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cap_ironman2011-03-21 08:47 pm
dinahqueen.livejournal.com) wrote in cap_ironman2011-03-21 08:47 pm
Entry tags:
FANFIC: Your Rhythm Flows Under My Skin
Title: Your Rhythm Flows Under My Skin
Pairings/Characters: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Summary: ... and he’s suddenly aware of all the other sensations. Like his body is coming awake or alive, all in a rush.
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,086
Universe: Movieverse, for Tony, I think. Steve is just- there.
Warnings: Some hints of depression
Beta: None
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dinahqueen
Author’s Notes: The first paragraph jumped in to my head while I was laying down to sleep. And I just wrote it from there. I don’t know, it’s really strange.
AO3: Your Rhythm Flows Under My Skin
It is odd, Tony decides, being like this. In bed and mostly clothed. Steve is still dressed, wearing a pair of jeans that- probably cost more than his entire month’s salary, from back during the time he grew up. They’re acid-washed or stonewashed and the denim is soft where it scrapes at the outer edges of Tony’s thighs. He’s also wearing a t-shirt that might be an undershirt. It’s obscenely thin, and Tony can make out every outline of his muscles in his torso. He decides that he likes it. Tony himself is dressed much less- black t-shirt, black boxers. Steve is straddling him and he’s suddenly aware of all the other sensations. Like his body is coming awake or alive, all in a rush.
Steve has long legs. The press of denim starts at where Steve’s knees are pressing by his hips. The shirt has ridden up slightly. There’s a blank spot, that’s just silk, where Steve’s legs press against the cloth of Tony’s boxers, then the rest of the denim, from the upper part of Tony’s thigh to just below his knee. Then there is bare skin against his, Steve’s toenails scrape at the sides of his calves. His feet are cool, but not cold.
One of Steve’s hands rests beside Tony’s head; the sheets have wrinkled and messed up and his fingers are somewhat covered. Steve's other hand is lying over Tony's throat and he is suddenly hyperaware of it. Steve’s thumb is pressing against the pulse point, his other fingers curled loosely. And he is looking down at Tony with his too blue eyes and looking at him, or maybe through him.
He swallows once, then twice, and then breathes out. Slowly. The feeling that slowly rises through Tony is unpleasant. There is no fear, it’s Steve. But he feels like he is being judged, contemplated, studied. Maybe memorized, and Tony doesn’t think Steve should have so deep of a knowledge of him. Tony wants a drink. He wants Steve to kiss him. He wants Steve to be closer.
He doesn’t say any of this. Just breathes.
Steve hasn’t been here long. He probably won’t stay long either. Tony doesn’t know why he’s come at all; the whole thing has been rather silent, thus far. His hand hasn’t strayed from the place on Tony’s neck. He wonders what he’s doing. Tony is somehow unsurprised when Steve leans in and kisses him.
Tony feels, when he thinks about it at all, that they’ve been moving towards this for a very long time. After all... it wasn’t as though he’d let any random blonde straddle him like this. Not without more alcohol and more sex and probably a good deal less of letting said blonde just stare.
But, it is Steve. So it’s different.
He doesn’t know why.
Steve kisses him slowly, but it’s deep. There’s a quality of single-minded focus about it. As though he’s been practicing his entire life to kiss Tony just like this. The battered remains of Tony’s heart twist. His pulse quickens beneath Steve’s thumb. The way Steve has leaned in presses his palm more firmly across his esophagus.
Tony thinks about drowning. Thinks about fire. And he blinks against a sudden grittiness in his eyes, like there’s no moisture left in them. He thinks about the dry, dry desert. Tony responds to Steve’s kiss on instinct, muscle memory.
He is not afraid. He is not thrilled. He feels- nothing.
He thinks he might be glad.
Tony’s hands are calloused from his work, and he puts both palms to Steve’s shoulders. The way the muscles feel beneath his palms are a momentary distraction, but he doesn’t follow the thought to it’s logical conclusion. His fingers twitch, as though he’s going to trace the muscle. Instead, he pushes against Steve’s shoulder, pushes him back.
