Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first time they had sex was right after their first kiss. Steve dropped to his knees and then Tony reciprocated after making Steve lie down on the bed. The second time it was Steve that initiated it, slow handjobs under the hot spray of the shower, and Tony looked surprised by it. Like it was weird that Steve wanted it. Wanted him.

But how can Steve not want Tony? It’s not just that he’s in love with him, it’s that Tony’s body is— amazing. Steve has seen him naked many times, usually in the gym showers or S.H.I.E.L.D.’s decontamination units. He always tried to be subtle and respectful, but he did look.

He has witnessed all the small changes Tony’s body has gone through the years. His muscles have lost some definition despite all the exercise, his skin has lost elasticity and gained wrinkles, his joints make him hiss in pain from time to time. Over the years, his hair became salt and pepper at first, and then a compact and shiny gray. His goatee is sprinkled with white too, except for the mustache. He has resigned himself to his recent need for reading glasses.

Steve has seen Tony go through all this, and it has only made Tony more attractive to Steve. The graceful way he has of moving, both in and out the Iron Man armor; his calloused and bony fingers, long, and full of expertise, capable of creating the most astonishing things; his arms and the shape of his shoulders, always displaying experience and elegance; his lean legs, nimble and beautiful; the way he carries his person, the way he dresses himself— everything, everything about Tony leaves Steve breathless. It’s not just his brain or his personality, but the small yet solid shape of him too, and all the transformations brought on by age have not changed that.

They haven’t been dating long. After being Avengers members and friends for years, they finally pulled their heads out of their asses — as so many of their teammates like to say — and confessed that they had been in love this whole time. But, contrary to what Rhodey said when he first heard the good news, that had only made their flirting and general grossness around each other worse.

But still, Steve expected Tony be more— Tony Stark about the idea of them having sex, to seek Steve out, to tease him and lead him to bed with his sultry voice and wicked promises, to do things to Steve and let Steve do things to him that would make the most experienced person blush.

But none of that had happened.

The two times they had sex during the three weeks they have been dating, Steve could feel that Tony wasn’t very hard. That it took him some time to come. But he didn’t think much of it right after it happened, because they had been busy with work. Maybe Tony was just tired.

But after much thinking, and pondering, and brooding, Steve started to wonder whether Tony’s age really was affecting his libido.

Maybe Tony doesn’t want to have sex with Steve very often; maybe he doesn’t feel the need anymore. Maybe Steve’s body doesn’t arouse him that much, Steve has so many muscles and not everyone likes all those muscles. Maybe Tony really just can’t get it up all the way anymore, and can’t take pills because of his heart. Maybe he feels ashamed and doesn’t want to talk about it with Steve. Maybe there is some other reason Steve can’t understand.

But anyway, googling “having sex with an older man” was probably a mistake, Steve realizes. After filtering away all the porn (and just how much porn is there on the internet exactly, oh my god ), he has found a useful article. And then another article. And then that entry on WebMD.

And now he is worried about Tony. Because, well, apparently:

"Testosterone helps support nervous tissue. When its levels start to drop, there will be an accompanying decrease in sensitivity, making it more difficult to reach orgasm. Also, the erection won’t be as hard.

“This is a case of use it or lose it,” says Dr. Castellanos. She explains that guys can protect their penile health by having erections every day. They don’t have to be point of orgasm, but daily erections keep the arteries in shape and bring blood flow to the area.

“It’s just like if you don’t go to the gym, your muscles will get thinner and your arteries will close up. The same thing happens with a penis."

So yes, some articles tried to be helpful.

Steve has also found a tumblr post about how old age can make the prostate hypersensitive, so while growing old may result in less sensitivity for the penis, that is not the case for the prostate. Prostate stimulation can help with erections, which must occur at least daily to keep the penis in good shape.

At this point, Steve has been staring at the screen of his tablet for a good twenty minutes. He doesn’t know exactly what to make of all this new information, but he’s confused, and upset, and there are just too many things going through his mind.

Steve is in love with Tony. Completely and impossibly so. He is so far gone on Tony that words can’t really describe it. Sometimes he feels like his heart is going to burst because of how much he would give up for Tony, to make him happy and to keep him safe. Anything, everything, for him. And he knows that Tony feels the same about him. And finally, after years of uncertainty, of pining, of desperation, of failed attempts at moving on, of convincing himself it was never going to happen, it has happened.

They’re together, and it’s the best thing in the world.

But an unavoidable fact is this: Tony is much older than Steve. Twenty years, without considering the time Steve spent in the ice. Which is a lot for most couples, but in their case it’s probably worse because the serum keeps Steve in top condition, so much so that he’s doesn’t look or feel forty. He has displayed signs of getting older, thankfully (Steve was starting to worry he would live to watch all his friends die, again), but at a slightly slower pace than what is normal for any other human. And Tony has been sixty for a few months already. Steve brought him a cupcake with red and gold icing.

It’s not that Steve minds that Tony is old. It’s not that he cares about it, or all the jokes the tabloids make about Captain America, the first fossil, dating Iron Man, the golden fossil. Steve loves Tony just the way he is. Tony is just Tony, the man who has fought at Steve’s side for thirteen years as they saved the world.

Steve's problem is not with Tony’s age.

He still remembers this one time, a couple of years ago, when for some fortunate reason he got to bury his hand in Tony’s gray hair. All he did was to smooth it back with his fingers, but it felt so wonderful that Steve had to excuse himself and go to his room to have one of the most mind-blowing orgasms of his life, with his hand still tingling from the sensation of caressing Tony’s silver hair.

So yeah, Steve notices Tony’s age. But he doesn’t care about it in the way people would expect him to.

Steve does care, and he does worry. It just happens to be more about Tony’s well-being than his libido.

Steve needs to do something, and soon. Tony’s health might be at stake.

***

Tony Stark is sixty years old.

Big fucking deal.

People turn sixty all the time, he tells himself. I’m not special.

Except Tony isn’t taking it very well, actually. It’s not that he thought he wouldn’t turn sixty, that he would stay young forever. It’s more that if someone had told thirty-year-old-him that he would actually live to see the day of his sixtieth birthday, he would have laughed in their face. And that’s the thing, really: it’s just hitting Tony now, and hitting him this hard, because he spent a good portion of his life thinking (or wishing) that he would die. Soon.

And now, all of a sudden, he is old.

And he can feel it. Somewhere deep in his bones, there are aches that didn’t use to be there. His muscles have lost some of their definition, his belly is definitely softer, his ass not as firm. The hair, the goatee. His chest and pubic hair. The mere fact that he stopped giving a shit about shaving them. His skin is drier, coarser, he has wrinkles. He needs an anti-aging cream. He needs reading glasses. Thank fuck his teeth are still perfect. And that he isn’t balding. Oh god, he could cry with joy because at least he isn’t balding.

But the arc reactor sometimes sits heavy in his chest. After battles he doesn’t bounce back quite as fast. Bruises take more time to heal. He had to put extra neck support in the Iron Man suit, and he can’t eat whatever he wants to anymore. Does Tony Stark want an orange? Well then, Tony Stark had better be ready to deal with the heartburn that orange will give him for the next five fucking hours.

He tries not to show how he feels about it, but the glasses were kinda the final straw and he just snapped, went to Carol and told her he wanted to leave the team, asked advice on how to break it to Steve. Carol wasn’t thrilled by his existential crisis so he agreed to stay on, but how exactly is he supposed to deal with Riri telling him he’s still her “favorite grandpa” when it doesn’t sound as much of a joke as it did five years ago?

And then of course there’s the fact that his dick doesn’t really get very hard anymore. Reaching an orgasm has felt like a chore lately. He can’t take Viagra because of his heart. And he knows that he wouldn’t feel like this if he weren’t Tony Stark, someone who has built an entire reputation on being a playboy. It’s not that he actually slept around as much as he wanted the tabloids to think he did, but he did have a lot of fun in his younger years. Sex always made him feel good; even when it was a way to fulfill a different kind of desire, it was still good. Giving and receiving pleasure was something Tony always enjoyed, both when it was casual, and during his few and brief relationships. And he was great at it, too; he was a considerate lover, generous, thoughtful, and he always made sure the other person (or, well, people) was having a good time. He was attractive and he knew it, always kept in excellent shape, had top-notch stamina, and he could go at it for quite some time.

All in all, everyone knew that sex with Tony Stark was amazing: 10/10 would recommend.

Except now he has a sagging body, and a cock that won’t stay hard for more than a few minutes.

And he has Steve.

It always comes down to Steve in Tony’s life, in some way or another.

The thing that Tony feels in the sharpest way when he thinks about Steve and their relationship is regret. Sure, there’s love, too. There’s always been love, earth-shattering and life-altering love, but right now regret is squeezing Tony’s battered heart between its long, cold fingers, and making it hard to breathe.

