[fic] Pushing Boundaries.
Title: Pushing Boundaries.
Fandom: Avengers Movie-'verse.
Rating: NC-17.
Characters/Pairings: Steve/Bruce/Tony. (Captain America/Hulk/Iron Man)
Warnings: Tentacles, sex, orgasm denial.
Word Count: 2,262 words.
Summary: Bruce holding Steve down while Steve's overloaded by these new appendages that won't stop touching things. Namely Bruce. Oh, and Tony helps out too.
Notes: A fill for
kink_bingo. My card is fabulous and I'll post it after this, so I can share how glorious it is.
Many thanks to
ravenspear and
theinsaneeraser for being general cheerleaders here. ;)
Oh, and: assuming that it's set with a pre-established relationship between Bruce, Steve and Tony.
---
Bruce is the one to hold him down when his mind fractures, sensations overloading him and prompting panic. It's not a violent struggle - he'd break free if it were - but instead it's Bruce holding the back of his neck and keeping him down with a steady pressure.
There are reasons why the hold works, reasons that Tony has theorized over and explained to him in fits of fascination, but all Steve can remember now is that Bruce grips his neck and his world shrinks down to the sensation of the chain of his dog-tags biting into his skin as the metal warms to Bruce's touch.
Bruce listens to him pant into the pillow, waits for him to calm down, and carefully lets go, smoothing Steve's hair back.
"It's not so bad now," Steve reports, trying not to lose it as the tentacles attached to his back uncurl from their resting position, waking up as he does. It feels like he's grown six not-really-hands and he hates this mutation. He knows it will wear off within a day, and he knows that this is temporary, but it's not reassuring in the least when he can't get up from the bed without getting aroused as the tentacles touch anything and everything they can reach without his consent.
"I'm not going anywhere," Bruce promises. Steve doesn't want to know what he sees right now; he doesn't want to think.
"I - nng!" Steve's whole body jolts as one of the tentacles wraps itself around Bruce's arm. He processes warm skin and he can feel Bruce's pulse as the tentacle settles around Bruce's wrist. "Oh - I - oh god - Bruce - "
That's why he's not going anywhere. The tentacles are oversensitive, and he has no filter. He feels everything and somehow his brain translates that to pleasure.
He moans into the pillow, trying not to squirm, erection jutting into the mattress. He doesn't grind his hips forward, but it's a near thing. Panic isn't enough to kill the arousal, not when he twists his head back to look at Bruce, unable to ask for the help. It's too much.
Bruce is a lifesaver: he doesn't hesitate to put his hand back on Steve's neck and push him down, grounding him. Steve goes still, then relaxes under Bruce's hold, panic receding.
But.
This time the tentacles don't go limp and loose and curl on Steve's back. This time the one around Bruce's arm tightens its grip and stays as its siblings gravitate to Bruce, gently exploring his arm, his shoulder, the cleft between shirt-sleeve and skin, his hand - there is no tugging, simply the limbs touching Bruce and exploring him. The tentacled equivalent of trailing fingers along bare skin.
Steve remains still, grounded by Bruce's hold but helpless because of it, unable to do anything except feel.
"They're friendly," Bruce says, gently taking one with his free hand and guiding it away from his shirt. "Steve, are you alright?"
Steve realizes that he's been making a noise halfway between a moan and a whimper and tries to say no, but Bruce squeezes the tentacle as he pulls it away and all Steve can manage is an aborted hiccup.
He's going to come, he realizes. He is going to come untouched on the sheets because these alien appendages won't stop touching Bruce. He doesn't want to, he thinks, but there's nothing he can do about it.
As he realizes this one of the tentacles turns back from Bruce, reaching back between his legs and wrapping itself around his cock and balls, and Steve makes a strangled sound, hips jerking forward at the sensation.
He thrusts forward, grinding into the bed for nearly a minute before he can think enough to figure out what that tentacle is doing: he can't come. Not with the tentacle restraining him, and that thought leads to the next: did it react to him? To his fear?
