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cap_ironman2008-11-07 11:41 pm
simmysim.livejournal.com) wrote in cap_ironman2008-11-07 11:41 pm
Entry tags:
A fic is in this post
Title: Pretense and Context
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,200
Summary: Tony puts on Captain America's shirt and dang if that isn't hot.
Author's note: I noticed it was Friday and I thought there's no porn. There should be porn. TY![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
onewayfreak for help and general cheer leading :D
"You know, I always assumed this was two separate pieces." Tony's hoisting Steve's Captain America top from the ground with a grunt, where it had been abandoned with great haste the previous night. He examines the shirt from the inside out, seemingly for the first time. "They sewed the chain mail right onto the fabric? That's dedication."
Steve just shrugs. He'd never given much thought to making of his uniform, and attempting to now was a little difficult when being so thoroughly amused by the sight of Tony fondling it. He hadn't bothered getting dressed for his quick trip to the bathroom, and now stands there, utterly naked, testing the weight and heft of his shirt. It's entertaining, and a bit more than that when Tony, seemingly on a whim, turns it right side, dropping it over his head and snaking his arms through the sleeves.
It's too big for him. The star droops, it looks more like a poncho than a shirt. The red and white stripes that just reach Steve's hips when tucked in properly drapes past Tony's crotch. It almost looks like a pajama top.
"Jesus, this is heavy," Tony says, mostly to himself, lifting his arms as he meanders back toward the bed. He's just climbing in when he finally notices Steve's expression, which must be broadcasting what his thoughts pretty clearly.
Tony smiles wolfishly. He crawls over, pushing Steve fully onto his back and straddling him through the blanket. "Rumiko would always steal my business shirts," he says. "I always liked that."
Steve's hands are at Tony's hips instinctively, wrapping around to the dip of his lower back. He grunts a vague affirmative, much preferring to bask in the now than the then.
There's the general, contented pleasure he gets whenever Tony grabs one of his shirts to pad around the lab in, sleep in, but it's enhanced. The sight is so perfect, and Tony's steady, sure weight, just beginning to rock against him, he can't figure out why every morning since they started sleeping together hadn't begun exactly like this.
Tony's more than eager to play along, bending down low to plant a deep kiss, thighs flexing against Steve's hips and sides, squirming against his growing arousal. The shirt is tenting just slightly when Tony forgoes the effect, lifting the hem and displaying his own hardening cock. Steve takes his cue and wraps a sure hand around it, a thumb up the side and Tony's head tips back, breathing loud through his nose.
Surprisingly, it's Tony who winces with hesitance when Steve's hands work around, a finger probing against his entrance.
"What?" Steve asks, stilling immediately. Tony's never been anything but extremely eager and willing in bed, and Steve sees it as his duty to keep it that way.
"Are you sure -- I could take it off--"
"What? No," just now, nothing seems more important than making sure Tony never stops wearing that shirt, the collar dipping low and revealing much more of his neck and chest than intended, sleeves draping nearly to his elbows, and Steve would quite happily fight anyone who tried to interfere, possibly entire armies.
"You get annoyed when Olympians wear their home flags around their shoulders," Tony pants, sounding amused. Steve's gotten right back to working his cock, alternating between light caresses of his fingertips, then firm, tight strokes. "This is a good deal dirtier."
"That's different," Steve huffs. "This isn't the flag, this is my uniform." And what they do, despite Tony's many attempts to make it sound otherwise, isn't dirty. Certainly isn't as dirty as some of the other things his uniform has been through over the years.
"A part of you?" Tony asks, eyes going half-lidded as he processes that.
"A part of me," Steve agrees. It feels right, it feels good, it's arousing and Steve isn't particularly bothered with the why.
"Does that mean -- " Tony grinds wantonly against Steve's still covered crotch, then smiles somewhat wickedly, god Steve loves that smile. "Cause I've always had this -- this fantasy. It involves your shield." Steve groans, suddenly bombarded with a dozen different scenarios, and the sound seems to encourage Tony. "You -- bending me over it, fucking me on it, rutting off right on that -- star. I'd clean it up," he adds quickly. "Thoroughly."
"You've been holding that out on me?" Steve asks, feeling honestly cheated.
"Well -- it's your shield," Tony says. "You treat that thing like it's--"
"My right arm?" Steve asks, pointedly working the fingers of his right hand at Tony's entrance.
Tony bites his lower lip, leaning back into the touch. "I was going to say your baby, but I like that better. We need to get this out of the way," he mutters, leaning forward on one hand, pushing the blanket down. Steve kicks it off, and then they're skin on skin, Steve's cock nestled against Tony's ass and he loves to watch how wild that drives the other man, just the feel of it, that tease.
