Fic: Babysitting
Title: Babysitting
Fandom: Iron Man/Marvel
Rating: Ohoho that would be an M
Disclaimer: If I owned it, the gay would be way more obvious.
Summary: Stark turns to look at Coulson. "So I'm about to be naked and wet. Fair warning."
Note: SEE I WROTE HAPPY!TONY YOU GUYS. I TOLD YOU I COULD DO IT. Also, this was supposed to just be a cute little UST piece, and then Coulson just didn't know when to back the fuck off with his sexy dom-ness, and this happened.
Note 2: REMEMBER DON'T SPOIL etc.
Babysitting
Until today, Stark has been surprisingly well-behaved, now that Coulson reflects on it. As he leans against the wall, enjoying the air conditioning after the heat of New Mexico, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent tries to ignore the sounds of retching coming from the bathroom. He probably should have kept a closer eye on Stark, assigned someone to babysit him properly. Director Fury would call it a waste of resources, but as he winces in sympathy, Coulson can't help but think that it would be a solid investment in keeping Iron Man fit for duty.
"Well fuck me," Stark calls from the bathroom, voice shaky and abused.
"While you smell like vomit?" Coulson can't resist asking. He turns as the door opens, and a sweaty, ill-looking Tony Stark stands there for a moment glaring at him before turning to the sink. Coulson stifles a smile, stepping closer. "You know you can't keep doing this, Stark." He settles against the bathroom wall between the towel rack and the door.
"Hey, fuck you," Stark says, dribbling bits of toothpaste and vomit onto his chin. Coulson wrinkles his nose as Stark finds a towel and cleans it off, tossing the towel into a hamper in the corner. "I'm allowed a little celebration when I don't die."
Coulson raises an eyebrow. "You do realize the irony of celebrating your continued life by massacring your internal organs, right?"
"Hey," Stark says, rinsing his toothbrush, "you have your parties, I have mine." He turns the faucet off with a decisive snap of his fingers and turns to look at Coulson. "So I'm about to be naked and wet. Fair warning."
Coulson shrugs. "Fine by me."
Stark grins, beginning to tug his sweaty t-shirt over his head. "Kinky." Coulson's eyes focus on Stark's chest as the shirt is dropped on the ground. Stark smirks when they linger. "Like what you see?"
Coulson nods. "Yes, it looks like the effects of the palladium have vanished."
Stark rolls his eyes, mumbling about goddamn agents ignoring his goddamn sexiness, and pulls down the waistband of his flannel sleep pants. Coulson is hardly surprised to see that Stark is going commando, and on a certain level the view is nice, Stark is attractive, but mostly Coulson is just interested in the gash on Stark's leg. He remembers a line in the report about a piece of armor buckling inwards and injuring Stark, and it's healing, but it still looks pretty nasty. "You taking care of that?" he asks, pointing at Stark's leg in clarification when the man opens his mouth to make some sort of lewd joke.
"Pepper has me smearing some nasty goo on it, don't worry," Stark says, casually toeing his pants off of one ankle, then the other. He steps away, and Coulson resists the urge to roll his eyes as Stark strikes a pose. If he were off the clock (extremely off the clock), Coulson might find it attractive. However, not only is he on the clock, but Stark is his most difficult assignment. Coulson finds it difficult to find sexual interest in his assignments.
Stark steps into his shower, which turns on automatically, already hot. His voice echoes off of the tiles as Coulson shifts, settling himself more comfortably against the wall. "So why are you here, anyways?"
"Babysitting," Coulson says, making sure to inject just the right amount of aggravation into his voice.
"You know I can handle myself, right?"
"Somehow I doubt that, Stark."
"Well," Stark says, poking his dripping head out of the shower to leer shamelessly, "you could always handle me, if you wanted." Coulson gives him that extra special look of disdain he saves for the most deserving occasions, even as Stark's head vanishes behind the shower curtain again. A moment later, it pops back out. "I'm talking about my penis, Coulson."