Almost as confirmation the tentacle squeezes, making cry out. And it happens again, and again, the other tentacles sticking to Bruce, and distantly he hears Bruce speaking, but he can't listen, not when the other tentacles are moving, winding their ways into Bruce's clothing, not when two of them have wound around Bruce's wrists, keeping his hands on Steve's shoulder and neck.
"Oh god," Steve manages, gripping at the bed. "Bruce - "
---
Is fine. Is calm. Bruce breathes, giving up on convincing the tentacles to let go of him, focused instead on keeping himself under control.
At least they aren't turning violent, he reflects wryly. The tentacles have proven themselves to be stronger than any normal human, bending and breaking Iron Man's armor earlier - Tony had not been happy, and that was one of the reasons why Steve had volunteered to wait in his room until the mutation wore off.
Bruce doesn't contemplate the injuries he could be facing if the tentacles did get violent, or the injuries Steve would get as a result. He had to remain calm, after all.
"Try touching them," Tony says from the doorway, and Bruce looks over, suppressing a sigh. Tony's in fine spirits, back in civilian clothes (a t-shirt and jeans) and clearly ready to come on in and bother Steve.
"I've tried not to encourage them," Bruce says.
"Well, look at where that's gotten you." Tony shrugs, closing the door behind him. "Giving them some attention may get them to calm down, instead of teasing Steve every time he so much as looks at you."
Bruce would sigh: Tony's been waiting for this ever since he found out exactly how sensitive the tentacles are. It's a miracle Tony's held off for so long, actually.
In the end he says nothing as Tony undresses, listening to Steve's moans and thinking back to a similar scene from just a few days ago: Steve held under him while Tony undressed, and while the tentacles hadn't been present, the sex had been intense. (Carefully so on his part, but worth the trouble.)
Steve whimpers into the pillow again as Tony kneels on the other side of him. Bruce wonders how he'll go about this but doesn't ask, resigning himself instead to sitting and waiting.
(That's part of his ongoing fascination with Tony: yes, he can rely on Tony giving into temptation all too often and pushing past boundaries he shouldn't, but it's the context and the method that draws Bruce back to watch, time and time again. That, and those rare moments when Tony goes too far and realizes that he has, understands why without prodding. Bruce wants to be there for those moments.)
Tony starts by putting a hand on Steve's shoulder, giving what's probably meant to be a reassuring squeeze before pushing Steve onto his side. Steve's surprisingly pliable, moving without much prompting, lying so he faces Bruce, tentacles still firmly in place.
"How's he look?"
"Aroused," Bruce says, not letting go of Steve. He's there for Steve - Tony, too - and he'll stay calm here. He'll make sure that no one gets pushed too far here.
"I never would have guessed," Tony deadpans. "Bruce, I want details. I'll call Jarvis up, get a detailed description from him if I have to."
But Steve is aroused, eyes closed, mouth open, hips thrusting in small movements. His hands are clenched into fists, and Bruce spots sweat beading on his forehead. It's rare for Steve to truly exert himself during sex (unless they're getting excessively creative or if Tony's pushy or if they zero in on the bulletproof kinks of Steve's and emphasize them) but given how sensitive the flesh-colored tentacles seem to be Bruce isn't surprised: Steve's been wrestling with his self-control all day, and it shows.
More details. Right.
"He isn't panicking," Bruce says, focusing on health first. "And..." A detail he'd missed. "Tony, there's a tentacle wrapped around his penis." So that was where that tentacle had gone, and that was why Steve had suddenly lost what remained of his self-control earlier.
"Oh, cool," Tony says, leaning over to look. "Perfect, hang tight."
"For what?" Bruce asks as Steve whimpers.
"For this," Tony says, and Bruce leans forward in time to see Tony wrap his fingers around the base of the tentacles, where they merge into the skin at the base of Steve's spine.
Steve howls.
His body jolts, tentacles and cock twitching as he (Bruce guesses) tries to come but fails, restrained as he is. Whatever rational thought he'd managed to regain is lost again as he spasms, overwhelmed.
But he doesn't move. Steve doesn't grab for either of them, and he doesn't struggle in Bruce's hold. All of his movements are involuntary ones that he can't control.