Preparation is fast and easy, Tony's still well stretched from mere hours before, lube still an arm's reach away, and Tony hisses encouragements, spreading his legs, hands planted on Steve's chest.
Each rustling tink of the chain mail, the rub of fabric against Steve's thighs, Tony's light blush, splayed thighs, it's all ridiculously good. The heat, tight, clenching heat. They're going to have to do this again, possibly later today, possibly the rest of their lives will just be breaks between this. Tony looks nice in blue.
"The shield thing," Tony gasps as Steve enters. He always babbles, Steve's always quiet, and he quite likes it that way. "I was thinking-- I was saying, how I was going to clean that, I don't think you cottoned on to my full meaning there."
"What?" Steve grunts, Tony sliding back, sliding on, he's so good at this, he's perfect, so open, and Steve would remind him of this, if only he weren't going on incoherently.
"I'm going to -- god, Steve," he stops, voice breaking. He's probably still sore from earlier, Steve realizes, should've realized sooner, but neither of them are going to be happy with him pulling out now. He'd go slower, if only he weren't nearly as deep in as he could get already. "Going to come all over it," he promises, "and then I'm going to lick it clean."
Steve groans, loud and almost broken at the image. Tony's hips are going to be bruised.
Tony smiles, almost wobbly at the noise. Hips rocking, he bends again, a scratchy kiss, breathing each other's air, hands moving to tangle in Steve's hair. "It's never dirty with you," he says, sounding almost awed. "Steve, you -- love you, make me so much better -- love you."
Steve meets Tony's near worshiping gaze. Rolls them over; it's so easy, Tony's really not that heavy, and he's always willing. Forearms one either side of Tony's head, the shirt that started it all bunching around Tony's back. Their noses almost touching, he's all Tony can see, all he think. "You," Steve says. "you're never dirty."
Tony's eyes dart between Steve's, mind obviously working frantically. Steve surges forward, the two inches of space to take his mouth, plunder it, hopefully drain its owner of all thought.
When he pulls back up, Tony looks suitably dazed.
Fucking in earnest now, Tony can't seem to catch his breath for anything other than gasping, rocking willingly with Steve's rather insistent rhythm. He comes, surprisingly fast, against Steve's stomach, Steve's shirt, Steve's chain mail, Steve's hand. He licks the last of those clean, despite his earlier words, looking rather thrilled at the decadence.
ETA: ch-ch-check it out, drawn byinsomniac_draws AMAZING AMAZING
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,200
Summary: Tony puts on Captain America's shirt and dang if that isn't hot.
Author's note: I noticed it was Friday and I thought there's no porn. There should be porn. TY
onewayfreak for help and general cheer leading :D"You know, I always assumed this was two separate pieces." Tony's hoisting Steve's Captain America top from the ground with a grunt, where it had been abandoned with great haste the previous night. He examines the shirt from the inside out, seemingly for the first time. "They sewed the chain mail right onto the fabric? That's dedication."
Steve just shrugs. He'd never given much thought to making of his uniform, and attempting to now was a little difficult when being so thoroughly amused by the sight of Tony fondling it. He hadn't bothered getting dressed for his quick trip to the bathroom, and now stands there, utterly naked, testing the weight and heft of his shirt. It's entertaining, and a bit more than that when Tony, seemingly on a whim, turns it right side, dropping it over his head and snaking his arms through the sleeves.
It's too big for him. The star droops, it looks more like a poncho than a shirt. The red and white stripes that just reach Steve's hips when tucked in properly drapes past Tony's crotch. It almost looks like a pajama top.
"Jesus, this is heavy," Tony says, mostly to himself, lifting his arms as he meanders back toward the bed. He's just climbing in when he finally notices Steve's expression, which must be broadcasting what his thoughts pretty clearly.
Tony smiles wolfishly. He crawls over, pushing Steve fully onto his back and straddling him through the blanket. "Rumiko would always steal my business shirts," he says. "I always liked that."
Steve's hands are at Tony's hips instinctively, wrapping around to the dip of his lower back. He grunts a vague affirmative, much preferring to bask in the now than the then.
There's the general, contented pleasure he gets whenever Tony grabs one of his shirts to pad around the lab in, sleep in, but it's enhanced. The sight is so perfect, and Tony's steady, sure weight, just beginning to rock against him, he can't figure out why every morning since they started sleeping together hadn't begun exactly like this.
Tony's more than eager to play along, bending down low to plant a deep kiss, thighs flexing against Steve's hips and sides, squirming against his growing arousal. The shirt is tenting just slightly when Tony forgoes the effect, lifting the hem and displaying his own hardening cock. Steve takes his cue and wraps a sure hand around it, a thumb up the side and Tony's head tips back, breathing loud through his nose.
