Fic: Strip Horse
Title: Strip Horse
Pairing/Character(s): Steve/Tony and Pepper
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, nudity. Tony in general.
Word Count:
Summary: Steve and Tony play horse and lose clothes.
Author's Notes: Commentfic written for foxxcub, cleaned up all pretty-like. I have no creative title for this. Oh, well.
Steve is deep in the middle of The Da Vinci Code, lent to him by Natasha in an apparent effort to familiarize himself with twenty-first century pop culture (he'd chosen the book over the movie, but he doubts he'll be able to avoid that for long). He's sitting comfortably on the couch in the Stark New York residence, temporarily given over for the Avengers' use, with a glass of Coca Cola on the side table next to him, when a basketball is suddenly dropped into his lap. "Jeez, Tony," he snaps, shoving it away and carefully setting Natasha's book aside. He does pick up the ball again, but he doesn't hand it back to Stark; he keeps hold of it, wary, and in the back of his mind appreciates that this is one of the few times where he's forced to look up at Tony Stark, who normally reaches the height of his chin. Maybe. "Did you want something?"
That earns him a quicksilver smirk and wiggled eyebrows, but then Tony's expression smoothes, and he reaches down to snatch the basketball out of Steve's hands. "I'm bored. Let's shoot some hoops."
Steve, who had always been the short one in gym class, the one chosen last for the pickup basketball games, feels none of his wariness vanish, but since he's not busy, really, he nods and says politely, "Sure, Tony." When he stands, he feels a little better, because at least he's not the short one, this time around.
Because it's Tony Stark, he has a basketball court in his veritable mansion in the midst of Manhattan, but Steve tries not to stare when he steps inside and looks around, glad he'd worn his sneakers today, with his Dockers.
Ten minutes later, he's trounced Tony thoroughly. The other man is sweating, and he strips off his black undershirt, leaving himself only wearing his Nikes and loose-fitting black shorts that are precariously close to falling down, exposing sharp hipbones that Steve does his best not to notice.
"All right, so going one-on-one with Captain freaking America might not have been my best idea ever," Tony announces, taking a long drink from the athletic bottle that had appeared out of nowhere. Steve only watches Tony's adam's apple bobbing as he gulps because he's worried that Tony will drink too much and make himself sick, of course.
"Go easy there," he advises, trying not to sound too condescending.
He must not be very successful, because Tony lowers the bottle and smirks at him again, the expression much less playful than it had been earlier. "Whatever you say, Pops." He shoves the bottle at Steve, who has to take it or let it drop to the floor (he takes it), and turns, bending over to pick up the ball again.
He doesn't bend his knees overmuch to do that, and Steve, who hasn't even broken a sweat but who had taken a drink anyway (only because he doesn't want to get dehydrated- it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Tony had just had his mouth on this bottle), suddenly coughs. A lot.
He catches the ball with one hand when Tony straightens and chucks it to him with no warning. "Know how to play horse?" Tony asks, unpleasant smirk vanished now.
"Yeah," Steve says quietly, setting the water bottle aside. "Yeah, I do." He goes to line up and takes his shot, wondering idly if Tony has thought this through, and resolving to try to lose, since he doubts the other man will be pleased to lose to his enhanced reflexes twice in one afternoon.
In the end, though, he doesn't even have to try to miss, because as he thrusts the ball upward, Tony adds, "Don't miss, it's strip horse."
Steve misses. Not even on purpose. He turns to Tony, blinking and trying to think of what to say, but he's got nothing, and he knows he's blushing. The shit-eating smirk is back, and the former CEO gestures for Steve to get on with it.
Really not wanting to seem like a blushing virgin, Steve tries to look casual as he unbuttons his plaid shirt and strips it off. He folds it somewhat before dropping it on the floor, still wearing his white tee shirt. Tony grabs the ball, shoots... and doesn't miss.
