Prompt Post 001
Part 1 is now closed. Please direct new prompts to Part 2.
Welcome to the Captain America: The First Avenger kink meme! The general rules are below, but can also be found in the Guidelines Post. Please try to follow them, and have fun!
General Rules
Welcome to the Captain America: The First Avenger kink meme! The general rules are below, but can also be found in the Guidelines Post. Please try to follow them, and have fun!
General Rules
- Please be civil and respectful towards each other.
- One prompt per comment. Feel free to post more ( Read more... )
They don't last long after that. Tony sacrifices his balance in order to grab Steve's still slick cock and pulls franticly while really putting his leg muscles into it and Steve makes the most wonderful sound, long and deep and comes and Tony swears right there that he's going to make Steve make that sound a /lot/ more. Steve is still pulling at his hips and Tony comes almost simultaneously, the world disappears for a moment as he spills into Steve.
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Pleas don't die. We'd miss you something terrible.
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Steve is still sleeping, a bit mussed, but looking without a care in the world. It's a good look on him. Tony could roll over, remove that foot of space and repeat the success, wake him up with a blowjob, slide into him again as easy as anything, they hadn't exactly bothered with much of a clean-up, both being too worn-out and sated and Steve would still be slick, warm, welcoming...
Tony gets up and heads for the workshop.
*
He stays in the workshop for the rest of the day, enjoying the extra burst of productivity and creativity a good nights sleep and lots and lots of sex always brings out in him. When he finally leaves the shop (or rather, is dragged out by Natasha, who is all 'god, Tony, have you even /showered/ today?' Which he totally has. The workshop's panic-room (very, /very/ secret) panic-room is fully equipped with both a shower and a place to sleep, and lots of weapons and food. And lube and condoms. There is, after all, no such things as /too/ prepared for all eventualities), it is to find the rest of the team gathered in the kitchen. Tony has a very disconcerting moment where he's sure that they're all here to kick his ass and defend Steve's honour. Not lessened by the fact that Steve himself is notably absent.
But of course that's just sex having melted his brain, or maybe the fumes he's been working in for the last five hours, because then Thor sees and says in his usual very happy, /very loud/ tone, “Tony! You have returned to the land of the living!”
'God,' Tony thinks, as a headache suddenly flares, 'who has learned him about irony? I am going to find to find them and /hurt them/'. “Please join us in the watching of the retelling of your peoples glorious battles.” He looks at Natasha for confirmation, “This 'Terminator', he is a mighty warrior, is he not?"
“Yes, he is.” Natasha answers kindly, as one would talk to a child, who has not yet discovered the truth about Santa Claus.
“And you, Stark, ”Clint says from the table and points at Tony with one of the arrows he's inspecting, “are not allowed to say /one word/ about whether or not the tech is actually plausible.”
Tony holds his hands up in surrender. He has by now learned better than come between Clint and his action movies.
Clint takes a deeper look at Tony and starts to scowl. “Actually, Stark, don't speak at all. I know that look and I /don't want to know/, not who or how or where or when and /especially/ not how many times.”
Tony is about to protest, loudly, but the look Natasha sends him shuts him up.
“It's not nice to talk about your partners, Tony.” She says in that aloof tone of hers, “and you make Steve embarrassed.”
“Yeah, but Steve isn't here, so...” Tony says and ducks the arrowhead Clint throws after him. Thor booms with laughter. “Where /is/ Steve?” Tony says in carefully faked confusion.
“Said something about going for at run,” Clint answers, focus returning to his arrows.
“That's strange. Don't you think it's strange, Natasha dear? I think it's strange.”
“And pray, why do you think it's strange, Tony darling?” Tony hides a smile. After Natasha started warming up to him, she's becoming increasingly more /fun/ to be around, taking his antics and everflirting ways in strides - which of course only encourages Tony to up the ante. Expect, right now he kind of has more important things on his mind than their games, like, finding out why Steve has left. Having scared him away would /suck/.
“Well, he /is/ the one who keeps insisting that movie-nights are good for team-building, and thus, mandatory. And it is nine in the evening. Who goes for a run at nine in the evening. /Robots/, that's who. Have we checked that Steve hasn't been replaced by an evil robot recently?”
“Speaking of robots, mr. Stark,” Natasha says and steers him in the direction of the entertainment room. “we have a movie or three to watch. I'll even pet your hair, if you want.”
Tony wants.