When their eyes meet again, Tony flashes Steve his most perfect smile. There’s nothing real in it and it doesn’t reach his eyes. Tony wonders if he left the heart he feels with back in the desert. Steve doesn’t know about Iron Man, about Afghanistan, or anything of the sort. He smiles back at Tony. Tony sees the way the edges of his eyes crinkle, and the light that shows up in them. It is real in a way the rest of it isn’t. Or feels it isn’t.
Tony reaches up to trace the edges of Steve’s smile.
“What?” Steve asks. His expression of confusion could be endearing. Tony shakes his head. The silence broken, so has the spell. His fingers are against the corner of Steve’s mouth. And Steve’s hand is still splayed on the bed.
“It’s nothing.” His voice sounds ragged. It’s only then that Tony’s aware of the burning sensation in his throat, holding back tears he had no idea were even coming on. Steve’s expression wavers for a minute- disbelief, then...
“I wouldn’t lie to Captain America.” Tony says. He keeps the smile up, but his stomach twists with the lie. Steve doesn’t notice. Tony didn’t suspect that he would. Steve finally moves his hand from his throat and strokes the height of Tony’s cheekbones, then curls his fingers into his dark hair.
He leans in to kiss Tony again and Tony lets him. Parts his lips and lets him in.
This time, it feels more real. Steve’s lips aren’t dry and they don’t remind Tony of the desert. His hand is heavy in his hair, but grounding in a way.
The sensations build and then break through the walls. Feeling trickles in. And he feels scared.
Not terror, or real fear, but scared of what this might mean. What might come of this. What Steve might be thinking about this. About Tony and about himself. Tony hadn’t even considered the possibility that Cap might want this.
“One rule.” Tony says. Despite the nervousness, his voice doesn’t break. He can feel his palms sweating. Cap tilts his head to the side, like a spaniel. “My shirt stays on.”
He says it like an ultimatum. The confusion is back. But he doesn’t question. Maybe it’s just that he’s good at following orders, Tony isn’t sure.
Tony swallows again, and tries to keep his breathing slow. Steve’s mouth trails over his jaw, down his neck. Tony’s fingers curl, nails biting through Steve’s thin shirt and in to the skin, when Steve mouths his nipples through the cotton of his shirt. Tony’s toes curl. And it’s like electricity.
He closes his eyes. And just feels.
Pairings/Characters: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Summary: ... and he’s suddenly aware of all the other sensations. Like his body is coming awake or alive, all in a rush.
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,086
Universe: Movieverse, for Tony, I think. Steve is just- there.
Warnings: Some hints of depression
Beta: None
Author:
dinahqueenAuthor’s Notes: The first paragraph jumped in to my head while I was laying down to sleep. And I just wrote it from there. I don’t know, it’s really strange.
AO3: Your Rhythm Flows Under My Skin
It is odd, Tony decides, being like this. In bed and mostly clothed. Steve is still dressed, wearing a pair of jeans that- probably cost more than his entire month’s salary, from back during the time he grew up. They’re acid-washed or stonewashed and the denim is soft where it scrapes at the outer edges of Tony’s thighs. He’s also wearing a t-shirt that might be an undershirt. It’s obscenely thin, and Tony can make out every outline of his muscles in his torso. He decides that he likes it. Tony himself is dressed much less- black t-shirt, black boxers. Steve is straddling him and he’s suddenly aware of all the other sensations. Like his body is coming awake or alive, all in a rush.
Steve has long legs. The press of denim starts at where Steve’s knees are pressing by his hips. The shirt has ridden up slightly. There’s a blank spot, that’s just silk, where Steve’s legs press against the cloth of Tony’s boxers, then the rest of the denim, from the upper part of Tony’s thigh to just below his knee. Then there is bare skin against his, Steve’s toenails scrape at the sides of his calves. His feet are cool, but not cold.
One of Steve’s hands rests beside Tony’s head; the sheets have wrinkled and messed up and his fingers are somewhat covered. Steve's other hand is lying over Tony's throat and he is suddenly hyperaware of it. Steve’s thumb is pressing against the pulse point, his other fingers curled loosely. And he is looking down at Tony with his too blue eyes and looking at him, or maybe through him.