Steve does. And again, it's not even on fucking purpose. Or at least, it's not deliberate on his part. Every time he goes to shoot, Tony says something that throws him off completely. Nothing blatant, of course, but always something that's just distracting enough to throw Steve off.
"Damn, you're fast, Cap."
"Think you can shoot from there? That's a tight little space."
"No worries, Cap. Big projectile, tiny little basket."
"That's a hard shot to make."
"Jesus Christ, Tony," Steve finally snaps, bright red and completely frustrated as he misses his fifth attempt. Tony has missed twice, and has dropped his shoes and his socks. This time, Steve has nothing left to take off but his Dockers, and with a hard swallow, he does so, letting them fall and kicking them away, leaving himself in nothing but his boxer-briefs.
Tony just grins at him, his eyes dragging slowly down and then up Steve's body. This time, Steve goes fire-engine red, all down his front, and this time it's impossible to miss.
But Tony doesn't tease him for it. He just turns and shoots, missing by at least four feet- before Steve can go get the ball, Tony catches it, dribbles, and attempts a lay-up, missing again. The ball flies over the basket, nowhere near to going in, and Tony comes to a stop about ten feet from Steve. Neither of them makes any attempt to go after the ball; Steve is too busy gaping, and Tony is already reaching for his shorts. He doesn't bother pulling off first one thing, then the other; he just bends over and drops everything, kicking both shorts and boxers off and away. "Missed twice, lose two things," he says with a shrug, straightening and grinning. "You can go twice, Steven."
Steve cannot form a response. He stands there, gaping, in his briefs, for at least a minute, but then finally opens his mouth-
"Tony!" The door opens, and Pepper walks in with her ever-present StarkPad, crossing the distance to them very rapidly, considering the considerable height of her heels. She doesn't bat an eyelash at Tony's lack of clothing, and in fact barely even glances at him, as Steve dives for his shirt and holds it up over his briefs with a choked apology.
"Miss Potts, excuse me, I-"
She cuts him off with a businesslike smile and a small eyeroll. "Don't worry. It's nothing I haven't seen before. Sign." This last is directed to Tony, who takes the tablet obediently and scribbles on it with the little plastic pen device, just as unbothered as Pepper appears to be by his nakedness.
"Is that all, Miss Potts?" he asks, and Steve misses the pointed look Tony sends her. He also misses her amusement, being too busy blushing and looking off to the side as she smiles briefly and shakes her head at Tony.
"That's all for now, Mr. Stark. Enjoy your game, Captain Rogers." She turns on her heel and clicks her way back out.
Steve thinks he may have stammered something in the affirmative. He's not sure. He's certain it wasn't in English, whatever he'd managed to say.
He gapes at Tony once the door clicks shut again, and Tony stares at him, one brow raised. "What?"
"She... she thought... she might have thought... we're naked, Tony."
Tony blinks at him. "Your powers of observation astound and amaze."
"She might have gotten the wrong idea!"
There is a long pause; Tony's expression sobers briefly, and he almost looks unsure of himself, but then that vanishes, and the smirk has returned as he looks Steve up and down again with that same smug sort of expression. "Going by your reaction to all of this, I think she got the right one."
Steve has never before so greatly resembled a goldfish, not even when Tony had dropped his shorts a few moments before.
Tony has moved closer. Steve's not sure how he missed that happening, but Tony is less than an armslength away, now. "What do you think, Captain Wholesome?" he asks, but the smirk is mostly gone, now, and his voice is quieter, meant only for Steve, who frowns.
"I'm not that wholesome." It's an old argument, and one he's never been able to win, but this time, Tony just raises his brows.
"Prove it," he says simply.
And since Steve is never one to back down from a dare, he sucks up his own courage and does what he's been wanting to do for six months. He drops the shirt, and growls, "Fuck off."
Then, before Tony has a chance to respond with more than a broad grin, Steve takes that last step forward (which, he realizes now, is what Tony had been waiting for this whole time) and fuses his mouth to the other man's.