"I got that, Stark."
"Why don't you call me Tony?"
"I don't see the need to."
"My friends call me Tony."
"They may do that."
"Ouch," Stark says, vanishing again. The smell of shampoo fills Coulson's nostrils, and he has to admit that it isn't too bad. It smells like oranges, and maybe vanilla, and Coulson can't help the little chuckle. "What?" Stark asks.
"You know you're going to smell like a creamsicle, right?"
"Baby, you can smell my creamsicle all nig--"
"I have my Taser, Stark."
"Jerk."
"You wish," Coulson says smugly. He nearly laughs when Stark's head, heaped high with suds, pops out of the shower again, mouth agape.
"Agent Coulson, I think you just made a joke."
"I am capable of it, you know."
"No you aren't," Stark says, shaking his head emphatically. An enormous puff of suds slides neatly down his face, into his eyes and mouth, and Stark splutters loudly, ducking back under the water. When he re-emerges, eyes a little red, Coulson raises his eyebrows. "No you aren't," Stark repeats. "You'd have to be human for that."
"Well I am human."
"No you aren't," Stark says yet again. "You're some kind of weird Coulsonbot. It's the only way you could manage to be so..." Stark makes a vague, flapping gesture in Coulson's direction. "So you."
Coulson shakes his head. "Your eloquence, as always, astounds me."
Stark gives him an odd look before resuming his shower. "I don't know how I feel about this new snark feature. Let me tinker around with your software, maybe I can fix it."
"You'd have to buy me dinner for that, you know," Coulson says. The thought occurs to him that he should really stop this bantering-flirting-joking thing they have going on, but it's fun. The water turns off, and the curtain retracts on its own with a quiet whirring sound. Stark steps out, the light catching droplets of water as they slide down his skin. He stands on the mat in front of Coulson, silent, eyes a little challenging.
"Yes?" Coulson says eventually.
"Hand me a towel."
Coulson glances lazily to his left and sees the towel on the rack. He looks back at Stark, eyes cool. "Say 'please'."
They stare for a few more seconds before Stark, eyes half-lidded, chest moving a little more quickly, says, "Please." Coulson turns, picks up the towel, and holds it out to Stark. Stark takes the dark blue material, fingers brushing Coulson's. "Thanks," Stark says quietly. Coulson nods graciously.
Stark takes a step back, moving the towel across his skin. His eyes flicker back and forth between Coulson's, still filled with a challenge, and Coulson's gaze doesn't move down or away or anywhere else. Stark's tongue moves across his lips, a thin, nervous swipe that Coulson knows isn't intentional. He smiles a little.
When Stark moves to put the towel away, Coulson stops him. He takes the towel from Stark's unresisting hand and steps forward. He wipes the towel slowly across Stark's chest, chasing a droplet as it slides down the arc reactor. He looks up, eyes meeting Stark's, and finds the man watching him with a slightly dazed expression. Coulson allows the corner of his mouth to twitch upwards, and steps away again. Stark's fingers clutch at Coulson's jacket, a momentary tug before Stark's hands fall limp at his sides. Coulson feels his smile widen. "Yes?"
Stark blinks a few times, seems to clear his head. He opens his mouth, expression already telling Coulson that he's about to be on the receiving end of a really terrible joke. Suddenly, he decides he doesn't want to hear Stark's joke. "Don't say anything," he says, agent voice in full force, making it an honest to god command. Stark's eyes widen, and Coulson watches as Stark's throat bobs up and down. Coulson decides to hell with it, he wants to see how far this will go. "In the bedroom," he says, same clipped, stern voice as before, and Stark's silent, moving through the door. Feeling his heart beat a little faster, Coulson follows him.