All the time they wasted.

When they met, Steve was twenty-seven years old and Tony was forty-seven. And yeah, he wasn’t young, he already had a hole in his chest, his refractory period had changed, and many other things weren’t in top condition like before. But still, it was way better than now. He could keep an erection for a while—he could actually have an erection, instead of this weird feeling where his dick can go only as far as half-hard at best. His body looked better, he only had a few gray hairs at his temples. And it’s even worse when he compares himself to Steve ‘peak of human perfection with superhuman stamina and the libido of a teenager’ Rogers: Steve seems always ready to go, he gets rock hard in the span of seconds, and Tony doesn’t know how much longer he can go on like this, how much more Steve will put up with him and having sex twice a month (if Tony is feeling good).

So much for all those jokes about Steve being the old man.

So it’s just— disheartening, in a way, the fact that now, finally, he has Steve, they are together in the way he has dreamed and desired since that first day in Germany all those years ago, and yet Tony can’t live this thing in the way he really wants to, all because he is old.

If only they had got together sooner. Not even right after they met, but at least a few years ago. If Tony had seen the signs before. If Steve had done something, said something, anything. They would have had more time. They could have had so much more. He could have given Steve so much more. Instead, Steve is now stuck with him and his ancient excuse of a body.

What kind of bullshit.

So, all in all, Tony is more than a little surprised when Steve comes to the penthouse that night, drags him to the couch in front of the fireplace, and starts kissing him as if the planet was being invaded by aliens (again) and the only way of stopping them was this. Which, okay, is not something Tony is planning on complaining about any time soon, obviously, but then Steve pushes him down on the couch, looms over him, smiles at him in this strange way that’s both wolfish and charming at the same time, puts his hand over Tony’s crotch, and Tony’s sure even through the sweatpants Steve can feel that his cock is, well. Soft.

Steve doesn’t seem fazed by this, keeps stroking him slowly and kissing him in that sweet way of his and after a while, finally, finally, Tony’s dick gets with the program and hardens. Still not fully, but enough.

Tony pushes Steve up, makes him sit on the couch, takes off his own sweatpants and socks (he is sixty, he’s not gonna start wearing underwear when he’s home now ), and straddles Steve’s thighs. Steve, thankfully, puts his hand back on him immediately, it’s big and warm and his grip is tighter than the other time they did this and it just— it feels so good.

Tony presses his ass down on Steve’s clothed erection and— god, he’s so hard. Tony would find it in himself to be envious if he wasn’t so rapt with how beautiful Steve is right now, with how much he wants to keep him like this forever. For a minute, Tony even thinks that it doesn’t matter if in a few years he won’t be able to have sex with Steve anymore, he can still make him squirm and writhe and feel good in many other ways, and witnessing Steve’s pleasure will have to be enough for Tony. Will be enough.

Steve moans, loud and unashamed, and speeds up the pace of his hand on Tony. Slowly, Tony pulls at Steve’s waistband, makes his way past it. He touches, very delicately, the slit on the head of Steve’s dick with the tip of his forefinger. Steve comes.

Tony kisses him through his orgasm. He’s the most incredible thing.

“I love you,” Steve whispers, like it’s the first time he says it.

Steve sweeps his hands up the back of Tony’s thighs and palms his ass, urging it up until he has Tony propped up on the couch so that his cock is in front of Steve’s face. A moment later, Tony’s world is reduced to how hot and wet Steve’s mouth is, how tight his lips are around Tony, how his fingers caress Tony’s balls. Tony goes softer at some point, but Steve keeps sucking and licking, clearly a man with a plan, and even if it takes a while in the end Tony comes with his dick deep down Steve’s throat. He kisses him and kisses him after that, lets Steve take him to bed, lets him be the big spoon.

Tony has never felt safer than when his back is pressed to Steve’s chest. He falls asleep so quickly that he doesn’t even realize it.

***

When he wakes up the next morning, Steve feels the satisfaction of a job well done and the conscious determination of a man who knows he still has a lot of work ahead of him, but is resolved to face it with tenacity and passion.

Which means: Steve’s erection is so intense that it’s almost painful, pressing against Tony’s naked ass under the covers. He rubs at him a bit, to take the edge off, but Tony is still fast asleep.

Well, that has to change, and soon.

Steve starts kissing Tony’s neck, his shoulders, licks carefully behind his ear, buries his nose in Tony’s gray hair and inhales deeply, flooding all his senses with the love of his life. His hand moves slowly on Tony’s abdomen, the muscles there rounder than a few years ago, molded by time so that Steve’s hand can fit on them perfectly.

His hand travels down, his fingers graze Tony’s pubic hair. Tony stirs in his sleep, and after a couple of minutes a grumpy voice slurs, “What’re you doing?”

Steve doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing.

He pushes the covers away and moves up on the bed until he can settle between Tony’s thighs. Tony looks down at Steve, sleepy and exasperated, and Steve replies by letting his face sink into Tony’s groin and inhaling again. Then, slowly, ignoring Tony’s soft cock, Steve starts licking at his balls, massages them with careful movements of his lips. He takes them into his mouth, coates them with saliva, sucks at them meticulously, all the while pressing his thumb into Tony’s perineum, rubbing at it in circles, looking for something, until—

Tony moans. His back arches up in a spasm of pleasure, and yeah, there it is: Tony is getting hard.

“What are you smiling about?” Tony asks, breathless.

“Oh. Oh, nothing, it’s nothing.”

“You’re weird today.”

“Shhh. Concentrate, Avenger,” Steve orders, with his stern but kind voice, and punctuates his words with a sharp pressure against Tony’s perineum. He allows his massage to gradually grow firmer and firmer, while keeping an eye on Tony’s reactions, careful to remember what works and what doesn’t, what makes his dick twitch and what makes his thighs tremble.

Tony is hard now, and although his erection isn’t complete, it isn’t any worse than last night. That’s a good sign. Steve gathers saliva in his mouth, he licks thoroughly at the corner of his lips so the skin there isn’t dry and unpleasant for Tony, then he guides Tony into his mouth, sucking him down like it’s the best thing in the world and— it is.

Tony gasps with every bob of Steve’s head, with every push of his fingers, and eventually comes in Steve’s mouth, for the second time in the span of only a few hours.

Steve has never felt more accomplished. His plan is working.

***

Okay. What the fuck is happening to Steve? What the hell has gotten into him? Did Loki sprinkle him with some magic glitter that makes him horny all the time? Is he just regularly horny all the time and the glitter makes him think Tony is half his actual age?

What. Is. Happening.

Steve has been sleeping in Tony’s bed every night in the past week. Which is great, Tony loves sleeping with a huge super-soldier attached to his back. It’s the best. But Steve wants to have sex every night and every morning and finds a way to give Tony an external prostate massage (a fucking external prostate massage, Christ, how does Steve even know that exists) every day and Tony just. He just.

He just can’t, can he.

He’s probably going to have— a heart attack or something at some point, because of all the sex. Arc reactor be damned, his heart is just gonna give up on him. He is gonna die. Death by too many orgasms.

Well. Might not be the worst way to go.

As long as Steve isn’t actively trying to kill him. Oh my god! Is Steve secretly evil now?

No, that’d be ridiculous. Tony needs to stop thinking about this.

But also: Tony isn’t feeling any worse, really. Actually, he feels pretty good. His orgasms are good. His erections are okay-ish. Sure, they often sag, but Steve is very patient and waits for him, smiles, touches him in the least condescending way, gives him all the time he needs, helps him until he comes. He felt a bit embarrassed at first, looking at his soft cock slide between Steve’s lips, but he’s used to it now, and it feels strangely intimate. And in general he maybe feels a bit weak in the legs when he walks to the bathroom in the morning, but for the rest, he’s fine.

But that doesn’t explain what’s happening.

Tony puts his tablet on the coffee table. “Steve.”

“Mm?”

“Can you stop drawing for a minute and look at me?” Tony asks, forgetting to say please , and he’s taken aback when Steve just does as he’s told without hesitation. He stares at Tony from his end of the couch, curious.

“What is going on here?”

“Wha—”

“Don’t give me that. What’s been going on with all this sex-twice-a-day business and the prostate massages and—”

So that’s when Steve explains it to him, the whole thing with the articles and the— the dick gym or whatever. And it’s honestly kind of touching? Steve doing this thing for him, worrying about his health, putting up with him and his decrepit body and trying to keep him in shape, as much as possible, trying to make Tony’s dick behave like it did ten years ago so they can fuck like normal people and Steve can get something out of this relationship.

Yeah, that doesn’t sound very touching.

But if there’s one thing that secretly pining for each other for more than a decade has taught them, is that they need to talk about stuff, and not assume what the other is thinking and run with it. So they talk about it. They fight about it. They talk some more.