Das ende. Well, not really.
Pairing/Character(s): Steve/Tony and Pepper
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, nudity. Tony in general.
Word Count:
Summary: Steve and Tony play horse and lose clothes.
Author's Notes: Commentfic written for foxxcub, cleaned up all pretty-like. I have no creative title for this. Oh, well.
Steve is deep in the middle of The Da Vinci Code, lent to him by Natasha in an apparent effort to familiarize himself with twenty-first century pop culture (he'd chosen the book over the movie, but he doubts he'll be able to avoid that for long). He's sitting comfortably on the couch in the Stark New York residence, temporarily given over for the Avengers' use, with a glass of Coca Cola on the side table next to him, when a basketball is suddenly dropped into his lap. "Jeez, Tony," he snaps, shoving it away and carefully setting Natasha's book aside. He does pick up the ball again, but he doesn't hand it back to Stark; he keeps hold of it, wary, and in the back of his mind appreciates that this is one of the few times where he's forced to look up at Tony Stark, who normally reaches the height of his chin. Maybe. "Did you want something?"
That earns him a quicksilver smirk and wiggled eyebrows, but then Tony's expression smoothes, and he reaches down to snatch the basketball out of Steve's hands. "I'm bored. Let's shoot some hoops."
Steve, who had always been the short one in gym class, the one chosen last for the pickup basketball games, feels none of his wariness vanish, but since he's not busy, really, he nods and says politely, "Sure, Tony." When he stands, he feels a little better, because at least he's not the short one, this time around.
Because it's Tony Stark, he has a basketball court in his veritable mansion in the midst of Manhattan, but Steve tries not to stare when he steps inside and looks around, glad he'd worn his sneakers today, with his Dockers.
Ten minutes later, he's trounced Tony thoroughly. The other man is sweating, and he strips off his black undershirt, leaving himself only wearing his Nikes and loose-fitting black shorts that are precariously close to falling down, exposing sharp hipbones that Steve does his best not to notice.
"All right, so going one-on-one with Captain freaking America might not have been my best idea ever," Tony announces, taking a long drink from the athletic bottle that had appeared out of nowhere. Steve only watches Tony's adam's apple bobbing as he gulps because he's worried that Tony will drink too much and make himself sick, of course.
"Go easy there," he advises, trying not to sound too condescending.
He must not be very successful, because Tony lowers the bottle and smirks at him again, the expression much less playful than it had been earlier. "Whatever you say, Pops." He shoves the bottle at Steve, who has to take it or let it drop to the floor (he takes it), and turns, bending over to pick up the ball again.
He doesn't bend his knees overmuch to do that, and Steve, who hasn't even broken a sweat but who had taken a drink anyway (only because he doesn't want to get dehydrated- it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Tony had just had his mouth on this bottle), suddenly coughs. A lot.
He catches the ball with one hand when Tony straightens and chucks it to him with no warning. "Know how to play horse?" Tony asks, unpleasant smirk vanished now.
"Yeah," Steve says quietly, setting the water bottle aside. "Yeah, I do." He goes to line up and takes his shot, wondering idly if Tony has thought this through, and resolving to try to lose, since he doubts the other man will be pleased to lose to his enhanced reflexes twice in one afternoon.
In the end, though, he doesn't even have to try to miss, because as he thrusts the ball upward, Tony adds, "Don't miss, it's strip horse."
Steve misses. Not even on purpose. He turns to Tony, blinking and trying to think of what to say, but he's got nothing, and he knows he's blushing. The shit-eating smirk is back, and the former CEO gestures for Steve to get on with it.
Really not wanting to seem like a blushing virgin, Steve tries to look casual as he unbuttons his plaid shirt and strips it off. He folds it somewhat before dropping it on the floor, still wearing his white tee shirt. Tony grabs the ball, shoots... and doesn't miss.