"That's good," Tony says, looking over Steve, leaning over him as he threads his fingers through the tentacles. He sorts them, using both hands to lay out which tentacle goes where, working gamely despite the fact that none of them let go of Bruce or Steve and return to Steve's back.
Steve's moaning again, shaking under Bruce's hold. If they talked to him now they wouldn't get through, Bruce knows.
One of the tentacles disrupts Bruce's train of thought entirely, slipping in the front of his pants, abandoning his shirt in favor of squirming under the waistband of his briefs, and Bruce stills as it fits itself around him, winding around his cock twice (testing his self control - he can't, can't let go now) before probing further back, forcing him to spread his legs as it pushes into him, pulsing around his cock as it goes.
"Tony," he says, hanging on for dear life, grip on Steve as much for Steve's benefit as his now, forcing back the arousal and panic and surge of emotion that leads to memory loss and destruction and rage. "It's in...in me." He makes himself finish the sentence.
Tony actually has the good grace to look apologetic and slightly concerned.
"We know that they go limp when he's calm," Tony says, and Bruce sees where this is going.
"Do it," he says, forcing bravery along with control. Taking the time to fight with these things, to pull it out - he might not last that. Steve might not survive that. (Steve is hyperventilating, jerking under his hands now; Bruce understands why.)
It shouldn't be a surprise when Tony kisses him, but it is. Affection is still a foreign concept, one that he's been relearning with Steve and Tony's help.
Tony's grinning when he pulls back, confident as usual, before he bends down to lick at the tip of Steve's cock.
"I think," Bruce says as the tentacles spasm around (in) him. "You might kill him."
"Can't kill a super-soldier with sex," Tony argues, licking again.
Bruce really doesn't know what to say to that. Not when Tony's convincing Steve's tentacle to unwind enough to let Tony take Steve in deeper, sucking hard on his erection.
Steve howls again, finally reaching out with a shaking hand to grab at Tony's shoulder, then at his hair, whining like he doesn't know what to do, pupils blown and Bruce makes a sound because Steve is wrecked, beyond anything they've ever done.
He lets go of Steve's neck, does something he's never done before while Tony makes a choked noise when Steve pushes his head down, forcing him to take more of Steve into his mouth. Bruce hooks fingers through the chain of the dog-tags, dragging it back to put a pressure at Steve's throat, firm. Pushing at a boundary he shouldn't, would never dare to but he's just barely holding his own together.
Steve stills, noises dying in his throat, and something works: the tentacles loosen, they don't go limp, but they loosen enough for Steve to come, and Bruce watches him fall apart, listens to Tony scrabble for air through ill-timed laughter and Steve's semen.
Now the tentacles go loose and limp, and Bruce lets go of Steve's dog-tags to pat at his hair quickly before dragging his pants down and unwinding the tentacle, getting it out of him. (A moment, please, to mourn that god he'd love to let it do what it was doing, he'd love to come off of it, to come to Steve's moans and whimpers, but he can't and he's not even angry about that, not any more.)
Steve sprawls, eyes shut, probably knocked out. It's for the best, Bruce thinks.
"Is he dead?" Tony asks, running a hand over his face to wipe off the semen.
Bruce shakes his head, refastening his pants.
A moment. He hesitates, but it's a long learning process. He leans in to kiss Tony, ignoring the mess.
Steve makes a sound under them, like he's been shot.
Tony laughs into Bruce's mouth, and Bruce lets him push Steve to his back, climbing over him to kiss him too, open-mouthed and sloppy and Bruce will never begrudge them for fitting so well. Not when Tony slides off Steve seconds later to grab a wash-cloth, leaving them alone again.
Steve closes his eyes, spent.
The dog-tags are still pressed up against the hollow of Steve's throat. Bruce lets himself look, but he doesn't touch.
"Bruce?" His voice isn't hoarse, and Bruce wonders at that. Probably the serum showing off again.
"Yes?"
Steve cracks open an eye, a smile on his lips. "If he says anything about round two, kill him."
It feels good to laugh, moreso when Steve raises a hand to pull him down for a kiss.