Stark stands awkwardly next to the bed, clearly out of his depth, erection drawing Coulson's eye. Coulson points at the floor. "Kneel," he says, and he could swear Stark's legs just buckle, kneecaps hitting the carpet with a soft thud. "Legs directly under you," he clarifies, and Stark moves to comply. Coulson moves around Stark, adjusting his stance, making him sit up straight and tall, each hand neatly atop a thigh. Crouching down in front of him, Coulson looks steadily into Stark's eyes. "Stark," he says, voice calm, "I want you to let me know if we need to stop. You will tell me clearly, and I will back off immediately. Do you understand?" Seeing Stark's mouth begin to open, he adds, "No talking," Closing his mouth again, Stark nods silently.
Reach around to the back of Stark's head, Coulson grips a handful of hair. "Tell me if I need to stop," he reminds Stark, and begins to pull. He pulls gently at first, slowly increasing the pressure, until Stark's head is bent backwards, and his eyes are watering. Stark never tells him to stop, though, and Coulson nods approvingly. Stark's throat, still a little damp, is arched towards him, and Coulson, loosening his grip the slightest bit, puts his free hand down on the floor and leans forward to take Stark's throat in his mouth.
Coulson feels the vibration go through his teeth as Stark moans loudly, and he shifts his head, sucking hard on the warmth of Stark's skin. Stark starts to lean back, but Coulson tugs his hair sharply. "Don't move," he says, mouth still against Stark's skin. Stark's muscles shift against Coulson's chest as he straightens back up, and Coulson rewards him with a firm bite, teeth pushing against the muscles. Stark shudders, hand lifting involuntarily from his leg before settling again.
Coulson lifts his head and pulls Stark sharply towards him. He isn't quite prepared for Stark's weight against him, and they tip backwards, Coulson on the bottom, onto the softness of the carpet. Coulson laughs quietly, looking up at Stark's eyes. They meet in the middle, lips moving breathlessly against each other, and Stark's hands are tangled in Coulson's jacket again. His grip tightens when Coulson bites his lip, not bothering to be gentle, and Stark's hips are moving against him. Coulson puts a hand between them, pushes at Stark's chest, arc reactor cool next to the heat of Stark's skin, until Stark is sitting up, still sitting on Coulson's hips.
Coulson just leans back for a moment, eyes moving up and down Stark's body. He takes in the flushed skin, the trembling lips, the needy eyes, the slight jerking movement of the hips, the marks of his own damn teeth blooming dark on Stark's throat... he doesn't want to forget what this looks like. Stark gives him an exasperated look, mouth opening, but Coulson's hand is on Stark's throat, squeezing just enough, and Stark groans instead, hips moving again. Coulson lets out a soft gasp as Stark moves against his erection, and Stark grins, moving again, as Coulson lets his hand fall away from Stark's throat. Coulson's teeth sink into his own lip this time. Stark's hands rest on Coulson's shoulders, a question in his eyes, and Coulson nods his permission, briefly wondering when he gave so much control back to Stark.
Stark doesn't bother to completely remove Coulson's shirt and jacket, just pushing them down around Coulson's arms. The agent leans forward slightly, lifting his back off of the carpet a few inches, to finish the job himself, while Stark is already attacking the button on Coulson's pants. When Coulson goes to remove his tie, Stark's fingers catch him. Looking a little unsure of himself, like he isn't sure either when the dynamic shifted so much, Stark removes Coulson's undershirt but leaves the tie in place. Coulson moans as Stark tightens the tie, not cutting off his breath, but just creating a pressure that he finds himself wonderfully aware of. He swallows when Stark moves to pull off his pants and underwear in one go, and the tie restricts the movement of his throat in a way that fascinates him.
Moving up Coulson's body, Stark grins and pulls on the tie the slightest bit, not really tightening it, but just watching as Coulson's breath hitches. Stark leans down to move his mouth across Coulson's throat just below the tie, tongue tracing across it the way Coulson's teeth went across his own skin earlier. Coulson's eyes flutter, and he moves his hips up against Stark's, nails drawing blood from Stark's back. With a final kiss to Coulson's mouth, Stark rolls off of the other man entirely, reaching up clumsily to open a drawer in the bedside table. After groping blindly around for a moment, still flat on the floor, Stark draws his hand out, holding a bottle of what Coulson assumes is lube and something that looks like a spare arc reactor. He tosses the latter to Coulson, who discovers that it's a container for condoms, lit up like the genuine article. Classy.
