Responsibility Is Just Another Word For Guilt - The Avengers - Steve/Tony
Title: Responsibility is Just Another Word For Guilt
Pairing: Steve/Tony
Word Count: 2700
Rating: NC-17
A/N: For the "authority figures" square of my kink_bingo card - Tony musing about Steve's authority.
Summary: Tony has never been particularly interested in responsibility. That doesn't mean he isn't interested in Steve.
Tony is not interested in responsibility.
As a matter of fact, he would say that he is the exact opposite of "interested". Responsibility just means you have to feel bad when things go wrong. That's why he has a board of directors to make the boring decisions from him while he gets to play in the lab. Everybody's happy.
The last thing he would ever have wanted to do is to lead Fury's crack-team of freaks and weirdos (himself included), but that doesn't mean that he doesn't have an appreciative eye for what leadership they do get.
He watches and half-listens as Steve finishes debriefing them from their latest encounter. It's definitely Steve, not Captain America: there's a distinction between the two personas. They're the same person, just different aspects. Where the Captain commands Steve asks. There's a body language difference as well, because when he's high on adrenaline and hiding behind his mask and shield Steve doesn't hesitate. He forgets his manners and puts aside his please-and-thank-yous.
"Go home, everyone. Get some rest - you've earned it." Steve finishes off with a winning smile that could be used in toothpaste commericals.
The others begin to filter away, but Tony stays right where he is, watching Steve as he smiles and charms their colleagues on their way out. He even manages to get a terse grin out of Fury, and he deserves a medal for that. Tony hadn't thought it was possible. Apparently sweet naivety and puppy-like charm work on everybody.
While the room is full, Steve networks and mingles like it's his job, but once the others have left the whole world whittles down to just the pair of them: Steve and Tony. Captain America and Iron Man. The unrecognised tension in Tony's chest releases and he's able to relax, leaning back against the workbench as he watches Steve approaching him.
Steve ducks his head, avoiding Tony's gaze - his smile is sweet and nervous, a long step away from the confidence displayed on the field or even just moments ago. There's something about that contrast that makes Tony pay attention.
"That was a good show out there," he says. "I'm impressed."
Steve looks up, his mouth twitching as if he's unsure whether or not to smile. "You're being sarcastic," he says - but it's a question, isn't it?
"No," Tony promises, hands raised. "No sarcasm."
After a moment of uncertainty, Steve nods. "Thank you. We're getting better, I think. The team's really starting to work as a unit."
Tony agrees, largely because Steve's voice has taken on that tone of confident certainty he gets when talking about teamwork and units and all that kind of crap. Tony doesn't think that words like that belong outside of horrific team-building exercises (which, hell, he owns a company so he never intends on having to attend one). Only Steve can use them without sounding like he belongs in the hell-pits of human resources. Maybe Tony will go ahead and make that a standard rule at Stark Industries: no bullshit-talk unless you're Steve.
"You're a good leader," Tony says, trying to sound earnest - because he means it, he really does. The problem with having a reputation for being flippant is that no one tends to believe him when he's not.
Steve shrugs one shoulder and smiles with a hint of sheepishness. "I guess it's in the name," he says. "'Captain America'."
"It would've been a let-down if you sucked at it, I agree," Tony says. "Might've had to change the name a little."
"Coward America," Steve suggests. "It doesn't have quite the right ring to it."
"Guess we'd have to let Thor lead."
Steve nods politely. "He'd be good at it."
"We'd be hip-deep in body parts within a week," Tony says. "That guys likes a fight."
"He's enthusiastic," Steve agrees. "That's a positive quality."
"Never said it wasn't." Tony grins, teeth on show. "I'm just saying I like your positive qualities more. Learn to take a compliment, Cap."
Steve's eyebrows rise and he nods hesitantly. "Thank you," he says, like he thinks that he's fallen into an alternate universe. Tony resolves to compliment him more often, if only to see that expression again - and to make him get used to it, to make it less of a surprise. The guy is a human god. He deserves all the flattery that's coming to him.