In the end, Tony is still not entirely convinced that this thing is gonna work, but he agrees to try it. Also, Steve keeps reassuring him that he does find Tony beautiful and that he is very attracted to him physically, not just emotionally (he actually says that, emotionally).

Tony would like to believe him. He wants to believe Steve so bad, but it’s just. It’s so— improbable. Steve is perfect; Tony is— not. He’s old and used up and he can’t compete. But Steve is there with a glint in his eyes that says I’ll prove it to you!, and Tony can’t help but smile at Steve’s excitement, because it’s honestly endearing.

So. Weekend sex marathons are gonna be a thing in Tony’s life.

***

The days start blending into each other, and Steve is really proud of himself.

He got Tony on board with this idea—for his health, of course—but Steve would be lying if he said he wasn’t having the time of his life. Having Tony pressed to his chest most nights, or curled up between his arms, or resting his head against Steve’s ribs is everything he wanted in life, and more.

And then, obviously, there’s the sex itself, which is simply mind-blowing. Tony’s body is like a present to Steve, something made specifically for him and him only, exactly how he wanted it. There’s nothing he doesn’t like about the way Tony looks, nothing he would change. He could spend weeks with his nose in Tony’s gray hair, caressing his slightly round belly. He could lay on top of him, kissing him, for the rest of his life. He could get lost into Tony’s eyes and he would never want to find his way back home again, because that would be his home. Tony is his home.

Every night Steve goes up to the penthouse and finds Tony already there. They cuddle on the couch for a while, Tony wrapped up in whatever is happening on his tablet, Steve engrossed in a book or a drawing. They drink hot chocolate or tea surrounded by the warm light of the fireplace, an old blanket covering Tony’s legs and his socked feet tucked in under Steve’s thigh.

Around midnight, Tony would yawn, and Steve would take it as the sign that it is. They discard tablets and reading glasses and books and pencils and start kissing. Slowly at first, tentatively, because this is still new in some ways. They take off their clothes, though sometimes only what’s necessary to get things done because Tony gets chilly and wants to keep his sweater on.

Steve would go down on Tony, lick at him, like they have all the time in the world. He would produce a bottle of lube from a hidden drawer in the coffee table, then coat his fingers and start pressing them into Tony, searching for his prostate. He would rub at it until he had coaxed Tony’s cock to hardness, as much as possible.

Tony still doesn’t get a full erection, but they get to this point faster than they did at first, which is a very good sign in Steve’s book. After a while Tony would come, sometimes on his stomach, or in Steve’s mouth, or on Steve’s hand. Once, on Steve’s face—it was great. Then Tony would touch Steve, or suck him off, or lay there under him while Steve braces with one arm next to Tony’s head and jerks off, staring into Tony’s eyes, coming all over his lap, on his soft dick. Sometimes, he would even lick it clean, and Tony would shudder and whine, because it’s too much. They go to the bathroom after that, clean up properly, and then they go to bed.

By six in the morning they’re usually both awake. Steve doesn’t need much sleep thanks to the serum, and for Tony it’s more a mixture of lifelong bad habits and age. Steve likes to start the day by sucking Tony off, likes to have the ghost of Tony’s taste down his throat for the rest of the day. This, too, needs to be slow, Tony needs time to get hard(ish) and to reach his orgasm, especially when not many hours have passed from his last one, but Steve never complains. By the time Tony is smiling at Steve with a blissed-out expression that is almost funny, Steve is so on edge that it doesn’t take much for him to come; often, just the barest touch of Tony’s hand or mouth is enough.

It’s a good routine. They’re getting used to each other’s bodies, they’re getting more confident in their respective knowledge of what the other likes. It’s easy and straightforward, serves the purpose of making them connect physically and helps Tony with his erections.

But now it’s time to dial it up a bit, to try something new and see if it works, and how.

So Steve asks Tony something, and Tony says yes.

It’s a Friday night.

They shower together, with no purpose other than to get clean. Steve rubs body wash into Tony’s skin, massages his tired muscles, caresses his hair with ridiculously expensive anti-yellowing shampoo, kisses him under the hot spray of the water like it’s raining and they’re in a scene from an old movie. Tony’s fingers scrub Steve’s scalp, and it’s slow, and it’s tender, and there’s no hurry at all. They dry each other off and get in bed, under the covers.

Tony snuggles up against Steve’s body, presses his face in his chest, rubs at it with his cheek, and it tickles; it makes Steve shiver. Steve hugs Tony closer to himself, strokes his back, his shoulders. Tony lifts his gaze to look at Steve, small between those massive arms. It’s a long time before they avert their eyes, and even then it almost feels like a loss. What a strange thing, to become so dependent on something that you didn’t have for most of your life, on something that you had resigned yourself on having to live without.

“Oh,” Tony says in a murmur, and Steve is suddenly aware that there’s something firm pressed against his thigh.

Oh.

Tony has a huge grin on his face, he looks down at himself like he can’t believe it.

“Look at me, it’s like I’m fifty again!” He says, and Steve kisses him.

When Tony breaks the kiss, Steve twists around on the bed to retrieve the bottle of lube they keep in the bedside table. “Hurry up,” Tony says, “I wanna come on your fingers,” and Steve pauses, shocked, pleased, happy. They have done this many times, but tonight feels different.

Steve slides down the bed and lies between Tony’s legs. He sucks at Tony’s inner thigh, mouths at his perineum. He presses a slick finger into Tony’s body, works at the sensitive muscles there, carefully, he doesn’t want to hurt Tony at all. Steve strokes Tony up and down a couple of times with his other hand, and he’s glad to notice that his erection is harder than usual.

He pushes another finger in, makes Tony groan, and rubs his prostate when he finds it, which only makes Tony groan louder.

Steve is mesmerized by Tony, how beautiful he looks like this, with Steve’s fingers disappearing into his body, his skin flushed, one hand fisting the sheets and the other searching frantically for Steve’s. Steve grabs it, kisses its back, lets Tony hold onto him.

He slides another finger into Tony and stretches all three of them, then watches Tony shake, babble incomprehensible words under his breath, grit his teeth and hiss in pleasure. Steve doesn’t let the fact that both his hands are occupied stop him. He licks at Tony’s balls, and as soon as Tony’s dick twitches he catches it in his mouth, quick and graceful. He keeps his lips tight around Tony’s erection, knows he needs the pressure, and he starts moving his head in a regular rhythm. Tony is gasping, like he doesn’t know what to do with all the things he’s feeling.

“I wanna come on your face,” he says, breathless, and Steve squeezes his hand in agreement.

Steve doesn’t stop fucking Tony with his fingers, keeps sucking him off until Tony whimpers, his balls drawn tightly in. When Steve feels Tony’s cock pulse for the first time he takes it at the base, careful not to block Tony’s orgasm, and holds it in place, parting his lips. Tony’s come is hot and thick on Steve’s face and tongue, he tries to lick it up from his chin, tries to catch what’s dripping from his cheek. He wipes some of it with his thumb, then swallows that down, too. The fingers of his other hand are still buried inside Tony.

Tony is staring up at him, eyes wide with surprise—at himself, maybe, or at what Steve can bring out of him. He raises his arms to reach for Steve, wants him close. Steve shifts on top of him, hugs him, holds him through the aftershock of his orgasm. Tony kisses him, sloppy, open-mouthed, like he can’t be bothered with technique right now, he only cares about Steve’s lips touching his.

“Fuck me,” he whispers against Steve’s skin, and a shiver makes its way down Steve’s back.

Steve grabs the bottle of lube on the bed, squirts a good amount on his fingers again. He pushes into Tony, opening him up with more decision. Tony keeps shuddering, but now there’s a goofy smile on his face. He has gone soft, and Steve lowers his head to suck a drop of come away from the tip of his dick.

Tony moans, says, “St— Steve, I—,” and Steve knows. He hasn’t always known, but he knows now and will know it forever.

Steve takes his fingers out of Tony, carefully, and slicks himself up, for good measure. If this hurts Tony in any way Steve is gonna punch himself in the face. Steve rubs the head of his cock between Tony’s cheeks, hisses softly when it brushes over the rim. Slowly, timidly, he slides in. Tony spreads his legs further apart, drawing his knees up to his chest. Steve sinks into Tony’s body and is engulfed by the heat.

That’s something Steve didn’t expect. He knew Tony would be tight, and he is, but mostly he’s just so warm. He couldn’t feel it quite like this with his fingers. It makes Steve feel safe, like nothing bad can happen as long as him and Tony are like this.

Steve lifts his gaze until he reaches Tony’s face, and he looks—he looks terrified.

Oh god.

“Tony, I’m so sor—,” Steve hurries to say, desperately trying to extract himself from Tony as fast and as carefully as he can, but Tony locks his ankles behind Steve’s back, presses down on his butt, keeps him in place.