He looks up from the condoms, about to say something, but he forgets it when he sees Stark's fingers scrabbling around between his legs, two fingers already in, a third pushing to find its way in, head tipped back as he lets out an obscenely loud moan. An answering moan surprises Coulson on the way out of his mouth, and he catches the flash of teeth as Stark grins triumphantly. "Maybe... you are... human," Stark pants, fitting a fourth finger in. Coulson tries to think of a retort, but his brain seems to be malfunctioning, and all he can do is stare. Stark pulls his fingers out of himself with a noise that makes Coulson shiver, and sits up to lean on his arms. "You gonna put on that condom?" he asks.
Coulson's fingers are shaking as he rips open the wrapper, and he nearly drops the condom. Stark laughs, taking it from him. "See, I knew you weren't immune."
"Shut up, Stark," Coulson gasps out as Stark rolls the condom down over him, slicking lube down his length at the same time.
Stark leans forward, goatee tickling as he gives Coulson a slow, deep, kiss. "You know you love it," he says. He moves to straddle Coulson, hips lifted, and Coulson's hips move up against him as his tip brushes Stark's entrance. Stark pushes a hand down on Coulson's chest, smiling. "Let me." And he sinks down, slow and tight and unbelievably hot, and Coulson's shaking, eyes closed, drawing blood from his lip.
Stark licks the blood away, a hand on the floor on either side of Coulson's face, as they lock eyes. "Your move, Coulson," he says. Coulson doesn't need another invitation. He moves his hips, and Stark's head drops against Coulson's collarbone, a moan muffled against the other man's skin. It takes a moment, but Coulson finds Stark's prostate, and Stark suddenly shoots up, moving wildly against Coulson. They're moving furiously, Stark's hand moving frantically on his erection as he fucks himself on Coulson, and Coulson wonders why he didn't do this sooner. His hand covers Stark's, moving in time to his hips, and it doesn't take much longer for Stark to yell loudly as he comes. Stark slumps forward, clinging to Coulson's chest, and Coulson moans at the way Stark clenches around him. A few more strokes, and Coulson is shuddering through his own orgasm, acutely aware of Stark's mouth pressing gentle, lazy kisses to his chest. Stark loosens Coulson's tie, pulls it off, and moves his tongue across the newly uncovered skin. He stills after a while, head resting on Coulson's shoulder.
They stay there for a few moments, quiet except for the sound of their harsh breathing, and then Coulson hears something to his left. He turns to see a robot holding out a damp towel. "Thanks, Dummy," Stark says, reaching up with a still-floppy arm to take it.
"Dummy?" Coulson asks, moaning softly as Stark moves off of him.
"Yeah," Stark says, cleaning them up. He's especially gentle when he cleans Coulson up after removing the condom. For some reason Coulson really notices that. "Inventions come and go, but Dummy and You always stay around. Not you," he adds, seeing Coulson's confusion. "Dummy's brother is named You."
"I see you put a lot of thought into their names," Coulson says, sitting up slowly.
Stark stands, tossing the dirty towel towards the bathroom. "Well, you know me. I'm a thoughtful guy." He smiles and offers Coulson his hand. Coulson accepts it, pulling himself to his feet. He finds his knees are still a little wobbly. He doesn't have far to walk, though, because Stark is pulling him onto the bed. Coulson laughs, because who the hell fucks next to the bed before getting on it? He knows he should get up, get dressed, get back to the comfortable persona of being Phil Coulson, goddamn Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., but of course Stark's bed is the softest thing known to humankind, and he already feels his eyes slipping shut as Stark's arms pull him close.
His last thought before drifting off to sleep is that Stark still smells like a creamsicle.