*
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When Steve gets back, terminators are blowing up left and right and Tony's half asleep, his head in Natasha's lap. He returns to awareness long enough to register that, yes, it /is/ Steve who sits down next to him and lift his feet and places them in his lap. In Tony's book, that usually doesn't equal 'scared away', so Tony lets himself become limp and relaxed again. Natasha is still petting his hair and that is like /kryptonite /.
“He's asleep?” Steven asks fondly.
“Yes, one touch to his hair and he's out like a light.” Natasha sounds just as fond and isn't it /nice/ to know what his team mates /really/ think about him, god, they sound like he's some kind of /kitten/.
Then Steve pulls Tony's socks off and starting to massages one of his feet and god, that man's hands are /magic/ and Tony has to fight to keep back a purr.
“I know,” Steve says absent-mindedly, and Tony is assaulted by a sudden sense memory so strong it takes his breath away - Steve in his bed, just after, running his fingers through Tony's hair, smiling fondly down at him and Tony disappearing down in unconsciousness, lulled asleep by those hands in his hair, that smile.
Steve is still talking.
“...good thing the supervillains doesn't know about Iron Man's Achilles heel: having his hair petted.”
Natasha laughs quietly at that, but it's still enough that Clint and Thor, sitting raptured by robots and explosions in the other couch, leaning forward against the screen, hands on their knees like small boys, both turns their heads and shushes at them.
*
When Tony wakes up for real, he and Steve are the only ones left in the room, the screen turned off and it's too dark for Tony to see his expression, but Steve's hands are still on Tony's feet.
He must have made a sound, or just changed his breathing enough to alert Steve that he is awake, because Steve lifts his feet out of the way and gets up. Tony tries not to be disappointed.
That is, until Steve wordlessly picks him up, as easy picking up a baby, /god/, the man is strong, Tony is always surprised anew every time he experiences it, though getting picked up and manhandled into having his legs around Steve's waist and his arms around Steve's neck, Steve's strong arms supporting his butt, holding him so they're crotch to crotch, that is a wholly new and interesting experience. Steve is rock-hard against Tony and how long has he been waiting for Tony to wake up?
Then Steve carries Tony off to his bedroom and Tony stops thinking.
[This seems like a good place to stop for tonight. I can't say when there'll be more, but I do hope there will be. Otherwise I suspect there will be death-by-Meta in my immediate future :)]
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OR NOT, since it's still a wip, but I'm going to work on that as soon as I'm properly awake (read: in school).
Thank you! Feedback like this strokes my ego and warms my heart, and more importantly, wants me to write more fic asap :D
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They still haven't kissed. This thought flutters through Tony's mind as he lies on his bed, relaxed into a puddle of goo, Steve's fingers in his ass, Tony's hands tied over his head with two of his own three-hundred dollars handmade silk ties (so, so worth it). This morning it hadn't been weird at all; Tony was in charge and he had better things to do with his time. But right now it is very much Steve in charge and he- Well, he seems like he'd been the kissing type.
Not that Tony's complaining. He is far, far too comfortable to be complaining, almost so comfortable that he's on his way to sleep again, not that Steve is boring, /nooo/, but after he had tied Tony up on his stomach (and isn't Steve a quick student, he must have spent some time on the internet since this morning, he's /such/ a good boy, he has probably spent most of the day thinking about this, planning it all out in his head, /god/), he had continued to give Tony a very, /very/ throughout massage (silicone based lube is good for /so many things/, Tony should buy stocks, /will/ be buying stocks), kneading away with his strong, warm hands, moving from Tony's neck to down his back, arms, legs, feet, up his legs again and then, /finally/, his buttocks and god, Steve's hands /are/ magic and that's when things had started to get very hazy.
When Steve finally slides a pillow under Tony's hips and slides in, so slowly and carefully, as if Tony is something precious and fragile, to be cherished and protected, Tony's thoughts has left the building and all there is left are moans and gasps and bliss. Steve supports himself a few inches over Tony's back (but Tony can still feel his warmth, it makes him feel safe and grounded) and his trusts are deep and slow and careful, quickly finding Tony's prostate and then keep going and going and going. He'd coated Tony's cock in lube, but otherwise didn't touch it, isn't touching it now, but the pillow under his hips is silk (/so/ buying more of them, too) and the friction is /exquisite/.