“Nononono, don’t go,” Tony says, all in one breath. “Please wait, just wait—it’s okay, I’m okay.”

Steve stops pulling away, because Tony doesn’t want him to. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t want to hurt you.” It’s all Steve can offer.

“You— you didn’t, there’s— there’s nothing to apologize for, it’s just— I just—” he trails off, and Steve waits patiently for him to clear his thoughts, to put together a string of words that would make sense to Steve. “I’ve dreamed about this moment for so many years and I— I can’t— I’m so— It’s real. You’re real.”

Steve feels a rush of relief spread through him. He smiles at Tony. “I used to have dreams about this, too. And about so much more. And we can make all those dreams real. Together.”

Tony nods, sharply, “Together,” he whispers, and Steve rolls his hips into him.

It’s careful at first, unsure, Steve’s movements are heavy and calm, predictable, precise. He pulls almost all the way out, then goes back in slowly, allowing Tony to get used to the sensation, lets his inner walls stretch around Steve’s tentative intrusion. Then Steve pulls out completely, only to immediately push back in, but only up to the tip. He picks up the pace and starts fucking Tony like this, with quick, short, shallow thrusts that make the crown of his dick catch at Tony’s hole, hit his prostate, over and over and over again, and it’s driving Steve absolutely crazy, and Tony is sobbing under him, wailing; all of it is just too much and not enough.

When Steve feels like Tony can’t take much more of this, he bottoms out again, abruptly, unexpectedly. Tony gasps from deep in his chest, lifts his head from the pillow and kisses Steve, then tries to breathe. Steve doesn’t stop fucking him, doesn’t slow down. He’s close and can’t keep this up for much longer, so he goes at it fast, hard, deep.

“You’re mine,” Steve hears himself say, choking on the words. Bracing himself on one arm, he reaches to stroke Tony’s hair, “It’s real. I’ve wanted you for so long and— You’re finally mine.”

“I’ve always been yours,” Tony sighs into his ear, and Steve thrusts into him again, bites at the skin of his shoulder.

An impossible heat takes root low in Steve’s belly, surges into him, pins him in place, makes him fade away into a white light.

***

When Tony wakes up on Saturday morning, the sun is barely up, and he’s not entirely sure that he can feel his legs. He’s lying on his stomach with a giant arm slumped across his shoulders, a tuft of blond hair brushing at his cheek, the covers soft and warm against his back.

Tony tries to turn, but can manage only minimal movement. Oh, well. It’s not like he wants to be anywhere else.

Steve stirs in his sleep, then opens one eye to look at him. It makes Tony laugh.

“Mmh, go back to sleep, Tony, it’s early,” Steve mumbles, and closes his eye again, but he starts stroking Tony’s back, every time reaching lower and lower. Tony isn’t past wiggling his butt. Ha. Sleep now, soldier.

Except Tony has no idea what he’s gotten himself into, because with very minimal warning Steve shoves two fingers inside him. Tony hisses, arches his back, grabs at his pillow, swears under his breath.

Steve moans. “It’s leaking out of you— God, Tony.”

“Wanna—”

“Yeah, yeah, wait—”

It all happens in a handful of seconds, Tony thinks: Steve finds the lube, squeezes the gel directly into Tony’s cleft, pushes it into him and scissors his fingers just to be sure Tony is still open enough, he pulls back, shifts into position, and sinks in.

Two minutes ago, Tony was sleeping. Now, he’s stuffed full with Steve’s huge and rock-hard cock, last night’s come oozing out of him, trickling down his thighs and on the sheets.

Steve drapes himself over Tony’s back, buries his head in the crook of Tony’s neck, nips at his shoulder, pins Tony’s wrists down on the bed. He rolls his hips, again and again, and Tony thinks, he could do this all day.

“Oh my god, Tony, you’re so— It’s so hot inside you, I don’t— I wanna keep you like this forever.”

“Yeah— Yeah— Steve, just— Just fill me up.”

That seems to release something hidden inside Steve, some secret abyssal force that Tony only caught a glimpse of last night but most of it is still undiscovered. And Tony likes discovering things.

Steve’s thrusts become quick and punishing, his thighs slapping against Tony’s ass in the most obscene way and Tony feels like crying, because this, this, he lived sixty years alone for this, everything he did in his life was rightful and good because it ended with this— all his fucked up and stupid choices suddenly make perfect sense because they led him to this.

It was worth it. All of it.

Steve’s pace grows erratic and frantic before Tony feels him suddenly go still and then pulse deep inside him. Steve is gasping, he’s trembling, he’s squeezing Tony’s wrists, hard, crushing Tony into the bed with his weight, but it doesn’t matter. A couple of minutes pass like this, with Steve kissing his shoulders, the nape of his neck, behind his ears.

Then Steve fucks into him. Again.

“Again,” he growls, with the roughest voice Tony has ever heard come from him.

And it starts back from the top. Steve is relentless, looks at the same time like he knows exactly what he’s doing, but also like he has completely lost all control.

Tony has never felt more loved.

Steve releases Tony’s wrists, props himself up with one hand splayed between Tony’s shoulder blades. It doesn’t hurt, but Tony can’t move more than what’s strictly necessary to breathe.

“Tony, I’m gonna—”

“Yeah. I’m here.”

Steve’s hips stutter, his whole body shakes, until he throbs inside Tony and comes again, gritting his teeth, emitting a groan that tastes like that abyss inside him, made of all his regrets, of all the years in which doing this was an impossible fantasy, the silly delusion of a lonely boy who wanted to make a home out of a person and thought that person had no inclination to satisfy him.

Tony knows that abyss, he has one of his own to match Steve’s.

Tony isn’t entirely sure Steve went soft between the first time he came and when he started fucking Tony again, and he’s not sure Steve has gone soft now at all. He only knows that Steve is moving again.

“Again, please,” Steve chokes on the words, begging for something Tony has no intention of denying him, ever.

Tony murmurs, “Yeah,” and Steve picks Tony’s hips up, rearranges Tony’s limbs so he’s on all fours, all without pulling out. And then, as promised, Steve’s thighs slap against the back of Tony’s again.

It happens twice more. Tony isn’t gonna be able to walk for a week, and he couldn’t care less.

The last time, Tony is on his back, and Steve comes all over his lap. Steve looks at him for a minute, bewitched, it seems like he can’t quite process what’s before his eyes. Tony feels used up, but in a peculiar way, in a way that makes him feel— young.

Steve touches Tony’s soft dick, strokes it, smears his come all over it, gathers some drops and rubs them into Tony’s gray pubic hair, shoves two fingers into Tony again to pick up some more of his own come, uses it to massage Tony’s perineum. Steve keeps moving his hand on Tony, leisurely, patiently, until he’s more than half-hard.

Then he gets up, walks to the dresser, and takes something from a drawer. He comes back with his hand open so he can show it to Tony.

“That’s a— uh.”

“A silicone cock cage, yeah. It should help you—”

“Yeah, I know what it does.”

“Oh, you have— you have used it before?”

“As a matter of fact, actually I— I haven’t.”

Tony does nothing, this is just. It’s not that he doesn’t want to wear it, because he does. It’s just. Steve bought one. For him.

“You’re going to wear it, right? Is it okay?”

“Put it on me. Quick.”

The sensation is— wow. It’s like a constriction, in a way, but it feels— nice. Like it’s all over. It sends a rush of heat through him, and. It makes him feel— sensual. Like he hasn’t felt in a long time. He is covered in come, he is full of come, there’s probably come in his hair, and Tony should feel gross, maybe, but he just doesn’t.

He feels like he has centuries to live.

Steve is staring at him, eyes wide, lips open, holding a breath in his chest. “Tony, I— you look— you are perfect.”

Then Steve hugs him. Doesn’t kiss him, doesn’t touch him, he just takes Tony into his arms and keeps him there.

Tony comes in Steve’s mouth about twenty minutes later, still wearing the cock cage. His dick still doesn’t reach a full erection, but it hasn’t been this hard for this long in years.

***

After the weekend Steve feels as if his entire world has been tilted, like something very obvious has changed even though everything more or less looks the same.

He thinks about sex. With Tony. All. The. Time.

Which isn’t new, per se. He has loved Tony from afar for years. He has had a lot of very explicit dreams involving him, as sad as they always left him. He has been looking at Tony for the last thirteen years, worked with him, sparred with him, showered close to him, saved the world with him. He has always liked Tony, has always been very attracted to him.

But this is getting ridiculous. Steve had no idea.

He wants Tony constantly. He feels like he can barely function. The more he has, the more he wants. He dreams about being inside Tony while he has him wrapped up in his arms, and his own come is leaking onto his thighs from Tony’s ass. He dreams about sucking Tony off and wakes up with Tony’s taste still in his mouth from the night before. It’s driving Steve crazy.