EPILOGUE: AND THEN COULSON DEBRIEFED HIM FOR FOREVER THE END
Fandom: Iron Man/Marvel
Rating: Ohoho that would be an M
Disclaimer: If I owned it, the gay would be way more obvious.
Summary: Stark turns to look at Coulson. "So I'm about to be naked and wet. Fair warning."
Note: SEE I WROTE HAPPY!TONY YOU GUYS. I TOLD YOU I COULD DO IT. Also, this was supposed to just be a cute little UST piece, and then Coulson just didn't know when to back the fuck off with his sexy dom-ness, and this happened.
Note 2: REMEMBER DON'T SPOIL etc.
Babysitting
Until today, Stark has been surprisingly well-behaved, now that Coulson reflects on it. As he leans against the wall, enjoying the air conditioning after the heat of New Mexico, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent tries to ignore the sounds of retching coming from the bathroom. He probably should have kept a closer eye on Stark, assigned someone to babysit him properly. Director Fury would call it a waste of resources, but as he winces in sympathy, Coulson can't help but think that it would be a solid investment in keeping Iron Man fit for duty.
"Well fuck me," Stark calls from the bathroom, voice shaky and abused.
"While you smell like vomit?" Coulson can't resist asking. He turns as the door opens, and a sweaty, ill-looking Tony Stark stands there for a moment glaring at him before turning to the sink. Coulson stifles a smile, stepping closer. "You know you can't keep doing this, Stark." He settles against the bathroom wall between the towel rack and the door.
"Hey, fuck you," Stark says, dribbling bits of toothpaste and vomit onto his chin. Coulson wrinkles his nose as Stark finds a towel and cleans it off, tossing the towel into a hamper in the corner. "I'm allowed a little celebration when I don't die."
Coulson raises an eyebrow. "You do realize the irony of celebrating your continued life by massacring your internal organs, right?"
"Hey," Stark says, rinsing his toothbrush, "you have your parties, I have mine." He turns the faucet off with a decisive snap of his fingers and turns to look at Coulson. "So I'm about to be naked and wet. Fair warning."
Coulson shrugs. "Fine by me."
Stark grins, beginning to tug his sweaty t-shirt over his head. "Kinky." Coulson's eyes focus on Stark's chest as the shirt is dropped on the ground. Stark smirks when they linger. "Like what you see?"
Coulson nods. "Yes, it looks like the effects of the palladium have vanished."
Stark rolls his eyes, mumbling about goddamn agents ignoring his goddamn sexiness, and pulls down the waistband of his flannel sleep pants. Coulson is hardly surprised to see that Stark is going commando, and on a certain level the view is nice, Stark is attractive, but mostly Coulson is just interested in the gash on Stark's leg. He remembers a line in the report about a piece of armor buckling inwards and injuring Stark, and it's healing, but it still looks pretty nasty. "You taking care of that?" he asks, pointing at Stark's leg in clarification when the man opens his mouth to make some sort of lewd joke.
"Pepper has me smearing some nasty goo on it, don't worry," Stark says, casually toeing his pants off of one ankle, then the other. He steps away, and Coulson resists the urge to roll his eyes as Stark strikes a pose. If he were off the clock (extremely off the clock), Coulson might find it attractive. However, not only is he on the clock, but Stark is his most difficult assignment. Coulson finds it difficult to find sexual interest in his assignments.
Stark steps into his shower, which turns on automatically, already hot. His voice echoes off of the tiles as Coulson shifts, settling himself more comfortably against the wall. "So why are you here, anyways?"
"Babysitting," Coulson says, making sure to inject just the right amount of aggravation into his voice.
"You know I can handle myself, right?"
"Somehow I doubt that, Stark."
"Well," Stark says, poking his dripping head out of the shower to leer shamelessly, "you could always handle me, if you wanted." Coulson gives him that extra special look of disdain he saves for the most deserving occasions, even as Stark's head vanishes behind the shower curtain again. A moment later, it pops back out. "I'm talking about my penis, Coulson."
"I got that, Stark."