He swallows once, then twice, and then breathes out. Slowly. The feeling that slowly rises through Tony is unpleasant. There is no fear, it’s Steve. But he feels like he is being judged, contemplated, studied. Maybe memorized, and Tony doesn’t think Steve should have so deep of a knowledge of him. Tony wants a drink. He wants Steve to kiss him. He wants Steve to be closer.
He doesn’t say any of this. Just breathes.
Steve hasn’t been here long. He probably won’t stay long either. Tony doesn’t know why he’s come at all; the whole thing has been rather silent, thus far. His hand hasn’t strayed from the place on Tony’s neck. He wonders what he’s doing. Tony is somehow unsurprised when Steve leans in and kisses him.
Tony feels, when he thinks about it at all, that they’ve been moving towards this for a very long time. After all... it wasn’t as though he’d let any random blonde straddle him like this. Not without more alcohol and more sex and probably a good deal less of letting said blonde just stare.
But, it is Steve. So it’s different.
He doesn’t know why.
Steve kisses him slowly, but it’s deep. There’s a quality of single-minded focus about it. As though he’s been practicing his entire life to kiss Tony just like this. The battered remains of Tony’s heart twist. His pulse quickens beneath Steve’s thumb. The way Steve has leaned in presses his palm more firmly across his esophagus.
Tony thinks about drowning. Thinks about fire. And he blinks against a sudden grittiness in his eyes, like there’s no moisture left in them. He thinks about the dry, dry desert. Tony responds to Steve’s kiss on instinct, muscle memory.
He is not afraid. He is not thrilled. He feels- nothing.
He thinks he might be glad.
Tony’s hands are calloused from his work, and he puts both palms to Steve’s shoulders. The way the muscles feel beneath his palms are a momentary distraction, but he doesn’t follow the thought to it’s logical conclusion. His fingers twitch, as though he’s going to trace the muscle. Instead, he pushes against Steve’s shoulder, pushes him back.
When their eyes meet again, Tony flashes Steve his most perfect smile. There’s nothing real in it and it doesn’t reach his eyes. Tony wonders if he left the heart he feels with back in the desert. Steve doesn’t know about Iron Man, about Afghanistan, or anything of the sort. He smiles back at Tony. Tony sees the way the edges of his eyes crinkle, and the light that shows up in them. It is real in a way the rest of it isn’t. Or feels it isn’t.
Tony reaches up to trace the edges of Steve’s smile.
“What?” Steve asks. His expression of confusion could be endearing. Tony shakes his head. The silence broken, so has the spell. His fingers are against the corner of Steve’s mouth. And Steve’s hand is still splayed on the bed.
“It’s nothing.” His voice sounds ragged. It’s only then that Tony’s aware of the burning sensation in his throat, holding back tears he had no idea were even coming on. Steve’s expression wavers for a minute- disbelief, then...
“I wouldn’t lie to Captain America.” Tony says. He keeps the smile up, but his stomach twists with the lie. Steve doesn’t notice. Tony didn’t suspect that he would. Steve finally moves his hand from his throat and strokes the height of Tony’s cheekbones, then curls his fingers into his dark hair.
He leans in to kiss Tony again and Tony lets him. Parts his lips and lets him in.
This time, it feels more real. Steve’s lips aren’t dry and they don’t remind Tony of the desert. His hand is heavy in his hair, but grounding in a way.
The sensations build and then break through the walls. Feeling trickles in. And he feels scared.
Not terror, or real fear, but scared of what this might mean. What might come of this. What Steve might be thinking about this. About Tony and about himself. Tony hadn’t even considered the possibility that Cap might want this.
“One rule.” Tony says. Despite the nervousness, his voice doesn’t break. He can feel his palms sweating. Cap tilts his head to the side, like a spaniel. “My shirt stays on.”
He says it like an ultimatum. The confusion is back. But he doesn’t question. Maybe it’s just that he’s good at following orders, Tony isn’t sure.
Tony swallows again, and tries to keep his breathing slow. Steve’s mouth trails over his jaw, down his neck. Tony’s fingers curl, nails biting through Steve’s thin shirt and in to the skin, when Steve mouths his nipples through the cotton of his shirt. Tony’s toes curl. And it’s like electricity.
He closes his eyes. And just feels.