The final straw is probably this: Steve schedules a meeting with Tony at his office at Stark Industries. Very important, very private, very urgent Avengers meeting. Steve should feel bad for lying, for taking Tony away from his business, from his work, from what pays to keep the whole team up and running.

But he doesn’t feel sorry.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Tony says as soon as he sees him. His face must be that obvious.

Steve clutches at the ziplock with the cock cage in his pocket. He feels a drop of sweat make its way down his back.

“Tony. Please,” Steve’s voice is shaky, strangled. This is humiliating. Tony is working. Steve can’t even look at him. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he whispers, staring at the floor.

“J, put the glass wall on private mode. Lock the door. Hold all my calls.”

“As you wish, sir.”

The next thing Steve knows is that he’s kissing Tony, and it feels like a relief, like he can breathe again. He’s trapped between Tony’s desk and his chair. He caresses Tony’s face while kissing him, shoulders hunched low.

The sun catches in Tony’s hair, makes it shine, makes it look like silver, like white light. Like he’s made of stars.

Tony squeezes at the bulge in Steve’s pants, and Steve comes. Tony swallows his shout.

With clever hands, Tony unbuckles Steve’s belt, opens his pants, and drags them down to his thighs together with his stained underwear. He starts licking at him, cleaning up the results of his pleasure from his groin. Steve is harder than before. Tony swallows him too, drinks his second orgasm when it hits him a few minutes later. Steve can’t keep his eyes open, his head is spinning, there’s Tony there, in front of him, there’s only Tony in the whole world.

“Steve—”

Steve kneels under Tony’s desk, tries to undo Tony’s pants but his fingers are shaking, sweating, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Tony bats his hands away and Steve wants to complain, to beg, but he doesn’t need to, because Tony is grabbing Steve’s hair and shoving his dick into Steve’s mouth and finally, finally, Steve’s brain stops screaming.

Steve searches for the cock cage in his pocket, takes his mouth off of Tony just for the time necessary to put it on him. He looks beautiful, even if he can’t get it up all the way; weirdly, because he can’t get it up all the way.

Steve hollows his cheek, makes a tight circle with his lips, bobs his head back and forth and feels all the ridges of the cage on Tony’s flesh, tries to get at his skin as much as possible with his tongue, feels his saliva drip down his chin and into the gray hair at the base of Tony’s dick; he’s making a mess of himself, he’s making a mess of them both.

His own dick is throbbing between his thighs, heavy and dark, and he touches himself just for a second, just to take the edge off, but he comes all over Tony’s expensive suit pants, and he feels like crying because he loves Tony so much.

Steve needs to breathe, he needs to calm down, he needs to take a minute and collect his thoughts but everything is so loud again and the only thing he can do is suck Tony off until he feels the familiar thick liquid flood his mouth, the comforting bitter taste on his tongue, the warmth of it make its way down his throat.

Tony’s cock goes soft and slips out of Steve’s mouth, Steve feels Tony flinch and he looks up at him, worried. Tony is crying.

“I love you—” he sobs, and Steve lifts his arms to hug him, keep him close, whisper in his ear that he loves him too and that he’s never gonna leave him, no matter what.

Tony kisses him, in a daze, then says, “There’s lube in that drawer if you wanna—” and Steve breathes out, “Yeah, yeah,” and scrambles to his feet.

Tony gets up too and bends over his desk, stomach down, and Steve can’t believe what seeing Tony like this does to his heart. He prepares him quickly, and when he slides in everything goes very still and very quiet.

Then something, something deep inside Steve, something that could actually be Tony, orders him to move, and he does, and it’s fast and frantic and almost brutal and he needs to be careful not to hurt Tony but Tony is moaning, keeps murmuring yesyesohgodyes, so Steve keeps going and going and going until all he can see is white.

He slumps onto Tony, and they slowly sink down to the floor, gasping. They stay like that for a few minutes, catching their breath, and Steve buries his nose into Tony’s hair from on top of him, inhales as deep as he can.

Then Steve fucks into Tony again.

Tony laughs.

***

Tony wakes up early, the first rays of sunshine making their way into the bedroom. The light hits Steve’s hair and makes it gleam, makes it look like gold, like he’s the sun itself. And he is. He is the center of Tony’s life.

Tony looks at him for a while, at his face, and the miniscule wrinkle next to his right eye, at his long eyelashes, his pink lips, the flawless curve of his shoulder.

Tony feels his heart clench behind the arc reactor. He’s going to have to leave him so soon. Steve will be alone for some time, mourning him, then hopefully he’ll find someone else. Someone who will make him happy in ways Tony can’t. By staying with him for more than a few years, maybe. By growing old with him instead of being already old from the get-go.

They’re ugly thoughts, he knows. He knows he shouldn’t think about this stuff, especially not first thing in the morning. But he keeps thinking about it, about Steve having to invent this whole thing with sex every day—twice a day—so he doesn’t feel like he’s dating an archaeological artifact. And the only moments when Tony doesn’t feel like he’s crumbling into a heap of ash is when Steve is inside him, when he comes in Steve’s mouth, when Steve tells him he loves him and he’s not gonna leave him.

It doesn’t matter if you won’t leave, Steve. I will.

“I can feel you thinking,” Steve slurs, still half asleep.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to—”

“It’s fine. What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

And Tony could lie. Could minimize. He could pretend it’s just work stuff, that he’s worried about something going on with Riri or Kamala or Miles or any of the other kids, but he knows that he can’t. He shouldn’t. He should tell Steve the truth, always. He can trust Steve. They’re building something. Something real. They’re making all their dreams come true. He can’t lie to Steve.

So he doesn’t.

He tells the truth. Confesses it all to Steve, cries against his chest, lets Steve hug him tight and kiss his hair while he shakes out of sheer rage, because this is so unfair. He lets it all out, and Steve doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look scared, doesn’t look disgusted, he doesn’t even look sad.

“You done?” Steve asks softly after a while.

Tony nods.

“Okay, listen to me now,” Steve pulls Tony’s chin up with his hand, makes Tony look at him. Tony feels ashamed, but he meets Steve’s eyes. “First of all, with our jobs, I could die tomorrow. Nothing is decided, anything could happen. You could end up being the one who has to spend years alone, Tony. We don’t know. No one knows, ever. But I don’t care. Being with you is the best thing that has happened to me in my entire life. I want to build my future with you. I chose you, I choose you every day. The way you make me feel— there’s nothing like it. Sometimes I can’t believe I love you this much. And I do find you hot, by the way, honestly, you’re supposed to be one of the smartest people in the world and you can’t figure out just why I can fuck you six times in a row, are you serious? This is bullsh—”

“I love you, too,” Tony interrupts him, smiling, because Steve always knows what to say to him, how to deal with him and his anxiety. Tony cuddles up closer to Steve’s body, closes his eyes.

“And don’t you dare call the love of my life an ‘archaeological artifact’ ever again. I was born in 1918, I know what I’m talking about.”

“The love of your life?”

“The love of my life.”

“Wanna fuck me six times in a row?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

***

It’s a Saturday morning. Steve wakes up with his arm still asleep because Tony’s head is resting on top of it. He tries to extricate himself as quietly as possible, but Tony stirs, sighs, yawns, and in the end opens his eyes.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Steve says, genuinely apologetic. Tony had an infernal day yesterday, and has another one scheduled for Monday. Meetings, meetings, and more meetings, for an important acquisition that would create tons of new jobs. Steve doesn’t understand the complexities of Tony’s business, but he does know that Tony was dead on his feet last night, restless, tense, and wasn’t in the mood for anything except taking a shower and going to bed. Which was fine, obviously. Tony needed to rest.

“Nah, don’t worry. I barely slept at all, the whole night. Shit,” Tony rubs his eyes, presses his face into Steve’s chest, breathes him in. “We missed last night,” he whispers after a while.

“Hey, it’s— it doesn’t matter. You were tired.”

“I’m still tired.”

“I know. We don’t have to do anything.”

“Or— we could.”

“We could?”

“I need to stop thinking about this whole shitshow. I need to relax.”

“You sure?”

“I— uh. I am. If that’s okay with you.”

It’s okay with Steve. He settles between Tony’s thighs, strokes his soft dick with delicate brushes of his fingers, massages his balls, presses on his prostate from his perineum. Tony groans. Steve gets an idea: he makes Tony roll on the bed until he is stomach down, spreads his cheeks apart, nips at the plump meat of Tony’s ass for a bit until Tony hisses, and then, without much preamble, he licks Tony’s hole.

Tony’s entire body shakes, like it’s electrified, and a string of unrepeatable curses comes out of his mouth. Steve presses his tongue in, careful, caressing Tony’s tender skin. This should gross him out, probably, but it just feels— intimate. Like a secret. Like trust.