"Rest up, champ," Tony advises, platting Steve on the shoulder on his way past. Beneath his hand, Steve is solid and strong.
The split-second contact travels with him for the rest of the night.
*
He's started paying more attention to it - to Captain America in the midst of combat, to Steve when he puts down the shield and puts away his courage. The complementing contrast is more fascinating than anything he's seen before; Steve holds his attention more surely than any of the beautiful cover models that have rolled in and out of his bedsheets.
He thinks he ought to be worried. Sometimes, when he mentions Steve for the thirteenth time in a fleeting conversation, Pepper will give him a look: filled with amusement and feigned respect, it's a look with a thousand confusing layers of meaning. Tony can't make sense of all of them, but he's absolutely certain that the look means that she's onto him.
As a matter of fact, just about the only person that isn't onto him is Steve. Tony isn't entirely happy with this state of affairs - life would be a lot simpler if Steve would cotton onto the unnatural levels of attention he's paying him.
Tony has a lot of experience when it comes to seducing women. Less when it comes to men. Even less when it comes to men like Steve, who is so firmly wrapped in his honour and morals that Tony isn't entirely sure that he even knows what sex is. Did they have Sex Ed in the 1940s? Maybe that's something he should look into. He doesn't fancy pulling out diagrams if they ever get that far.
At the moment, he's far too busy paying attention to the gigantic psychopath that is currently trying to squish them all. It is at least three times the height and breadth of the Hulk - and seems to be enjoying batting him around like it's swatting a fly. Clint's arrows are pinging from its back like they are nothing more than raindrops.
The readouts on his suit are screaming danger, but a sea of calm washes over him. He glances towards Steve, garbed in his blue costume, for just long enough to receive his commands through a series of hand gestures.
He doesn't question them, just flies higher, up to the danger zone around the creature's head. It bats at him ineffectively while he weaves and dodges its heaving arms: for something so big, it's slow and clumsy. That doesn't mean he can keep this up forever - he sweeps higher, and its hand skims against his toes. Close one. Way too close.
Higher still, but it chases him with reaching arms, stretching higher and higher and higher, unwinding unknown height from its stocky body as Tony soars ahead of it. It roars in frustration.
And then the world rumbles around him.
When he looks down, the creature has plummeted onto its back, toppled by its overstretching and Steve and Thor's teamwork. Before his eyes, Natasha is the one to deliver the final blow, with an impressive display of gymnastics allowing her to slip past flailing limbs and stab one of Clint's arrows into the beast's eyes.
By the time Tony touches down again, the twitching has stopped, thank god. No one ever said that saving the world was a pretty job. They failed to mention that it could be utterly gross.
"Well done," Steve is saying, after clapping Thor on the back and checking that Bruce is unharmed. "That was seriously impressive."
"Not so bad yourself, tough guy," Natasha says, punching him lightly on the shoulder as she and Clint begin to head back towards the car.
As the others start to drift back in that direction, Tony stays where he is and holds out his arm. "Want a lift?" he offers. "It's more stylish than Fury's toy car. Faster, too."
Steve hesitates, but Tony recognises the twitch of his smile. "Promise not to drop me?" he asks, even as he moves forward.
Tony shrugs, as much as one can shrug while encased in a metal robotic suit. "I'll only drop you if I get bored," he says. "Make sure to entertain me."
He very literally sweeps Steve from his feet before he has a chance to argue with him, taking him up into his mechanised arms. It's easy to support his weight - less easy to steer with just the thrusters on his legs, but Tony has more than enough experience with lifting helpless victims to safety. Compared to unconscious, flailing bodies, carrying around Steve with his arms tucked tightly around Tony's shoulders is easy.
It's easy enough that he doesn't want to let go, in fact.
The ground skims by far below them, and he keeps the flight to a reasonable pace. His sensors tell him that Steve is chuckling against him; he wishes that he could feel it through the metal, wishes that he could feel the warmth of Steve's chest against him and the tickle of his breath. Sometimes the protection of the suit has its downfalls.
