had laughingly referred to as 'pantie shorts'), instead simply smiling and suppressing the urge to wrap them in knee length boarding school uniform skirts.
But there were some thing he could simply not be a part of.
Tony had begged him. Bribed him. Blackmailed him. On one memorable occasion that had ended with Steve laughing himself dizzy, Tony had even threatened him. It wasn't going to happen.
Of course, Tony was a man accustomed to getting exactly what he wanted, through either monetary or charismatic means. He couldn't understand how Steve could refuse him, and his mind was set on what had become something of a favored fantasy scenario.
"You could fuck me in the armor," he had bargained, sitting in a corner of the sprawling kitchen,the two sharing a small table and a pot of coffee. Steve flinched, glancing up from the folded newspaper, where he had been trying to figure out exactly what the hell was nine letters across, started with M I, ended with A V E, and was described as a miniature, more efficient way of cooking.
"Fine," Tony rolled his eyes, sipping from his mug with no small amount of exasperation. "You could make love to me in the armor. Happy?"
"No," Steve replied, giving up on the crossword and tossing the paper to the table. "Besides, how would that even work? That thing comes off in pieces..."
The delighted voice of Clint rang out from the adjoining lounge, rife with glee at his as yet undiscovered eavesdropping, shouting with no little amusement "Access panel!"
Steve groaned, kicking the door shut with one outstretched leg, almost knocking it from it's frame. Tony covered his laugh with another gulp of scalding coffee, shrugging.
"You could wear yours...maybe just the mask..."
"Absolutely not," Steve didn't even look up to reply, having memorized this conversation by now. He could already predict the next words from Tony's mouth.
"Well, why the hell not?"
"Because," Steve replied, always the same excuse, always met with the same frustration. He had his reasons, and even if Tony didn't understand...they were good enough for him.
"Captain America isn't gay..."
***
A very long time ago, Tony had learned that there were two types of strength. There was strength of mind, of heart and of will, the strength that his father had possessed when building a multi-billion dollar company up from the ground, the same strength that Tony hoped he had inherited. And then, there was physical strength, something that Tony thought he knew a little about. But that was before he had met Steve.
Sure, he knew strong men. Happy was strong, his strength relative to a man his size. Rhodey was strong, as was Fury, and a number of the members of SHIELD he'd gotten to know over the years. But of course, there was no strength he knew quite as personally, as he knew Steve's.
He was reminded of it every time he found himself held up against a wall, the back of the shower, a row of lockers, anything sturdy enough to take both his weight, and the deep, strong snapping of Steve's hips, back and forth, lasting almost longer than Tony could stand. He would let his head fall back, resting against Steve's surface of choice, while his arms arched back over his shoulders and his ankled locked behind Steve's back.
Steve would always hold him the same way. One hand curving below his hip, grasping firmly and helping him to lift, urging him up before forcing him down. Tony felt himself stretch every time, hips pivoting down against Steve's prick, pushing deeper, harder, more insistent with ever thrust. Steve's other hand would push against the wall just beside his head, close enough for tony to turn go the side and encourage two, three fingers into his mouth, just in case he needed a makeshift gag of sorts.
Of, as if the situation would ever call for it, the desire to feel just that little bit fuller.
Steve lifted him effortlessly. On more than one occasion he'd decided against backing Tony up against something inescapably sturdy, instead just holding him. Up on his knees in the middle of the bed, Tony clinging to him and crying out every time Steve dropped him those few inches, eyes rolling back and nails drawing blood, scratched healed within hours. Laying him out on the bed, fucking him until he was sure his hips would separate, only to pull back and lift him, holding him tightly in his lap as they both came.
Strength, Tony had learned, came in two distinct types. And he was starting to appreciate them both in equal measure.
***
Steve had noticed, after several years in Tony's company, both intimately and not, that most nights ended the same. In a thankful contrast to their every day life together, evenings were often a quiet affair. There were the parties, the benefits, the long nights of broken bones and healing wounds, nights spent at SHIELD, nights spent in the field, and nights that had turned into marathons of exploiting one another's company, naked and exhausted until dawn.
But for the most part, they were fairly sedate. A huge, plush couch, one of Tony's many exotic, ridiculous pieces of furniture that Steve could actually appreciate. A bowl or three of popcorn. A drink over ice, and then later a soda or vitamin water, as Tony's tastes were forcibly changed. Tony would fall asleep, Steve would drag a ludicrously expensive blanket over him, and he would end up either waking him or carrying him in order to reach the bedroom.
Perhaps it was a result of too much Tony in his life, but every now and then, Steve couldn't resist throwing a little spanner in the works. Particularly when Tony's shirt had ridden up over the angled sweep of his hip, showing off the pale-ish skin and more of a dark downwards trail of hair than Tony would have liked to admit.
On most of those occasions he would simply ease him, fingers over his lips, around the warm edge of the reactor, brushing a nipple as he headed further south. He would pluck at the hem of his boxers or pants, eventually slipping inside and gently stroking until Tony woke grinning.
There were nights, however, when a certain mood would take him and he would go a little further, take the initiative that Tony would usually handle. He would slide form the couch, careful not to wake Tony, and settle between his legs with a gentle, quiet ease that only a man of his size possessed. It was easy enough to slide Tony's pants down to mid-thigh, and even easier to take him into his mouth, sucking gently, still slightly unsure even after so long with the same person.