He grabs the lube from Tony’s hand and coats his fingers, pushes in tentatively but the ring of muscles has already been worked loose, the intrusion is easier than usual.

Tony props himself up with a hand on the mattress, twists his hips and turns to look down at Steve, says, “I’m hard, Steve, I’m—”

Steve moves fast: has Tony lay on his side, keeps his fingers buried in him, swallows Tony’s cock down. Tony regains some brain function and gets Steve’s hint, starts moving his hips and fucks Steve’s face, fucks himself on Steve’s fingers. Steve hears him scream at some point, sob; looks up and sees Tony crying.

God. He adores this man.

Tony comes in Steve’s throat and trembles in his arms for a while, then says, “Please, fuck me. As hard as you can.” And Steve does.

He pounds into Tony as fast as he can, pushes in as deep as he can go, kisses Tony’s tears away from his face, swallows all his moans, takes it all in.

As it often happens, Steve resumes thrusting into Tony a couple of minutes after coming inside him. But after a bit, Tony yawns, and Steve stops, tries to pull out.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re falling asleep.”

“Yeah, I’m— it worked,” Tony laughs.

“I’ll let you rest.”

“Mh. Or. You could keep going.”

He can’t be serious.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I— I am, actually. I’m very serious.”

“Tony—”

“No, listen to me. I need sleep. I can’t sleep. You fucking me makes me less worried about work shit. You clearly want to keep going. This is a win-win situation. I trust you, Steve.”

And Steve wants to say no. No, actually, he knows he should say no. That this is just— too much. But Tony’s inner walls clench around him. He looks down at himself disappearing into Tony, lube and his own come slicking the way in. He looks at Tony’s lap, at his soft belly, at the blue light in his chest and the scars around it, at his gray hair that he loves so much. He takes in his skin, his scent, all his wrinkles, his pliant muscles, the hollow of his throat, the perfect shape of his nose.

“Alright,” he says in the end, quietly.

“Steve,” Tony’s tone is earnest and eager, he strokes Steve’s arm, reassuring, “It’ll be good. You’ll make good use of me.”

Tony falls asleep quickly. His body is fully relaxed beneath Steve, warm and compact and under Steve’s total control. Under his care. Tony’s breathing is regular and slow, he really is sleeping. And he let Steve do this. He gave himself up to Steve, completely. He said, I trust you, and fell asleep while Steve was fucking him. And Steve is going to be worthy of that trust. He’s not going to disappoint Tony.

Tony, beautiful, beautiful Tony, who trusts Steve to look after his numb body, his perfect body, his exhilarating body; who lets Steve use him like this; who is willing to be the means to an end for Steve’s needs; who offered himself up for Steve’s pleasure like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Like Steve deserved it.

***

Tony wakes up to Steve hiding his face in the crook of Tony’s neck, gritting his teeth and shaking through his orgasm. Tony feels like his muscles and his bones are made of clay, he feels all— tender and soft and— squishy. Like he’s made of clouds. Of whipped cream.

On top of that, Tony feels incredibly warm. But most of all, he feels full.

Full of Steve.

“Hello,” he mumbles, and Steve sighs into the hollow of his throat, breathing hard, muscles taut with exertion.

“T-Tony,” he shudders, so Tony wraps him up in his arms, kisses his forehead.

“How many times?” he asks, trying to sound just curious.

“It’s the— This was the eighth, I’m— I can’t stop—”

Holy shit. Holy shit.

Tony focuses on the point where Steve’s body meets his, and doesn’t feel like it’s hurting at all. He feels completely open, a bit sore, maybe, but there’s no unpleasant friction. Steve must have added lots of lube while Tony was sleeping, and with all that come inside him, Tony feels wet, slick, loose.

Full.

Tony looks at Steve’s face, twisted in desperation, he looks lost and dangerous, devastated, distraught. He looks young. He’s been crying, he’s sobbing now.

“Steve, are you— hey, hey. Are you okay?”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, his heart is hammering in his chest. He can’t breathe. He shakes his head.

“Hey. It’s okay. Everything’s okay, my love.”

Steve is visibly reassured by Tony’s words, he takes in big gulps of air, opens his eyes slowly, he’s trying to calm down. Tony keeps him close to his chest.

It happens in a second. Tony contracts the muscles around Steve. Steve twitches inside him. A shiver goes through his whole body. Steve props himself up with his hands on the bed, movements uncharacteristically unsure, and he fucks into Tony again.

Steve whines, whimpers. It’s pitiful, he looks like he’s in pain. Tony feels come gush out of him with every thrust, hears it making a squelching noise that is straight up pornographic, and he realizes exactly what it is that has reduced Steve to this state.

Lust.

It’s the fact that Steve doesn’t just want him because he loves him. Steve wants him because he wants him. Because he really does find Tony hot as hell. Tony feels such a rush of happiness that he almost starts crying too. Again.

Being accepted like this, for everything you are, for all the things that make you, you it’s— it’s the stuff of legends.

“I love you. Steve. You did great. This is amazing. Hey. Look at me. This is incredible, you’re incredible. You’ve been perfect.”

Steve stops, catches Tony’s mouth in a sloppy kiss that tastes of tears.

“Tony, you— you feel so— you’re so warm and so full, and I— I just couldn’t— I can’t—”

“Don’t stop. Go on. I’m here.”

Steve comes inside of Tony twice more. When he slips out, he rests his head on Tony’s stomach for a whole ten minutes, in silence, until he breathes normally again. He turns to look up, and—

“You’re so beautiful when you’re asleep.”

Tony just smiles at him, huge and sincere.

Steve moves down the bed, lies down between Tony’s legs. Pushes a couple of fingers into Tony’s body, but Tony feels them like from a great distance. He feels the warm liquid inside him trickle down the crack of his ass. The sheets are wet with it.

Steve plants a hand on Tony’s lower abdomen and presses down; looks, enthralled, at Tony’s hole, leaking out more and more of Steve’s come.

“Do you think— I mean, I know it isn’t possible—I think it isn’t, at least, but—what if I could see how full you were right now. Full of me. Like. If your belly swelled up with it. It would be— I’d like that, I think. I’d like that. It’s a weird thing to say, isn’t it? It’s weird, I’m sorry.” Steve says this whole thing very fast, but also in a shy way, awkwardly.

Tony smiles. “I don’t think you’re weird, my love.”

Steve smiles back.

***

So. Tony let Steve fuck him while he was sleeping. And Steve kind of lost it at some point, but it was fine in the end. Tony was happy. Steve was happy.

Good god. He fucked Tony. While Tony was sleeping.

What the hell.

It was amazing, though. Tony’s unconscious body completely entrusted to him. It made Steve feel— powerful, in a good way. He felt like Tony was his like nothing else had ever been. Like Tony was a part of Steve himself. Like Steve was deserving of protecting the most precious thing in the world. Like he was the only one that could do it.

It’s strange. It brings strange thoughts to Steve’s mind.

Tony stirs on the bed next to Steve. The room is dark, it’s the middle of the night. Steve feels restless, as if he needs to— as if he needs to be inside Tony, again, and it’s just.

This is too much. It’s becoming too much.

Tony turns to face him. He’s awake, and he looks at Steve for a long moment without saying anything. Then he straddles Steve’s hips and kisses him, his tongue reaching deep into Steve’s mouth; Steve can taste a drop of his own dried up come on Tony’s bottom lip.

Steve feels a warm liquid on his lap, it’s his come trickling out of Tony’s ass. God, Tony’s so full all the time. It’s in him, on him; he needs to take two showers a day. Steve wants to keep him like this as much as possible. Just— dripping with it, and then fill him up again.

Tony reaches for the lube on the bedside table, slides down Steve’s thighs so he can slick him up. His fingers are shaking. Steve just looks at him, wants to stop him, wants to warn him, to say, Wait, no, Tony, don’t do it like this, you’ll hurt yourself, but Tony is already sinking down on him without displaying any sign that he thought about preparing himself at all.

But, oh, he’s still so open. He’s so warm Steve feels like it’s burning. He’s wet and just ready for Steve.

Steve fucks up into him, bottoms out, and Tony’s voice does something that doesn’t even sound like him at all.

“Night— nightmare,” Tony chokes out, an explanation, a request for comfort.

He adjusts himself on Steve, props himself up on Steve’s chest, and rolls his hips.

Steve feels like he’s dying and going to heaven.

Tony speeds up, but his dick is still soft and slaps against him in a way that looks painful and unpleasant and sort of ridiculous; he tries to cup himself to keep it in place, but it makes him lose balance.

Tony lifts himself up on his knees, lets Steve slip out of him, mutters, “This isn’t working, fuck everything, where the fuck—,” opens the first drawer of Steve’s bedside table and starts rummaging in it.