It's still another couple of miles to go until they make it back to S.H.I.E.L.D's base, but he touches down in a secluded spot, an alleyway tucked away where his sensors say no human life is near. He can't wait. While he's wearing the suit he feels braver than he does at any other time.
"Tony?" Steve asks, as Tony gently places him back on his feet. "What are you doing? Where are we?"
The metal around his face withdraws, releasing him from its confinement. Fresh air hits his face and he breathes deeply, using it to steel himself to the core.
Steve says his name once more, with that soft edge of concern creeping into his voice. The sound of it shivers through Tony as he reaches out for him, tugging Steve closer using one hand on his hip and the other curled around his firm bicep.
Steve's questions die against Tony's lips as he kisses him, pressing their mouths firmly together. He hears muffled surprise against him, but it transforms into a pleased moan: Steve doesn't push him away. With all of that strength in his body, Steve could probably do it, even with Tony in his suit. Tony wouldn't resist him, after all. If Steve tried to push him back, he wouldn't try again.
But, god, it's so much better, the inexperienced way that Steve opens up to him, the hitch of his breath as Tony licks forward and explores his mouth. Steve is new and untested; he can command out in the field, but right here, between the pair of them, he allows Tony to take the lead.
It isn't enough. Kissing Steve is everything but it still isn't enough.
"I've been thinking about this since I met you," Tony admits, growling the words against Steve's slick lips. He wants to bite down on them and leave them red and swollen; more than anything, he wants Steve to need this as badly as he does, wants to leave him panting and addicted. "Here, just let me..."
He never finishes his thought aloud, and his hand presses between Steve's legs, cupping the growing bulge there. Steve groans and leans against the wall behind him, his eyes wide and searching behind the gap in his mask. Tony grins, unable to stop himself, as he carefully squeezes. With his suit on, they're playing with fire. His thrusters are set in his palm; one wrong move, one loss of control, and Steve's gonna be a eunuch.
Steve still doesn't tell him to stop.
Tony grinds his palm against Steve's clothed cock and his grin grows even wider at the sound he makes. He can see colour flooding to Steve's face, a sharp contrast to the bright blue of his suit. He wants him to look like this forever, flushed and out of control.
"C'mon," Tony says, stilling his hand. "Work with me here. I want to watch you."
Steve blinks as if emerging from a dazed sleep, but moments later he grasps hold of Tony's shoulder, clinging to him for leverage as his hips move, frantically rubbing himself against Tony's accepting hand. He looks beautifully out of control. Tony has had nude and giggling supermodels in his bed, sometimes a couple of them at once, but even that sight doesn't compare to having Steve rutting against him like he's in goddamn heat.
"Fuck," Tony swears, pressing closer, wishing that he could shed the suit - wishing, actually, that he'd taken them back to his home where they could both shed their clothes and fall into bed together. He wants to feel Steve's body, sweat-slick and desperate against him; all that pretty, tanned skin is just waiting to be tasted and touched. It isn't right that Steve's had to wait so long. "God, I'm going to do everything to you, Steve. I want to do everything."
He can barely even voice the way that it makes his entire body burn to see Steve losing control like this, falling apart for him. He's human perfection, and he's getting himself off against Tony's suit while panting and moaning like he's lost all sense of shame. Tony is painfully hard, and the hard confines of the suit weren't designed with erections in mind. For the next model, he'll have to consider that.
He starts to move his hand again, moving with Steve to make him shatter apart, crying out loudly as he spills inside his bright blue outfit, climaxing with a shudder that seems world-ending. Tony's smirk is smug and self-satisfied, as he allows Steve to cling to his torso as he catches his breath.
He breathes in the scent of Steve's hair, which smells of dust and dirt after the fight. It still manages to be more enticing than shampoo would be.
"Pull yourself together, soldier," Tony says, his voice so hoarse he hardly recognises it. "You've still got to debrief the troops when we get back."