It isn't long before Tony has lost all sense of time, but he does know this is probably the longest fuck in his life. Steve's restraint is admirable, just continuing with his deep, shallow trust, his hands moving to settle firmly around Tony's hips, keeping him down and unmoving, not allowing him to start that climb towards climax, but keeping him on a steady level of ecstasy, brain-melting and maddening, but Tony is too relaxed to get impatient, he just lies there and lets Steve take care of him, soaks in Steve's attention like a man who's been wandering the desert all of his life and finally sees an oasis for the very first time.
And even when Tony is keening and shaking and oh so close to begging, even if that would mean breaking their silence, their unspoken agreement that without words this thing is uncomplicated and without consequences, their understanding that the lack of words forces them to figure out for themselves what the other likes, through touches and observations, forces them to be verbal in other ways, through their almost primal sounds, through the movement of their bodies, even then Steve keeps the slow, sweet pace he has set for them.
But then, there /is/ no rush. They have the whole night stretching out in front of them, with the promise of more pleasure to come.
Much, much later, when Tony is drenched in sweat and silent besides little involuntary grunts - too blissed out and too hoarse from panting (and from the sounds he's been making incessantly since Steve slid in) to actually /make/ any more sounds, Steve finally seems to have reached his limit. He himself is flushed and shiny with sweat (the smells in the room are heavy and heady, the smells of sex and lust and they are /wonderful/) and panting (but compared to this morning, he is almost disquietingly quiet) and finally, /finally/he gets up on his knees, lifts Tony's hips up and starts increasing the rhythm and soon he's slamming home.
This time it's Tony who yells and yells and yells.
*
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Um. I.
HAVE YOU BEEN PAYING ATTENTION TO ALL OF THE THINGS I LIKE? BECAUSE THEY ARE ALL HERE.
HAIR PETTING, STEVE'S ATTITUDE, THE LONG, DRAWN-OUT SEX, TONY ALL STRUNG OUT. THE. I. AKJSLJF.
/crawls into your lap
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And no, I didn't /purposely/ try to hit all you kinks, but hey, maybe I'm just psychic! /Smut psychic!/ (how awesome would that be, like an incubus-
...aaand there you have the promt for that fic you promised me if I finished homework. Incubus!Tony. Going to finish that homework now, /that/ I don't want to miss!)
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Finish iiiiit.
I have to go class now wagh /flees
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Steve is gone.
He meets him the kitchen, Steve just having returned for a run, barely sweating, but the sight of that bit of moisture on his face and neck is a vivid reminder of last night and sends a sharp thrill of lust through Tony, pooling in his stomach and he needs to sit down /now/. As his butt hits the seat of the chair there's a pleasant ache that does nothing to ease the sudden tightness of his pants.
He halfway expects Steve to greet him with a kiss or something, but Steve just smiles from his place at the counter where he is preparing his breakfast, his usual sunny smile, nothing new or intimate about it, not like the way he looked at Tony last night when he'd cleaned him up, slowly and reverently washing his whole body with a warm towel to get all the stickiness from the massage and the sex off him, Tony already falling asleep.
He just says good morning as if nothing unusual had happened between them and Tony grunts something in response, he's still tired, despite his shower.
This is good. This is how fuck buddies are /supposed/ to be.
Granted, he hadn't expected Steve to grasp that concept so easily, but then, he'd grasped the concepts of sex more than easily, so why not? It's not like Tony had planned it otherwise when he got him into bed - god, was it only twenty-four hours ago?
Steve sets a cup of coffee in front of him, doctored just the way he likes it, strong and black and hot as hell.
“You needs to get awake, Tony, we have that meeting with Fury and the others in half an hour. Mission planning, remember?”
Tony grunts something into his coffee, drinking greedily. /God/, it's good.
*
Tony is grounded.
Fury, that Machiavellian, dominating, anal-retentive /bastard/ has fucking /grounded him/.
“Pray tell why,” Tony asks.
“For the last three weeks you haven't shown your face outside the tower, expect for the missions and for going clubbing. Now that you're an avenger I don't want you ruining your public image. /Go out there and start a charity, kiss some babies, I don't care./ And you're still on the Stark Industries board, you have meetings to attend,” Fury answers.
“Since when are you my secretary?”Tony asks, “Why in the world are you bothering me about meetings?”
“Since Potts got my private number,” Fury answers. “That woman is a menace.”