Steve has no idea what Tony is doing, he only knows that come and lube are leaking out of Tony and onto Steve’s stomach so Steve shoves three fingers into Tony’s hole, to keep everything inside. To keep himself inside.

Tony shouts, “Finally,” takes Steve’s fingers out of himself and sinks back down on his dick. In his hands Steve sees the cock cage.

Tony wears it even if he’s still barely half-hard, places Steve’s hand on himself, and Steve feels him getting harder, but Tony has never been hard while Steve was inside him before.

Oh.

Tony fucks himself on Steve ruthlessly, viciously, and lets Steve go so deep, too deep, it’s too damn much—

Steve surges up, circles Tony’s back with his arm and with a quick thrust of his hips he has Tony pinned beneath him, his back on the bed, and he fucks into him like he did that first time, fast and short and shallow, so he hits Tony’s prostate every time.

Steve comes at some point, but he almost doesn’t even notice. He stays hard as a rock, doesn’t want to catch his breath—he doesn’t need to. He only needs Tony.

Tony is screaming and crying, he looks like he wants to say something, but just can’t; he only manages a strangled yeah now and then.

Steve stops thrusting and strokes Tony’s dick again, and it doesn’t take much for him to come, with a pained sob that struggles to come out and just dies in his throat.

Oh.

With very quick movements Steve gets up from the bed and takes Tony with him, keeps him impaled on his cock. He turns, walks a few steps, shoves Tony up against a wall and fucks into him again, fast and deep.

“M—more,” Tony whispers, and Steve doesn’t know what to do except reach down with his hand and slide his forefinger into him right next to his own cock.

After that, Tony doesn’t seem like he can do anything, he can’t even scream, he stops making noises altogether. Steve is almost worried for a minute, but Tony presses his hand to Steve cheek, leans in for a kiss, and Steve just keeps going, wordless, until he’s come three more times.

Eventually they stumble back to the bed, falling into it in a tangle of limbs. Steve guides Tony up on all fours, fucks into him again, and without even realizing he’s doing it, he slaps his hand against Tony’s ass.

Tony whimpers. Steve does it again. And again.

Steve feels Tony clench around him with every blow.

Steve spanks Tony’s ass over and over, until Tony is crying again, until Steve comes for the last time and his dick finally softens a bit.

They slump on the bed, pressed against each other, and Steve isn’t entirely sure, but he thinks that when he falls asleep he’s still inside Tony.

***

The morning after they wake up slowly.

Tony can barely move. He is in pain, but it’s a good kind pain. If all the pain Tony will ever feel for the rest of his life would be like this, then you could sign him up.

Steve carries him to the bathroom, passes a wet towel down between Tony’s cheeks. Then he fills the tub with hot water, helps Tony in and settles behind his back.

Steve has a displeased expression on his face, like he’s sad, guilty.

“I love you,” Tony says, because it’s true. Steve smiles at him, hesitant, but sincere.

“I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I’m not. And I can handle it, anyway. I’m a superhero.”

“Let me clean you up,” Steve says, and his hands are careful and attentive on Tony’s skin, gentle, as if to make up for last night. As if he’s trying to atone for sins no one is holding him accountable for.

Tony doesn’t need Steve to do this, but Steve needs to do it for himself and for Tony, so Tony lets him. In the end, when Steve is toweling Tony’s feet dry, he is more serene, less wistful. He helps Tony into comfortable clothes, wears something warm himself, and he leads Tony to the couch in the living room. He drapes the blanket over Tony’s legs, makes them hot chocolate. They spend the day watching old movies, Tony leaning his head on Steve’s shoulder or resting it on his thighs, while Steve plays with his hair.

“I love your hair,” Steve says, very quietly, as if he’s ready to pretend he didn’t say anything if Tony doesn’t hear him.

“You do? I’m— I can probably dye it if you wan—”

“What? No! Don’t you dare. It’s perfect like this.”

“You like it?”

“Yeah. I like everything about you. But especially your hair.”

“That’s— adorable. Thank you.”

“Remember that time during the Halloween party a couple of years ago, I picked up a confetti from your hair and combed it back with my fingers?”

“I do. I remember. I thought you were lingering, but I couldn’t figure out why. Ha.”

“Remember I had to excuse myself right after—”

“Oh my god, Steve. Don’t tell me you—”

There’s a bashful smile on Steve’s face now, his cheeks are very pink. “I did. And it was great, and I won’t allow you to take it away from me.”

“Not going to, big guy.”

Tony lowers his head back on Steve’s thighs, JARVIS plays the movie again. Tony can feel Steve’s fingers caressing his scalp.

***

One morning Steve and Tony are woken up by the Avengers alarm blaring through every room of the tower. They suit up quickly, deal with the Wrecking Crew, come back home in time for lunch, debriefing included. In the afternoon, Tony runs to R&D for an important experiment with Riri, Steve has a sparring session scheduled with Natasha.

When Steve goes up to the penthouse after dinner, Tony isn’t there. He isn’t worried; he knows where Tony is. Maybe he’s just staying behind to keep an eye on something. Around midnight Steve starts to feel too tired to stay on the couch, so he goes to sleep.

Steve wakes up in the morning to an empty bed.

“Sir has yet to return to the penthouse, Captain,” JARVIS informs him before he has a chance to ask.

“Do you know where he is right now?”

“Sir is currently located in the workshop. He has been there since 10:23 p.m. last night.”

“He’s alone?”

“Indeed he is, Captain.”

And that’s the exact moment that Wade calls him, and of course he’s going to help Wade with his case and hopefully keep him from getting into the mess of the century.

So, all in all, by the time he comes back home in the evening, he is painfully aware that he and Tony have missed three dick gym sessions. At least.

“Sir is still in his workshop, Captain, in case you were wondering.”

“Thank you, JARVIS.”

Steve takes a long shower, jacks off to unwind a bit and to calm down so he can avoid meeting Tony in this somewhat pitiful state.

His mind drifts inevitably to Tony, to his body softened by the years, to the grace he effortlessly puts in every single movement, to how magnificent he looks in the Iron Man armor, to how amazing he is when he’s inventing something, to his shiny hair. Only Tony can make him feel like this. Only Tony can reduce him to this. The serum made Steve’s libido and stamina something unheard of, but Tony— the things Tony can do to him are just beyond reason.

When he closes the door of the workshop behind him, Steve finds himself immersed in blue light. Tony is at the center of the room, sitting on a stool, moving his arms in every direction to send inputs to the system. It’s a thinking spree then, not a building one. It’s all theory right now, it’s all in the mind.

Steve loves watching Tony create things. He loves seeing him in ragged jeans and an old tank top, arc reactor poking out, glasses perched on his nose, streaks of motor oil all over him, his shoulders hunched low, concentrating hard on a piece of armor, on one of Clint and Kate’s exploding arrows, on a prototype for a machine that can and will redefine the medical field. But he loves it even more when Tony is like this: inventing, discovering, imagining things and ways to make them real. It’s beautiful, it’s breathtaking, it’s— hot as hell.

Tony hasn’t seen him yet. Steve doesn’t want to startle him, so he waits by the door without saying anything. His dick doesn’t particularly agree with this plan, but Steve is going to make it behave.

Tony turns. He sighs, exasperated, closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, lifting his glasses with the gesture.

“You can’t be se— What the hell are you doing here?” The words are bitter, unkind. Steve’s cheeks blush.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you, it’s just that we missed—”

“Oh my god, Steve, come on. This thing is getting stupid. And we both know it’s not really for me.”

Steve feels his face fall. “Of course it’s for you, Tony. I mean, I’d be lying if I said it’s not fun for me as well, but if you don’t want to do this then just tell me and I can deal with it.”

“Can you?” Why is Tony so angry? “I’m away for a couple of hours and you come in here like this.”

“You’ve been away for almost twenty-four hours.”

“I ha— What?”

“It’s Wednesday night, Tony. It’s almost ten.”

Tony just looks at him. Opens his mouth, closes it. Opens it again, closes it again. His brain is working. He lowers his head, sighs. He’s tired. “I’m sorry. Guess the three missed orgasms explain why I’m being such an asshole.”

Steve sort of wants to laugh. “You must stop ignoring JARVIS when he tells you to eat or sleep. Usually those are clues to gauge how long you’ve been here.”

“I know, I know. You know how I get when I’m thinking,” he pauses, grimaces, “I didn’t mean the stuff I said. The bad thoughts just poke their heads out when I’m tired.”

“I know.”

“I’m really sorry I snapped.”

“I know. Want to do something about it?” Steve smiles, inviting.

“Yeah. Let me wrap this up, okay?”

Steve waits on the couch, looks at Tony make notes on his project, things to do, things to check, things to finish, things to discuss with Riri.

Steve wakes up half an hour later on that same couch, with Tony sitting in his lap and kissing his neck. He must have showered in the workshop bathroom, his hair is damp. He is wearing a tank top and— nothing else.