Steve groans and pulls back. He looks down at himself: stained, sweaty and debauched. To Tony he looks delicious. Apparently Steve isn't quite as pleased with his own appearance. "You're a little bit evil," he says dubiously.
Tony grins. "Come back to my place tonight," he suggests. "I'll show you just how evil I can be."
Steve hesitates for a moment or two, and those moments are unnaturally long and terribly painful. When he laughs and nods, Tony feels warm and heated from the inside out - his blood feels like its fizzing with possibilities.
He takes Steve back to base and watches him slip back into the persona of their captain, as if there is a perfectly innocent explanation for why it took the pair of them an unreasonably long time to make it back to the base. From the way that Natasha hikes an eyebrow at him, Tony thinks that she at least knows exactly what's been going on.
He grins back at her, teeth on show.
He wants everyone to know.
Steve might be in charge of the group. By the time he's done, bit by bit, inch by inch, kiss by kiss, Tony hopes to be utterly in charge of Steve.
Pairing: Steve/Tony
Word Count: 2700
Rating: NC-17
A/N: For the "authority figures" square of my kink_bingo card - Tony musing about Steve's authority.
Summary: Tony has never been particularly interested in responsibility. That doesn't mean he isn't interested in Steve.
Tony is not interested in responsibility.
As a matter of fact, he would say that he is the exact opposite of "interested". Responsibility just means you have to feel bad when things go wrong. That's why he has a board of directors to make the boring decisions from him while he gets to play in the lab. Everybody's happy.
The last thing he would ever have wanted to do is to lead Fury's crack-team of freaks and weirdos (himself included), but that doesn't mean that he doesn't have an appreciative eye for what leadership they do get.
He watches and half-listens as Steve finishes debriefing them from their latest encounter. It's definitely Steve, not Captain America: there's a distinction between the two personas. They're the same person, just different aspects. Where the Captain commands Steve asks. There's a body language difference as well, because when he's high on adrenaline and hiding behind his mask and shield Steve doesn't hesitate. He forgets his manners and puts aside his please-and-thank-yous.
"Go home, everyone. Get some rest - you've earned it." Steve finishes off with a winning smile that could be used in toothpaste commericals.
The others begin to filter away, but Tony stays right where he is, watching Steve as he smiles and charms their colleagues on their way out. He even manages to get a terse grin out of Fury, and he deserves a medal for that. Tony hadn't thought it was possible. Apparently sweet naivety and puppy-like charm work on everybody.
While the room is full, Steve networks and mingles like it's his job, but once the others have left the whole world whittles down to just the pair of them: Steve and Tony. Captain America and Iron Man. The unrecognised tension in Tony's chest releases and he's able to relax, leaning back against the workbench as he watches Steve approaching him.
Steve ducks his head, avoiding Tony's gaze - his smile is sweet and nervous, a long step away from the confidence displayed on the field or even just moments ago. There's something about that contrast that makes Tony pay attention.
"That was a good show out there," he says. "I'm impressed."
Steve looks up, his mouth twitching as if he's unsure whether or not to smile. "You're being sarcastic," he says - but it's a question, isn't it?
"No," Tony promises, hands raised. "No sarcasm."
After a moment of uncertainty, Steve nods. "Thank you. We're getting better, I think. The team's really starting to work as a unit."
Tony agrees, largely because Steve's voice has taken on that tone of confident certainty he gets when talking about teamwork and units and all that kind of crap. Tony doesn't think that words like that belong outside of horrific team-building exercises (which, hell, he owns a company so he never intends on having to attend one). Only Steve can use them without sounding like he belongs in the hell-pits of human resources. Maybe Tony will go ahead and make that a standard rule at Stark Industries: no bullshit-talk unless you're Steve.
"You're a good leader," Tony says, trying to sound earnest - because he means it, he really does. The problem with having a reputation for being flippant is that no one tends to believe him when he's not.
Steve shrugs one shoulder and smiles with a hint of sheepishness. "I guess it's in the name," he says. "'Captain America'."
