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cap_ironman2012-06-21 10:58 pm
Steve/Tony: Dancing in the Dark R [821 words]
Rating: R
Warnings: Eroticism, kissing, biting, frottage.
Universe: Alternate Universe - College/Bartending
Beta: None.
Personal Disclaimer: The author of this fan fiction is unstable. Comments have enabled, but will be disabled at the author's discretion.
Summary: The prompt was "Soul mates." It turned into Steve Is In College And Tony Is A Bartender They Meet In A Club And Are Super Attracted To Each Other And Make Out In The Back. Sorry I'm not sorry.
They meet in a club. Steve gets dragged out by Bucky and Clint and Natasha, and they're in college, and they're supposed to go clubbing and get piss drunk and do stupid things.
Tony's a bartender: twenty-five years old, olive-skinned and black-haired, with devil's eyes and demon's hands. He laughs at Steve's stupid jokes and smiles with perfect, white teeth. He mixes drinks while they talk and doesn't make a single mistake. He spills alcohol on his hands, and licks it away before mixing another drink. He's got calluses on his hands. Steve asks. I like to tinker, Tony says, and then he smiles. Real hands-on kinda fella. There's something low and predatory there, combined with hints of a mother tongue buried under his perfectly executed English. Steve can feel his whole body reacting as one.
There isn't a single touch between them for the entire two hours they talk. Bucky swings by for a few rounds of drinks, tries to drag Steve to the dance floor. Tony doesn't react, but Steve says no. Bucky shrugs, goes back to dancing. Dirty dancing is a well-practiced art, and Steve would never guess Bucky was getting a masters in microbiology if he didn't know better. It's biology! Bucky says.
"Talented friends," Tony says, and then he leans forward, elbows on the stone surface of the bar. His fingers curl in Steve's hair, twisting it. "My shift's over in fifteen. You free?"
The air which Steve could have sworn was in his lungs is suddenly gone. He swallows and forces a breath in — god Tony smells like expensive cologne — and then out. "I, um—"
"Steve!" Bucky reappears and claps a hand on his shoulder. "Hey. Clint just threw up so me and Natasha are gonna take him home. You good or do you need a designated?"
"I'm good, Bucky," Steve answers. "Thanks."
Tony raises an eyebrow, a hand still in Steve's hair. Bucky looks between them, then gives Tony a I Am Watching You Buddy , and then heads off with a majorly sloshed Clint in tow.
"Yes," Steve says. "Yes, I'm free."
*
Steve can feel the bass music from the club buzzing and pounding against his shoulders and ass. Tony's plastered against him, warm and heavy. His teeth graze over Steve's ear, a hand on his hip. Then he bites down, just enough to sting, and pulls. Steve's gasps, own hands grasping or something to hold onto and finding Tony's hips.
Their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, Tony's breath rushing against Steve's neck. The hand on Steve's hip tightens and then Steve flips them. He pushes Tony up against the wall, grabs his hands and then pushes their hips back together. Tony whimpers, back arching, and Steve mashes their lips together.
Tony's mouth is dry, and his facial hair rasps over Steve's skin, but his tongue is hot and clever, teasing along the seam of Steve's lips and then darting away. Steve chases him hungrily and then moans into his mouth when Tony's wraps one of his legs around Steve's waist. Steve grabs a handful of ass, pulling them closer together, and then sucks Tony's tongue into his mouth.
They kiss, bodies pressed tight, until Tony turns his head away, gasping desperately for air. Steve goes for his neck, and Tony laughs, then hisses when Steve's hands slip up under his shirt.
"Jesus," Tony says.
Steve smirks, drops to his knees.
"Jesus," Tony repeats.
Steve untucks Tony's shirt and then pushes it up. There's a trail of black hair along his belly, and Steve kisses along it, then licks a hipbone that's peeking from Tony's sinfully low pants. He bites down and Tony jerks. He laves the bite marks with his tongue and Tony whimpers.
Slowly he pushes Tony's shirt up, laving every dip and curve with his tongue. He leaves bite marks and hickeys, and then he pushes off Tony's shirt and slides their bodies back together. Tony pulls his shirt off impatiently and then tangles his hands in Steve's hair and pulls.
Steve pins his arms again, bites the veins of his wrists. Tony's hips arch and twist. He grinds against Steve's thigh, and Steve pushes his leg between Tony's in encouragement. Tony only tints with colour, unlike Steve whose pale skin goes the colour of bubblegum. There's faint red in Tony's cheeks, on his neck and ears. It spreads to his fingertips, and the blood pounds in the hands Steve's pinned to the thumping wall.
"Fuck," Tony hisses. Steve grins, then leans in and returns Tony's earlier favour, biting his ear. The noise Tony makes is halfway between words and growls. He shudders, tense as a string, and then goes limp.
Steve lets go of his hands and nuzzles into his neck. Tony's arms fall loosely around his shoulders, and then he says, "God, please give me your phone number. We are soul mates. This is not even a discussion."
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My favourite line, right there.
Well done! I liked it.
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