Well. Isn’t this interesting.

“Hello, Iron Man.”

Tony looks down at himself. “Not really, right now.”

“Didn’t mean it like that.” Steve pauses, “Give it a minute. We can do other stuff in the meantime.”

“You had something in mind?”

“You have no idea.”

Steve takes one of the pillows on the couch, drops it on the floor. “Kneel on it, Avenger.”

“I love how you’re always thinking about my old bones.” Tony jokes, but Steve sees the moment when Tony looks at his eyes and realizes that, well, okay. Time for another kind of fun.

Tony kneels, and Steve walks up to him, towering over him with a smirk on his face. Tony looks unsure of what’s about to happen, which is very rare for him.

Steve crouches down, picks up the hem of Tony’s tank top and takes it off of him, leaving him completely naked. Steve goes back to his feet, lowers the waistband of his sweatpants to free his cock, hard and aching, guiding and pushing it past Tony’s lips without much warning.

It’s warm, but not wet enough. Steve stays there, without moving, waits for Tony to gather saliva into his mouth. When he’s ready, Steve buries his hand into Tony’s hair, looks at his fingers disappear between the silver strands. He grabs at it, yanks, makes Tony groan deep in his throat. He starts fucking Tony’s face slowly, but mercilessly.

Tony closes his eyes, looks like he doesn’t want anything else in the world than Steve using him like this, loving him like this.

Steve takes the base of his dick, pulls out of Tony’s mouth, teases him, caresses his lips with the head. It’s fun looking at Tony trying to catch it, but having a very small range of movements, he grows impatient. And he’s dizzy, so he just lets his mouth go slack and hopes Steve will be benevolent and fill it up again. And Steve is.

When he feels close, Steve draws out once more. He stares at Tony, touches his face to make him open his eyes. Tony tries, but it’s difficult. “I really want you to keep your eyes open, Avenger,” Steve demands, and Tony steels himself, breathes deeply, opens his eyes, meets Steve’s.

Steve secures his grip on Tony’s hair, takes himself in hand, starts jacking off fast, never breaking eye contact with Tony. He thumbs at Tony’s lips to make him open his mouth again.

Steve comes all over Tony’s face, on his tongue, in his hair. It drips down his neck.

Tony looks surprised, a bit lost, keeps staring at Steve for guidance, his eyes wide in question, was I good to you?

Steve kneels down in front of him, takes his face in his hands, licks at his own come on Tony’s skin, his tongue swiping across Tony’s graying goatee and it makes Steve go hard again.

A drop of come drips off Tony’s jaw and onto the glass of the arc reactor. Steve looks at it, looks at Tony. Tony nods. Steve licks it off, slowly, careful not to put too much pressure on the glass even if he’s pretty sure it doesn’t make a big difference, and he knows that Tony can’t really feel it.

“Steve—”

Tony sits on his heels, and Steve notices: Tony is hard, all on his own, again, without any help.

Steve gets up only to kneel again behind Tony, hides his face in the crook of Tony’s neck, sucks at the skin there, places one hand on Tony’s stomach, grazing with his thumb at the scars on his chest, and starts jacking Tony off with the other. His erection is— it’s almost complete.

“I’m going to take care of you now, sweetheart,” Steve whispers into Tony’s ear.

***

It goes on. And Tony— fuck, Tony is becoming stupid with it.

He thinks about sex a lot. He hasn’t thought about sex this much in decades. He thinks about Steve, and his mind goes to dirtier places than it ever did before they were together, when he spent his nights pining and dreaming of a very specific warm body next to him. On him. In him.

Jeez.

The thing is, it’s just— he’s on an endorphin rush all the time. He’s not sure a sixty-year-old guy can handle all these orgasms. Not one with his heart issues, anyway.

It’s not like Steve is forcing him, obviously. When Tony really can’t, really doesn’t have time, really doesn’t want to, Steve backs off. But it’s still sex at least twice a day most days. Tony feels weak in his legs. He feels like he’s happy all the time. Which is weird. And when for one reason or another they can’t have all the sex they’re used to having, Tony becomes kind of nervous, and a bit more of an asshole than he feels comfortable being.

But the fact remains: this thing, as crazy as it sounded at the beginning, as absurd as it has been, it actually worked.

And Tony really didn’t expect that. What the hell. Medical advice on the internet is supposed to be bullshit. Are there no more sacred things in this world?

But his erections are good. They’re great. They’re firmer, longer, he reaches his orgasm way more easily than before, when he basically had to beg the guy to stay up long enough to get to the end. His refractory period is still, like, six hours, but he didn’t expect that to change. The cock cage has been a great help. It still makes him feel so sexy , the black silicone against his flushed skin, seeing it poke out of Steve’s mouth, it makes him harder than he can be on his own. And he can get hard on his own again, without much coaxing, even while Steve’s inside him from time to time, which is really amazing.

And then there’s his prostate, which is. He doesn’t even know. It’s very sensitive, way more than a few years ago. Steve rubs at it every night, with his fingers, with his dick, and it’s. It’s fucking heaven.

So yeah, it’s great. Tony really feels like this could go on forever if they were, uh, not Avengers, you know. They’ve been lucky, so far, with their free time, but they can’t keep this routine up indefinitely, it will mess with their work life. It’s messing with them, in a way, too.

So he decides that it’s time to talk with Steve about it.

And the weirdest thing of all, actually, is that Steve agrees.

Steve misses going for a run early in the morning, watching the sun rise from the park, moving through the streets. Some days he just wants to take a shower and cuddle in the evening. He has a libido that sometimes just won’t leave him in peace, and he is able to fuck Tony a minimum of six times in a row whenever he wants, but that doesn’t mean he has to do it every day.

It’s always great, because they’re in love and they love having sex with each other, but even for Steve it’s starting to feel a bit like a chore. They both want it to be more— spontaneous, Tony thinks.

But the issue of Tony’s erections is still there, of course. They can’t just stop, it could be bad for him. So they agree: sex once a day, doesn’t matter when, depending on work and whatever else they have to do. Could be better at night for both of them, but Steve knows sometimes Tony wakes up to a spike of anxiety, so he’s willing to help with those even if he has to postpone his run, or not go that day. But if they’re tired, not in the mood, don’t want to for whatever reason, they can skip a day. Sex marathons keep being a thing they do, not every weekend, but once a month, or when and if they really feel like it. About once a week, when Steve feels really keyed up; when his sexual drive really isn’t letting him live, they’ll try to do something about it. If it happens more frequently or if at any point either of them feels like anything needs to be changed, they’ll talk about it and decide each time.

Like they always do. They work things out. Compromise. Listen to each other. Like a real couple.

This is what they are. Together.

And after all this talking and agreeing and deciding, Tony asks, “Wanna make me do some dick exercises, soldier?” and Steve says, “Go get naked, Avenger. I’ll get the cock cage.” And that’s how Tony ends up kneeling on his heels on their bed, cage snapped on, two of Steve’s fingers fucking into him relentlessly, brushing at his prostate over and over and over again, and Tony is going crazy, he’s completely losing it; he can’t think anymore, there’s nothing he can focus on except what Steve is making him feel right now, and just ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod, and—

And he slumps over and cries into the crook of Steve’s neck, his eyes squeezed shut in an effort not to black out because of how absolutely good this feels, it’s incredible, it’s unreal, and oh god—

Steve touches him with his free hand, thrusts harder into him with his fingers, says, “You’ve never been this hard before,” he strokes once, twice, three times, and Tony comes, suddenly, violently, shaking all over, sobbing, screaming, losing every shred of control he has ever had over himself.

Steve is holding him, clutching him to his chest, chanting into his ear hey, hey I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I love you, you’re perfect, I love you. Tony tries to breathe, but he can’t, and everything goes dark.

He wakes up to Steve’s worried face looking at him.

“Did you just come so hard you passed out?” He asks, and he probably wants to sound angry, but it ends up being just concerned and kind of impressed.

“I fucking love you, Steve Rogers.”

***

A few months later

Tony opens his eyes. It’s May 29th. Today he is sixty-one years old.

Steve is breathing quietly next to him. He’s lying on his side, facing Tony, one hand tucked between the pillow and his cheek, the other resting on Tony’s hip under the covers. Tony looks at him, at how perfect he is. He is just— flawless. The sun hits his skin and makes it glow. His eyelashes are the most amazing shade of gold. That single wrinkle next to his eye is still there, unchanged. His lips are the same pink they’ve always been.

The sunshine catches in Steve’s hair. Tony smooths it back with his fingers, as delicately as possible, so he doesn’t wake Steve up.

Then Tony sees it: there, hidden by the tuft of hair that usually falls on Steve’s forehead, just on the hairline, there are a few strands of white.