---
Fandom: Avengers Movie-'verse.
Rating: NC-17.
Characters/Pairings: Steve/Bruce/Tony. (Captain America/Hulk/Iron Man)
Warnings: Tentacles, sex, orgasm denial.
Word Count: 2,262 words.
Summary: Bruce holding Steve down while Steve's overloaded by these new appendages that won't stop touching things. Namely Bruce. Oh, and Tony helps out too.
Notes: A fill for
kink_bingo. My card is fabulous and I'll post it after this, so I can share how glorious it is.
Many thanks to
ravenspear and
theinsaneeraser for being general cheerleaders here. ;)
Oh, and: assuming that it's set with a pre-established relationship between Bruce, Steve and Tony.
---
Bruce is the one to hold him down when his mind fractures, sensations overloading him and prompting panic. It's not a violent struggle - he'd break free if it were - but instead it's Bruce holding the back of his neck and keeping him down with a steady pressure.
There are reasons why the hold works, reasons that Tony has theorized over and explained to him in fits of fascination, but all Steve can remember now is that Bruce grips his neck and his world shrinks down to the sensation of the chain of his dog-tags biting into his skin as the metal warms to Bruce's touch.
Bruce listens to him pant into the pillow, waits for him to calm down, and carefully lets go, smoothing Steve's hair back.
"It's not so bad now," Steve reports, trying not to lose it as the tentacles attached to his back uncurl from their resting position, waking up as he does. It feels like he's grown six not-really-hands and he hates this mutation. He knows it will wear off within a day, and he knows that this is temporary, but it's not reassuring in the least when he can't get up from the bed without getting aroused as the tentacles touch anything and everything they can reach without his consent.
"I'm not going anywhere," Bruce promises. Steve doesn't want to know what he sees right now; he doesn't want to think.
"I - nng!" Steve's whole body jolts as one of the tentacles wraps itself around Bruce's arm. He processes warm skin and he can feel Bruce's pulse as the tentacle settles around Bruce's wrist. "Oh - I - oh god - Bruce - "
That's why he's not going anywhere. The tentacles are oversensitive, and he has no filter. He feels everything and somehow his brain translates that to pleasure.
He moans into the pillow, trying not to squirm, erection jutting into the mattress. He doesn't grind his hips forward, but it's a near thing. Panic isn't enough to kill the arousal, not when he twists his head back to look at Bruce, unable to ask for the help. It's too much.
Bruce is a lifesaver: he doesn't hesitate to put his hand back on Steve's neck and push him down, grounding him. Steve goes still, then relaxes under Bruce's hold, panic receding.
But.
This time the tentacles don't go limp and loose and curl on Steve's back. This time the one around Bruce's arm tightens its grip and stays as its siblings gravitate to Bruce, gently exploring his arm, his shoulder, the cleft between shirt-sleeve and skin, his hand - there is no tugging, simply the limbs touching Bruce and exploring him. The tentacled equivalent of trailing fingers along bare skin.
Steve remains still, grounded by Bruce's hold but helpless because of it, unable to do anything except feel.
"They're friendly," Bruce says, gently taking one with his free hand and guiding it away from his shirt. "Steve, are you alright?"
Steve realizes that he's been making a noise halfway between a moan and a whimper and tries to say no, but Bruce squeezes the tentacle as he pulls it away and all Steve can manage is an aborted hiccup.
He's going to come, he realizes. He is going to come untouched on the sheets because these alien appendages won't stop touching Bruce. He doesn't want to, he thinks, but there's nothing he can do about it.
As he realizes this one of the tentacles turns back from Bruce, reaching back between his legs and wrapping itself around his cock and balls, and Steve makes a strangled sound, hips jerking forward at the sensation.
He thrusts forward, grinding into the bed for nearly a minute before he can think enough to figure out what that tentacle is doing: he can't come. Not with the tentacle restraining him, and that thought leads to the next: did it react to him? To his fear?