"Why don't you call me Tony?"
"I don't see the need to."
"My friends call me Tony."
"They may do that."
"Ouch," Stark says, vanishing again. The smell of shampoo fills Coulson's nostrils, and he has to admit that it isn't too bad. It smells like oranges, and maybe vanilla, and Coulson can't help the little chuckle. "What?" Stark asks.
"You know you're going to smell like a creamsicle, right?"
"Baby, you can smell my creamsicle all nig--"
"I have my Taser, Stark."
"Jerk."
"You wish," Coulson says smugly. He nearly laughs when Stark's head, heaped high with suds, pops out of the shower again, mouth agape.
"Agent Coulson, I think you just made a joke."
"I am capable of it, you know."
"No you aren't," Stark says, shaking his head emphatically. An enormous puff of suds slides neatly down his face, into his eyes and mouth, and Stark splutters loudly, ducking back under the water. When he re-emerges, eyes a little red, Coulson raises his eyebrows. "No you aren't," Stark repeats. "You'd have to be human for that."
"Well I am human."
"No you aren't," Stark says yet again. "You're some kind of weird Coulsonbot. It's the only way you could manage to be so..." Stark makes a vague, flapping gesture in Coulson's direction. "So you."
Coulson shakes his head. "Your eloquence, as always, astounds me."
Stark gives him an odd look before resuming his shower. "I don't know how I feel about this new snark feature. Let me tinker around with your software, maybe I can fix it."
"You'd have to buy me dinner for that, you know," Coulson says. The thought occurs to him that he should really stop this bantering-flirting-joking thing they have going on, but it's fun. The water turns off, and the curtain retracts on its own with a quiet whirring sound. Stark steps out, the light catching droplets of water as they slide down his skin. He stands on the mat in front of Coulson, silent, eyes a little challenging.
"Yes?" Coulson says eventually.
"Hand me a towel."
Coulson glances lazily to his left and sees the towel on the rack. He looks back at Stark, eyes cool. "Say 'please'."
They stare for a few more seconds before Stark, eyes half-lidded, chest moving a little more quickly, says, "Please." Coulson turns, picks up the towel, and holds it out to Stark. Stark takes the dark blue material, fingers brushing Coulson's. "Thanks," Stark says quietly. Coulson nods graciously.
Stark takes a step back, moving the towel across his skin. His eyes flicker back and forth between Coulson's, still filled with a challenge, and Coulson's gaze doesn't move down or away or anywhere else. Stark's tongue moves across his lips, a thin, nervous swipe that Coulson knows isn't intentional. He smiles a little.
When Stark moves to put the towel away, Coulson stops him. He takes the towel from Stark's unresisting hand and steps forward. He wipes the towel slowly across Stark's chest, chasing a droplet as it slides down the arc reactor. He looks up, eyes meeting Stark's, and finds the man watching him with a slightly dazed expression. Coulson allows the corner of his mouth to twitch upwards, and steps away again. Stark's fingers clutch at Coulson's jacket, a momentary tug before Stark's hands fall limp at his sides. Coulson feels his smile widen. "Yes?"
Stark blinks a few times, seems to clear his head. He opens his mouth, expression already telling Coulson that he's about to be on the receiving end of a really terrible joke. Suddenly, he decides he doesn't want to hear Stark's joke. "Don't say anything," he says, agent voice in full force, making it an honest to god command. Stark's eyes widen, and Coulson watches as Stark's throat bobs up and down. Coulson decides to hell with it, he wants to see how far this will go. "In the bedroom," he says, same clipped, stern voice as before, and Stark's silent, moving through the door. Feeling his heart beat a little faster, Coulson follows him.