Steve does. And again, it's not even on fucking purpose. Or at least, it's not deliberate on his part. Every time he goes to shoot, Tony says something that throws him off completely. Nothing blatant, of course, but always something that's just distracting enough to throw Steve off.
"Damn, you're fast, Cap."
"Think you can shoot from there? That's a tight little space."
"No worries, Cap. Big projectile, tiny little basket."
"That's a hard shot to make."
"Jesus Christ, Tony," Steve finally snaps, bright red and completely frustrated as he misses his fifth attempt. Tony has missed twice, and has dropped his shoes and his socks. This time, Steve has nothing left to take off but his Dockers, and with a hard swallow, he does so, letting them fall and kicking them away, leaving himself in nothing but his boxer-briefs.
Tony just grins at him, his eyes dragging slowly down and then up Steve's body. This time, Steve goes fire-engine red, all down his front, and this time it's impossible to miss.
But Tony doesn't tease him for it. He just turns and shoots, missing by at least four feet- before Steve can go get the ball, Tony catches it, dribbles, and attempts a lay-up, missing again. The ball flies over the basket, nowhere near to going in, and Tony comes to a stop about ten feet from Steve. Neither of them makes any attempt to go after the ball; Steve is too busy gaping, and Tony is already reaching for his shorts. He doesn't bother pulling off first one thing, then the other; he just bends over and drops everything, kicking both shorts and boxers off and away. "Missed twice, lose two things," he says with a shrug, straightening and grinning. "You can go twice, Steven."
Steve cannot form a response. He stands there, gaping, in his briefs, for at least a minute, but then finally opens his mouth-
"Tony!" The door opens, and Pepper walks in with her ever-present StarkPad, crossing the distance to them very rapidly, considering the considerable height of her heels. She doesn't bat an eyelash at Tony's lack of clothing, and in fact barely even glances at him, as Steve dives for his shirt and holds it up over his briefs with a choked apology.
"Miss Potts, excuse me, I-"
She cuts him off with a businesslike smile and a small eyeroll. "Don't worry. It's nothing I haven't seen before. Sign." This last is directed to Tony, who takes the tablet obediently and scribbles on it with the little plastic pen device, just as unbothered as Pepper appears to be by his nakedness.
"Is that all, Miss Potts?" he asks, and Steve misses the pointed look Tony sends her. He also misses her amusement, being too busy blushing and looking off to the side as she smiles briefly and shakes her head at Tony.
"That's all for now, Mr. Stark. Enjoy your game, Captain Rogers." She turns on her heel and clicks her way back out.
Steve thinks he may have stammered something in the affirmative. He's not sure. He's certain it wasn't in English, whatever he'd managed to say.
He gapes at Tony once the door clicks shut again, and Tony stares at him, one brow raised. "What?"
"She... she thought... she might have thought... we're naked, Tony."
Tony blinks at him. "Your powers of observation astound and amaze."
"She might have gotten the wrong idea!"
There is a long pause; Tony's expression sobers briefly, and he almost looks unsure of himself, but then that vanishes, and the smirk has returned as he looks Steve up and down again with that same smug sort of expression. "Going by your reaction to all of this, I think she got the right one."
Steve has never before so greatly resembled a goldfish, not even when Tony had dropped his shorts a few moments before.
Tony has moved closer. Steve's not sure how he missed that happening, but Tony is less than an armslength away, now. "What do you think, Captain Wholesome?" he asks, but the smirk is mostly gone, now, and his voice is quieter, meant only for Steve, who frowns.
"I'm not that wholesome." It's an old argument, and one he's never been able to win, but this time, Tony just raises his brows.
"Prove it," he says simply.
And since Steve is never one to back down from a dare, he sucks up his own courage and does what he's been wanting to do for six months. He drops the shirt, and growls, "Fuck off."
Then, before Tony has a chance to respond with more than a broad grin, Steve takes that last step forward (which, he realizes now, is what Tony had been waiting for this whole time) and fuses his mouth to the other man's.
Das ende. Well, not really.