Surprisingly, it's Tony who winces with hesitance when Steve's hands work around, a finger probing against his entrance.
"What?" Steve asks, stilling immediately. Tony's never been anything but extremely eager and willing in bed, and Steve sees it as his duty to keep it that way.
"Are you sure -- I could take it off--"
"What? No," just now, nothing seems more important than making sure Tony never stops wearing that shirt, the collar dipping low and revealing much more of his neck and chest than intended, sleeves draping nearly to his elbows, and Steve would quite happily fight anyone who tried to interfere, possibly entire armies.
"You get annoyed when Olympians wear their home flags around their shoulders," Tony pants, sounding amused. Steve's gotten right back to working his cock, alternating between light caresses of his fingertips, then firm, tight strokes. "This is a good deal dirtier."
"That's different," Steve huffs. "This isn't the flag, this is my uniform." And what they do, despite Tony's many attempts to make it sound otherwise, isn't dirty. Certainly isn't as dirty as some of the other things his uniform has been through over the years.
"A part of you?" Tony asks, eyes going half-lidded as he processes that.
"A part of me," Steve agrees. It feels right, it feels good, it's arousing and Steve isn't particularly bothered with the why.
"Does that mean -- " Tony grinds wantonly against Steve's still covered crotch, then smiles somewhat wickedly, god Steve loves that smile. "Cause I've always had this -- this fantasy. It involves your shield." Steve groans, suddenly bombarded with a dozen different scenarios, and the sound seems to encourage Tony. "You -- bending me over it, fucking me on it, rutting off right on that -- star. I'd clean it up," he adds quickly. "Thoroughly."
"You've been holding that out on me?" Steve asks, feeling honestly cheated.
"Well -- it's your shield," Tony says. "You treat that thing like it's--"
"My right arm?" Steve asks, pointedly working the fingers of his right hand at Tony's entrance.
Tony bites his lower lip, leaning back into the touch. "I was going to say your baby, but I like that better. We need to get this out of the way," he mutters, leaning forward on one hand, pushing the blanket down. Steve kicks it off, and then they're skin on skin, Steve's cock nestled against Tony's ass and he loves to watch how wild that drives the other man, just the feel of it, that tease.
Preparation is fast and easy, Tony's still well stretched from mere hours before, lube still an arm's reach away, and Tony hisses encouragements, spreading his legs, hands planted on Steve's chest.
Each rustling tink of the chain mail, the rub of fabric against Steve's thighs, Tony's light blush, splayed thighs, it's all ridiculously good. The heat, tight, clenching heat. They're going to have to do this again, possibly later today, possibly the rest of their lives will just be breaks between this. Tony looks nice in blue.
"The shield thing," Tony gasps as Steve enters. He always babbles, Steve's always quiet, and he quite likes it that way. "I was thinking-- I was saying, how I was going to clean that, I don't think you cottoned on to my full meaning there."
"What?" Steve grunts, Tony sliding back, sliding on, he's so good at this, he's perfect, so open, and Steve would remind him of this, if only he weren't going on incoherently.
"I'm going to -- god, Steve," he stops, voice breaking. He's probably still sore from earlier, Steve realizes, should've realized sooner, but neither of them are going to be happy with him pulling out now. He'd go slower, if only he weren't nearly as deep in as he could get already. "Going to come all over it," he promises, "and then I'm going to lick it clean."
Steve groans, loud and almost broken at the image. Tony's hips are going to be bruised.
Tony smiles, almost wobbly at the noise. Hips rocking, he bends again, a scratchy kiss, breathing each other's air, hands moving to tangle in Steve's hair. "It's never dirty with you," he says, sounding almost awed. "Steve, you -- love you, make me so much better -- love you."
Steve meets Tony's near worshiping gaze. Rolls them over; it's so easy, Tony's really not that heavy, and he's always willing. Forearms one either side of Tony's head, the shirt that started it all bunching around Tony's back. Their noses almost touching, he's all Tony can see, all he think. "You," Steve says. "you're never dirty."
Tony's eyes dart between Steve's, mind obviously working frantically. Steve surges forward, the two inches of space to take his mouth, plunder it, hopefully drain its owner of all thought.
When he pulls back up, Tony looks suitably dazed.
Fucking in earnest now, Tony can't seem to catch his breath for anything other than gasping, rocking willingly with Steve's rather insistent rhythm. He comes, surprisingly fast, against Steve's stomach, Steve's shirt, Steve's chain mail, Steve's hand. He licks the last of those clean, despite his earlier words, looking rather thrilled at the decadence.
ETA: ch-ch-check it out, drawn by
insomniac_draws AMAZING AMAZING