"It would've been a let-down if you sucked at it, I agree," Tony says. "Might've had to change the name a little."
"Coward America," Steve suggests. "It doesn't have quite the right ring to it."
"Guess we'd have to let Thor lead."
Steve nods politely. "He'd be good at it."
"We'd be hip-deep in body parts within a week," Tony says. "That guys likes a fight."
"He's enthusiastic," Steve agrees. "That's a positive quality."
"Never said it wasn't." Tony grins, teeth on show. "I'm just saying I like your positive qualities more. Learn to take a compliment, Cap."
Steve's eyebrows rise and he nods hesitantly. "Thank you," he says, like he thinks that he's fallen into an alternate universe. Tony resolves to compliment him more often, if only to see that expression again - and to make him get used to it, to make it less of a surprise. The guy is a human god. He deserves all the flattery that's coming to him.
"Rest up, champ," Tony advises, platting Steve on the shoulder on his way past. Beneath his hand, Steve is solid and strong.
The split-second contact travels with him for the rest of the night.
*
He's started paying more attention to it - to Captain America in the midst of combat, to Steve when he puts down the shield and puts away his courage. The complementing contrast is more fascinating than anything he's seen before; Steve holds his attention more surely than any of the beautiful cover models that have rolled in and out of his bedsheets.
He thinks he ought to be worried. Sometimes, when he mentions Steve for the thirteenth time in a fleeting conversation, Pepper will give him a look: filled with amusement and feigned respect, it's a look with a thousand confusing layers of meaning. Tony can't make sense of all of them, but he's absolutely certain that the look means that she's onto him.
As a matter of fact, just about the only person that isn't onto him is Steve. Tony isn't entirely happy with this state of affairs - life would be a lot simpler if Steve would cotton onto the unnatural levels of attention he's paying him.
Tony has a lot of experience when it comes to seducing women. Less when it comes to men. Even less when it comes to men like Steve, who is so firmly wrapped in his honour and morals that Tony isn't entirely sure that he even knows what sex is. Did they have Sex Ed in the 1940s? Maybe that's something he should look into. He doesn't fancy pulling out diagrams if they ever get that far.
At the moment, he's far too busy paying attention to the gigantic psychopath that is currently trying to squish them all. It is at least three times the height and breadth of the Hulk - and seems to be enjoying batting him around like it's swatting a fly. Clint's arrows are pinging from its back like they are nothing more than raindrops.
The readouts on his suit are screaming danger, but a sea of calm washes over him. He glances towards Steve, garbed in his blue costume, for just long enough to receive his commands through a series of hand gestures.
He doesn't question them, just flies higher, up to the danger zone around the creature's head. It bats at him ineffectively while he weaves and dodges its heaving arms: for something so big, it's slow and clumsy. That doesn't mean he can keep this up forever - he sweeps higher, and its hand skims against his toes. Close one. Way too close.
Higher still, but it chases him with reaching arms, stretching higher and higher and higher, unwinding unknown height from its stocky body as Tony soars ahead of it. It roars in frustration.
And then the world rumbles around him.
When he looks down, the creature has plummeted onto its back, toppled by its overstretching and Steve and Thor's teamwork. Before his eyes, Natasha is the one to deliver the final blow, with an impressive display of gymnastics allowing her to slip past flailing limbs and stab one of Clint's arrows into the beast's eyes.
By the time Tony touches down again, the twitching has stopped, thank god. No one ever said that saving the world was a pretty job. They failed to mention that it could be utterly gross.
"Well done," Steve is saying, after clapping Thor on the back and checking that Bruce is unharmed. "That was seriously impressive."
"Not so bad yourself, tough guy," Natasha says, punching him lightly on the shoulder as she and Clint begin to head back towards the car.
As the others start to drift back in that direction, Tony stays where he is and holds out his arm. "Want a lift?" he offers. "It's more stylish than Fury's toy car. Faster, too."