Almost as confirmation the tentacle squeezes, making cry out. And it happens again, and again, the other tentacles sticking to Bruce, and distantly he hears Bruce speaking, but he can't listen, not when the other tentacles are moving, winding their ways into Bruce's clothing, not when two of them have wound around Bruce's wrists, keeping his hands on Steve's shoulder and neck.
"Oh god," Steve manages, gripping at the bed. "Bruce - "
---
Is fine. Is calm. Bruce breathes, giving up on convincing the tentacles to let go of him, focused instead on keeping himself under control.
At least they aren't turning violent, he reflects wryly. The tentacles have proven themselves to be stronger than any normal human, bending and breaking Iron Man's armor earlier - Tony had not been happy, and that was one of the reasons why Steve had volunteered to wait in his room until the mutation wore off.
Bruce doesn't contemplate the injuries he could be facing if the tentacles did get violent, or the injuries Steve would get as a result. He had to remain calm, after all.
"Try touching them," Tony says from the doorway, and Bruce looks over, suppressing a sigh. Tony's in fine spirits, back in civilian clothes (a t-shirt and jeans) and clearly ready to come on in and bother Steve.
"I've tried not to encourage them," Bruce says.
"Well, look at where that's gotten you." Tony shrugs, closing the door behind him. "Giving them some attention may get them to calm down, instead of teasing Steve every time he so much as looks at you."
Bruce would sigh: Tony's been waiting for this ever since he found out exactly how sensitive the tentacles are. It's a miracle Tony's held off for so long, actually.
In the end he says nothing as Tony undresses, listening to Steve's moans and thinking back to a similar scene from just a few days ago: Steve held under him while Tony undressed, and while the tentacles hadn't been present, the sex had been intense. (Carefully so on his part, but worth the trouble.)
Steve whimpers into the pillow again as Tony kneels on the other side of him. Bruce wonders how he'll go about this but doesn't ask, resigning himself instead to sitting and waiting.
(That's part of his ongoing fascination with Tony: yes, he can rely on Tony giving into temptation all too often and pushing past boundaries he shouldn't, but it's the context and the method that draws Bruce back to watch, time and time again. That, and those rare moments when Tony goes too far and realizes that he has, understands why without prodding. Bruce wants to be there for those moments.)
Tony starts by putting a hand on Steve's shoulder, giving what's probably meant to be a reassuring squeeze before pushing Steve onto his side. Steve's surprisingly pliable, moving without much prompting, lying so he faces Bruce, tentacles still firmly in place.
"How's he look?"
"Aroused," Bruce says, not letting go of Steve. He's there for Steve - Tony, too - and he'll stay calm here. He'll make sure that no one gets pushed too far here.
"I never would have guessed," Tony deadpans. "Bruce, I want details. I'll call Jarvis up, get a detailed description from him if I have to."
But Steve is aroused, eyes closed, mouth open, hips thrusting in small movements. His hands are clenched into fists, and Bruce spots sweat beading on his forehead. It's rare for Steve to truly exert himself during sex (unless they're getting excessively creative or if Tony's pushy or if they zero in on the bulletproof kinks of Steve's and emphasize them) but given how sensitive the flesh-colored tentacles seem to be Bruce isn't surprised: Steve's been wrestling with his self-control all day, and it shows.
More details. Right.
"He isn't panicking," Bruce says, focusing on health first. "And..." A detail he'd missed. "Tony, there's a tentacle wrapped around his penis." So that was where that tentacle had gone, and that was why Steve had suddenly lost what remained of his self-control earlier.
"Oh, cool," Tony says, leaning over to look. "Perfect, hang tight."
"For what?" Bruce asks as Steve whimpers.
"For this," Tony says, and Bruce leans forward in time to see Tony wrap his fingers around the base of the tentacles, where they merge into the skin at the base of Steve's spine.
Steve howls.
His body jolts, tentacles and cock twitching as he (Bruce guesses) tries to come but fails, restrained as he is. Whatever rational thought he'd managed to regain is lost again as he spasms, overwhelmed.
But he doesn't move. Steve doesn't grab for either of them, and he doesn't struggle in Bruce's hold. All of his movements are involuntary ones that he can't control.