Tony would wake long before he would move, relaxing into the couch and enjoying the quiet moment, eyes closed and fingers twitching against the couch, moving then to the side of Steve's head, moving restlessly against blond hair. He would groan, lift his hips, feel sparks of arousal well up from his abdomen when Steve pushed them down again. He would always keep his eyes closed, trying to make it last as long as he could, knowing that the sight of Steve on his knees, huge, powerful, and his, would be the end of a very good thing.
He had never asked, nor expected Steve to swallow. It was something he'd always done on his own, even the first time, choking awkwardly and blushing for an hour straight. Tony appreciated it more than could ever say, always leaning down and taking the notoriously square jaw in one hand, kissing him quietly and smiling at the familiar taste.
Steve had learned, in a very short time, that there were a lot of ways that Tony liked to be fucked...or made love to, and that every way was essentially the same. Tony liked for Steve to be big, and he liked for Steve to make him feel small, protected, and at times adored. He liked it that way, loved it even, but Steve had learned much more than that. For ever way Tony liked to fuck, Steve was only finding more ways to love him.
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(Also love the contrast and surprises in their relationship)
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I really, really adored the forth one especially, and in the third one, omg Clint! Hehe! You know Tony already has many fun panels and attachments built into the armor.
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Thank you! I had to throw Clint in there, he's like the annoying neighbor that pokes his head up from behind the couch at inappropriate times...
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Actually, that'd probably work for Tony, too.
*ded*
So of course Tony would love to f&ck, and have shield and suit sex, and be bold about his choices.
Love, love, love.
Must put in memories.
Couple of typos and MOAR praise.
Should be 'scratches'
He would let his head fall back, resting against Steve's surface of choice, while his arms arched back over his shoulders and his ankled locked behind Steve's back.
Should be 'ankles locked'
For ever way Tony liked to fuck, Steve was only finding more ways to love him.
Should be every way
Love the nods to canon, where Tony moves from drinking to teetotal, and just... love this like a loving thing. The fact that you use sex as the narrative, and it works? Amazing.
Re: Couple of typos and MOAR praise.
Uh... one more correction.
"thing" should be "things".
I know that little stuff like that slips when you're reading on a computer screen. Back in the day, when I used to be a beta reader in fandom, I'd print out stuff and correct it. Stuff like that just jumps out at you in print.
Re: Uh... one more correction.
No worries
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And ninja!Clint, appearing out of nowhere to get a line in XD
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Hah! He's Steve and Tony's Kramer *nods*
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And..I almost hate you for putting the idea of Kramer!Clint in my head :c That's an image that will stay with me for a while.
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Would you accept a little concrit? It's mostly an interpretation of character thing, but it's something that stood out a little sharply to me. Worst that can happen is a friendly debate, right?
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Oh no, now you've got me talking
Anyway, it's this line:
The first time Tony referred to it as fucking, Steve turned bright red and almost rolled from the bed, attempting to hide his shame beneath a pile of clothes on the floor.
I'm probably going to get myself a nice big target on my back for saying this, but I really don't understand this idea that Steve is a blushing boyscout. I haven't seen much - if any - canon evidence for it (somewhat the opposite, if you ask me, but like I said, the degree is very much a question of interpretation), yet for some reason people seem to have adapted it as fanon.
I know he's from a different time and all, but jeez, he worked with Nick Fury, I can't imagine someone that pure surviving Nick Fury. Or the army at all, for that matter - troops aren't exactly known for their politeness, if you know what I mean.
Steve's a grown man who's had plenty of love interests and who, if I recall correctly, isn't entirely adverse to curse words (he's not Luke Cage, but we all have our limits, am I right?), so it irks me a little when people write him like a nervous little kid when it comes to sex and other such adult activities. I think it's a little tough to find a balance with Steve; he's not an easy character to get one's head around. When we start writing Steve the nice, caring, noble guy, it can be easy to bring it too far and make him innocent and naive. But he's experienced a lot, he's seen and lived a lot of things, and it's kind of a miracle that he's not jaded and broken by it, but I don't think anyone can live through the worst of WWII, plus everything he's been through since then, and be really innocent.
Here's some advice: The next time I offer you a discussion, just say no thanks. It's never a good idea to give me an opening. XD
Honestly, I'm not trying to pick on you! Besides that one line, you wrote Steve as a confident, able, caring top, which is one of the most important things for me in a fic (I'm a big fan of somewhat fixed and clearly defined roles in my slash pairings). I really hope you stick around. :)
Re: Oh no, now you've got me talking
Thank you for the opinion on Steve's inner workings, I'll definitely keep them in mind if there's a next time ^_~
Just curious, have you ever seen American Dad?
Not disagreeing with your point about Cap, I've only started reading the comics after all...but SOMETIMES, there are man who can be surprisingly prudish about A in spite of having already gotten to B.
Re: Just curious, have you ever seen American Dad?
I'm not really sure where you're seeing that Stan Smith is a bizarro Cap, but to each his own, I guess!
But, American Dad is a (crude) parody of conservatism. Stan Smith being a virgin is supposed to be a joke about how conservatives are supposedly horribly repressed by their religion and are uncomfortable with sexuality.
Now, believe what you will about Steve's political orientation, but Steve has (canonly) had (premarital, obviously) sex with a decent number of women in a variety of situations, spontaneous and otherwise, so I'd find it hard to believe that he's a prude in any sense. A gentleman, definitely, but prudish? Nah.
(Psst. Hit me up in one of my public entries at my personal journal if you want to continue, I think we've spammed
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re: Four Ways that Tony likeed to...
I soooo totally get the last part; and he liked for Steve to make him feel small, protected, and at times adored, from what I heard of Mr.Tony Stark's history with women and growing up in the sharkpool of business, it'll totally make sense for him to totally crave that.
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