Stark stands awkwardly next to the bed, clearly out of his depth, erection drawing Coulson's eye. Coulson points at the floor. "Kneel," he says, and he could swear Stark's legs just buckle, kneecaps hitting the carpet with a soft thud. "Legs directly under you," he clarifies, and Stark moves to comply. Coulson moves around Stark, adjusting his stance, making him sit up straight and tall, each hand neatly atop a thigh. Crouching down in front of him, Coulson looks steadily into Stark's eyes. "Stark," he says, voice calm, "I want you to let me know if we need to stop. You will tell me clearly, and I will back off immediately. Do you understand?" Seeing Stark's mouth begin to open, he adds, "No talking," Closing his mouth again, Stark nods silently.
Reach around to the back of Stark's head, Coulson grips a handful of hair. "Tell me if I need to stop," he reminds Stark, and begins to pull. He pulls gently at first, slowly increasing the pressure, until Stark's head is bent backwards, and his eyes are watering. Stark never tells him to stop, though, and Coulson nods approvingly. Stark's throat, still a little damp, is arched towards him, and Coulson, loosening his grip the slightest bit, puts his free hand down on the floor and leans forward to take Stark's throat in his mouth.
Coulson feels the vibration go through his teeth as Stark moans loudly, and he shifts his head, sucking hard on the warmth of Stark's skin. Stark starts to lean back, but Coulson tugs his hair sharply. "Don't move," he says, mouth still against Stark's skin. Stark's muscles shift against Coulson's chest as he straightens back up, and Coulson rewards him with a firm bite, teeth pushing against the muscles. Stark shudders, hand lifting involuntarily from his leg before settling again.
Coulson lifts his head and pulls Stark sharply towards him. He isn't quite prepared for Stark's weight against him, and they tip backwards, Coulson on the bottom, onto the softness of the carpet. Coulson laughs quietly, looking up at Stark's eyes. They meet in the middle, lips moving breathlessly against each other, and Stark's hands are tangled in Coulson's jacket again. His grip tightens when Coulson bites his lip, not bothering to be gentle, and Stark's hips are moving against him. Coulson puts a hand between them, pushes at Stark's chest, arc reactor cool next to the heat of Stark's skin, until Stark is sitting up, still sitting on Coulson's hips.
Coulson just leans back for a moment, eyes moving up and down Stark's body. He takes in the flushed skin, the trembling lips, the needy eyes, the slight jerking movement of the hips, the marks of his own damn teeth blooming dark on Stark's throat... he doesn't want to forget what this looks like. Stark gives him an exasperated look, mouth opening, but Coulson's hand is on Stark's throat, squeezing just enough, and Stark groans instead, hips moving again. Coulson lets out a soft gasp as Stark moves against his erection, and Stark grins, moving again, as Coulson lets his hand fall away from Stark's throat. Coulson's teeth sink into his own lip this time. Stark's hands rest on Coulson's shoulders, a question in his eyes, and Coulson nods his permission, briefly wondering when he gave so much control back to Stark.
Stark doesn't bother to completely remove Coulson's shirt and jacket, just pushing them down around Coulson's arms. The agent leans forward slightly, lifting his back off of the carpet a few inches, to finish the job himself, while Stark is already attacking the button on Coulson's pants. When Coulson goes to remove his tie, Stark's fingers catch him. Looking a little unsure of himself, like he isn't sure either when the dynamic shifted so much, Stark removes Coulson's undershirt but leaves the tie in place. Coulson moans as Stark tightens the tie, not cutting off his breath, but just creating a pressure that he finds himself wonderfully aware of. He swallows when Stark moves to pull off his pants and underwear in one go, and the tie restricts the movement of his throat in a way that fascinates him.
Moving up Coulson's body, Stark grins and pulls on the tie the slightest bit, not really tightening it, but just watching as Coulson's breath hitches. Stark leans down to move his mouth across Coulson's throat just below the tie, tongue tracing across it the way Coulson's teeth went across his own skin earlier. Coulson's eyes flutter, and he moves his hips up against Stark's, nails drawing blood from Stark's back. With a final kiss to Coulson's mouth, Stark rolls off of the other man entirely, reaching up clumsily to open a drawer in the bedside table. After groping blindly around for a moment, still flat on the floor, Stark draws his hand out, holding a bottle of what Coulson assumes is lube and something that looks like a spare arc reactor. He tosses the latter to Coulson, who discovers that it's a container for condoms, lit up like the genuine article. Classy.