"That's good," Tony says, looking over Steve, leaning over him as he threads his fingers through the tentacles. He sorts them, using both hands to lay out which tentacle goes where, working gamely despite the fact that none of them let go of Bruce or Steve and return to Steve's back.
Steve's moaning again, shaking under Bruce's hold. If they talked to him now they wouldn't get through, Bruce knows.
One of the tentacles disrupts Bruce's train of thought entirely, slipping in the front of his pants, abandoning his shirt in favor of squirming under the waistband of his briefs, and Bruce stills as it fits itself around him, winding around his cock twice (testing his self control - he can't, can't let go now) before probing further back, forcing him to spread his legs as it pushes into him, pulsing around his cock as it goes.
"Tony," he says, hanging on for dear life, grip on Steve as much for Steve's benefit as his now, forcing back the arousal and panic and surge of emotion that leads to memory loss and destruction and rage. "It's in...in me." He makes himself finish the sentence.
Tony actually has the good grace to look apologetic and slightly concerned.
"We know that they go limp when he's calm," Tony says, and Bruce sees where this is going.
"Do it," he says, forcing bravery along with control. Taking the time to fight with these things, to pull it out - he might not last that. Steve might not survive that. (Steve is hyperventilating, jerking under his hands now; Bruce understands why.)
It shouldn't be a surprise when Tony kisses him, but it is. Affection is still a foreign concept, one that he's been relearning with Steve and Tony's help.
Tony's grinning when he pulls back, confident as usual, before he bends down to lick at the tip of Steve's cock.
"I think," Bruce says as the tentacles spasm around (in) him. "You might kill him."
"Can't kill a super-soldier with sex," Tony argues, licking again.
Bruce really doesn't know what to say to that. Not when Tony's convincing Steve's tentacle to unwind enough to let Tony take Steve in deeper, sucking hard on his erection.
Steve howls again, finally reaching out with a shaking hand to grab at Tony's shoulder, then at his hair, whining like he doesn't know what to do, pupils blown and Bruce makes a sound because Steve is wrecked, beyond anything they've ever done.
He lets go of Steve's neck, does something he's never done before while Tony makes a choked noise when Steve pushes his head down, forcing him to take more of Steve into his mouth. Bruce hooks fingers through the chain of the dog-tags, dragging it back to put a pressure at Steve's throat, firm. Pushing at a boundary he shouldn't, would never dare to but he's just barely holding his own together.
Steve stills, noises dying in his throat, and something works: the tentacles loosen, they don't go limp, but they loosen enough for Steve to come, and Bruce watches him fall apart, listens to Tony scrabble for air through ill-timed laughter and Steve's semen.
Now the tentacles go loose and limp, and Bruce lets go of Steve's dog-tags to pat at his hair quickly before dragging his pants down and unwinding the tentacle, getting it out of him. (A moment, please, to mourn that god he'd love to let it do what it was doing, he'd love to come off of it, to come to Steve's moans and whimpers, but he can't and he's not even angry about that, not any more.)
Steve sprawls, eyes shut, probably knocked out. It's for the best, Bruce thinks.
"Is he dead?" Tony asks, running a hand over his face to wipe off the semen.
Bruce shakes his head, refastening his pants.
A moment. He hesitates, but it's a long learning process. He leans in to kiss Tony, ignoring the mess.
Steve makes a sound under them, like he's been shot.
Tony laughs into Bruce's mouth, and Bruce lets him push Steve to his back, climbing over him to kiss him too, open-mouthed and sloppy and Bruce will never begrudge them for fitting so well. Not when Tony slides off Steve seconds later to grab a wash-cloth, leaving them alone again.
Steve closes his eyes, spent.
The dog-tags are still pressed up against the hollow of Steve's throat. Bruce lets himself look, but he doesn't touch.
"Bruce?" His voice isn't hoarse, and Bruce wonders at that. Probably the serum showing off again.
"Yes?"
Steve cracks open an eye, a smile on his lips. "If he says anything about round two, kill him."
It feels good to laugh, moreso when Steve raises a hand to pull him down for a kiss.
---