(Clint is openly snickering and Natasha is wearing her best blank face, but Tony has gotten pretty good at deciphering her wide rank of blank faces and this one is definitely not the usual '/men, god/' but the one that means 'I'm laughing at you on the inside'. Tony is so not getting her Christmas present this year.)
And according to Fury, the fucker, they don't even /need/ Tony on this mission. They do need heavy hitters, but they have War Machine, Steve and Thor. That should be more than enough to obliterate some Ten Rings morons in a cave (Tony suspect that this is the real reason Fury won't let him go - in the face of The Ten Rings Tony is not exactly known for being calm and reasonable).
The three of them leave immediately. Steve does not look back.
*
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It's been five days for that mission that was suppose to take only one day, two at most. Tony spends those two days being a good little minion for Fury and 1) attends that brain-numbing board meeting, where he sulks and draws new Iron Man designs on his papers, 2) going to a charity auction (where he buys an Elvis wine rack covered in rhinestones, just for the look on Pepper's face), 3) visits a children's hospital (which Tony leaves and immediately starts a campaign to convince Pepper to starting a new division in Stark Industries, a research department in order to cure cancer /for good/ because if Tony never has to see another bald child in his life it will be too soon) and then the two days are gone and Steve (and the others, don't forget the others, Tony) /still/ hasn't returned and Fury, the absolute fucker, is stonewalling him and Tony is faced with the choice between 1) throwing a bitch fit, 2) hack SHIELDS computers (/again/) or 3) burying himself in his workshop.
It shouldn't be a difficult choice.
It is.
*
Tony hasn't left the workshop for roughly eighty hours, hasn't slept for... Well, long enough that he has lost count and lies under- okay, so he's not quite sure what it's going to end up like, but it has a lot of arm, legs like a bug (if a bug was the size of a horse), several cameras and sensors, and just to fuck with Clint it shoots arrows with an accuracy better than him on a steady ground (Tony is still working on the accuracy when the machine is in motion) and oh, it's painted purple because Tony is /never / going to stop teasing Clint about that first draft of his costume, which never saw the light of day, but the plans had still been in the computers and well, you can't fault Tony for his curiosity. (also SHIELD /really/ needs some better firewalls), when a pair of strong arm pulls him out from under his machine, lifts him up and carries him away. Had it been anyone else separating him from his work, Tony wouldn't have hesitated in throwing a wrench after them, but he recognizes the reinforced fabric he himself invented, the heat and smell of the other body and that strength in those arms. Steve has come home and Tony could care less about the Clint Basher.
*
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Steve hasn't said a word yet and by know Tony recognises this kind of silence between them and his cock is already hard with anticipation. It's been /five days/ and Tony has easily wanked of at least as twice as many times thinking of Steve and his magic hands, Steve's cock gliding smoothly and slowly in and out of him and maybe, just maybe, the way Steve had looked at him when he thought Tony was too sex-sedated to notice.
Steve has clearly gone straight from the landing pad on top of the tower; his uniform is worse for wear (except for the cowl he is still wearing /all of his uniform/ and god, how is this Tony's life?), smelling of gunpowder and, well, as if Steve hasn't taken it off for five days, which he probably hasn't, and there is earth and dust and a bit of blood in Steve's hair and on his face and hands.
He looks /wonderful/.
Then he reaches the mirror and Tony only has an all too short glimpse of himself in Steve's arms before Steve reaches for the hidden panel next to the mirror and starts punching the code in.
How the /fuck/ does he even /know/ about that?
The mirror slides aside (because there's nothing wrong with the classics) and Steve enters the antechamber for Tony's panic-room. Behind them is the solid steel door to the panic-room itself, in front of them is the two-way mirror and Steve is already undressing Tony. Or rather, just opening his belt and pulling his jeans of only one of his legs; that's seems to be all the undressing Steve has patience for right now and if Tony thought that he'd missed the sex they had had, well, it has nothing on Steve.
He turns Tony around so he's leaning up against the class, hands trying to find support on the cool surface, and kicks his legs apart. Then he goes straight for Tony's hard dick, /thank god/, and starts jerking it with a rhythm so fast and unyielding that it's almost brutal, but Steve has somehow already lubed his hand up and it is /glorious/. Tony bites his lip to keep the sounds in, but then Steve bites his neck and pushes two larger fingers in and it's a lost cause.
That's when Rhodey and Clint enters the workshop.
*
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I'm working on the next part, this evening or tomorrow, can't say :)
Thanks for your encouragement! :D
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