He looks up from the condoms, about to say something, but he forgets it when he sees Stark's fingers scrabbling around between his legs, two fingers already in, a third pushing to find its way in, head tipped back as he lets out an obscenely loud moan. An answering moan surprises Coulson on the way out of his mouth, and he catches the flash of teeth as Stark grins triumphantly. "Maybe... you are... human," Stark pants, fitting a fourth finger in. Coulson tries to think of a retort, but his brain seems to be malfunctioning, and all he can do is stare. Stark pulls his fingers out of himself with a noise that makes Coulson shiver, and sits up to lean on his arms. "You gonna put on that condom?" he asks.
Coulson's fingers are shaking as he rips open the wrapper, and he nearly drops the condom. Stark laughs, taking it from him. "See, I knew you weren't immune."
"Shut up, Stark," Coulson gasps out as Stark rolls the condom down over him, slicking lube down his length at the same time.
Stark leans forward, goatee tickling as he gives Coulson a slow, deep, kiss. "You know you love it," he says. He moves to straddle Coulson, hips lifted, and Coulson's hips move up against him as his tip brushes Stark's entrance. Stark pushes a hand down on Coulson's chest, smiling. "Let me." And he sinks down, slow and tight and unbelievably hot, and Coulson's shaking, eyes closed, drawing blood from his lip.
Stark licks the blood away, a hand on the floor on either side of Coulson's face, as they lock eyes. "Your move, Coulson," he says. Coulson doesn't need another invitation. He moves his hips, and Stark's head drops against Coulson's collarbone, a moan muffled against the other man's skin. It takes a moment, but Coulson finds Stark's prostate, and Stark suddenly shoots up, moving wildly against Coulson. They're moving furiously, Stark's hand moving frantically on his erection as he fucks himself on Coulson, and Coulson wonders why he didn't do this sooner. His hand covers Stark's, moving in time to his hips, and it doesn't take much longer for Stark to yell loudly as he comes. Stark slumps forward, clinging to Coulson's chest, and Coulson moans at the way Stark clenches around him. A few more strokes, and Coulson is shuddering through his own orgasm, acutely aware of Stark's mouth pressing gentle, lazy kisses to his chest. Stark loosens Coulson's tie, pulls it off, and moves his tongue across the newly uncovered skin. He stills after a while, head resting on Coulson's shoulder.
They stay there for a few moments, quiet except for the sound of their harsh breathing, and then Coulson hears something to his left. He turns to see a robot holding out a damp towel. "Thanks, Dummy," Stark says, reaching up with a still-floppy arm to take it.
"Dummy?" Coulson asks, moaning softly as Stark moves off of him.
"Yeah," Stark says, cleaning them up. He's especially gentle when he cleans Coulson up after removing the condom. For some reason Coulson really notices that. "Inventions come and go, but Dummy and You always stay around. Not you," he adds, seeing Coulson's confusion. "Dummy's brother is named You."
"I see you put a lot of thought into their names," Coulson says, sitting up slowly.
Stark stands, tossing the dirty towel towards the bathroom. "Well, you know me. I'm a thoughtful guy." He smiles and offers Coulson his hand. Coulson accepts it, pulling himself to his feet. He finds his knees are still a little wobbly. He doesn't have far to walk, though, because Stark is pulling him onto the bed. Coulson laughs, because who the hell fucks next to the bed before getting on it? He knows he should get up, get dressed, get back to the comfortable persona of being Phil Coulson, goddamn Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., but of course Stark's bed is the softest thing known to humankind, and he already feels his eyes slipping shut as Stark's arms pull him close.
His last thought before drifting off to sleep is that Stark still smells like a creamsicle.
EPILOGUE: AND THEN COULSON DEBRIEFED HIM FOR FOREVER THE END