Steve hesitates, but Tony recognises the twitch of his smile. "Promise not to drop me?" he asks, even as he moves forward.
Tony shrugs, as much as one can shrug while encased in a metal robotic suit. "I'll only drop you if I get bored," he says. "Make sure to entertain me."
He very literally sweeps Steve from his feet before he has a chance to argue with him, taking him up into his mechanised arms. It's easy to support his weight - less easy to steer with just the thrusters on his legs, but Tony has more than enough experience with lifting helpless victims to safety. Compared to unconscious, flailing bodies, carrying around Steve with his arms tucked tightly around Tony's shoulders is easy.
It's easy enough that he doesn't want to let go, in fact.
The ground skims by far below them, and he keeps the flight to a reasonable pace. His sensors tell him that Steve is chuckling against him; he wishes that he could feel it through the metal, wishes that he could feel the warmth of Steve's chest against him and the tickle of his breath. Sometimes the protection of the suit has its downfalls.
It's still another couple of miles to go until they make it back to S.H.I.E.L.D's base, but he touches down in a secluded spot, an alleyway tucked away where his sensors say no human life is near. He can't wait. While he's wearing the suit he feels braver than he does at any other time.
"Tony?" Steve asks, as Tony gently places him back on his feet. "What are you doing? Where are we?"
The metal around his face withdraws, releasing him from its confinement. Fresh air hits his face and he breathes deeply, using it to steel himself to the core.
Steve says his name once more, with that soft edge of concern creeping into his voice. The sound of it shivers through Tony as he reaches out for him, tugging Steve closer using one hand on his hip and the other curled around his firm bicep.
Steve's questions die against Tony's lips as he kisses him, pressing their mouths firmly together. He hears muffled surprise against him, but it transforms into a pleased moan: Steve doesn't push him away. With all of that strength in his body, Steve could probably do it, even with Tony in his suit. Tony wouldn't resist him, after all. If Steve tried to push him back, he wouldn't try again.
But, god, it's so much better, the inexperienced way that Steve opens up to him, the hitch of his breath as Tony licks forward and explores his mouth. Steve is new and untested; he can command out in the field, but right here, between the pair of them, he allows Tony to take the lead.
It isn't enough. Kissing Steve is everything but it still isn't enough.
"I've been thinking about this since I met you," Tony admits, growling the words against Steve's slick lips. He wants to bite down on them and leave them red and swollen; more than anything, he wants Steve to need this as badly as he does, wants to leave him panting and addicted. "Here, just let me..."
He never finishes his thought aloud, and his hand presses between Steve's legs, cupping the growing bulge there. Steve groans and leans against the wall behind him, his eyes wide and searching behind the gap in his mask. Tony grins, unable to stop himself, as he carefully squeezes. With his suit on, they're playing with fire. His thrusters are set in his palm; one wrong move, one loss of control, and Steve's gonna be a eunuch.
Steve still doesn't tell him to stop.
Tony grinds his palm against Steve's clothed cock and his grin grows even wider at the sound he makes. He can see colour flooding to Steve's face, a sharp contrast to the bright blue of his suit. He wants him to look like this forever, flushed and out of control.
"C'mon," Tony says, stilling his hand. "Work with me here. I want to watch you."
Steve blinks as if emerging from a dazed sleep, but moments later he grasps hold of Tony's shoulder, clinging to him for leverage as his hips move, frantically rubbing himself against Tony's accepting hand. He looks beautifully out of control. Tony has had nude and giggling supermodels in his bed, sometimes a couple of them at once, but even that sight doesn't compare to having Steve rutting against him like he's in goddamn heat.
"Fuck," Tony swears, pressing closer, wishing that he could shed the suit - wishing, actually, that he'd taken them back to his home where they could both shed their clothes and fall into bed together. He wants to feel Steve's body, sweat-slick and desperate against him; all that pretty, tanned skin is just waiting to be tasted and touched. It isn't right that Steve's had to wait so long. "God, I'm going to do everything to you, Steve. I want to do everything."
He can barely even voice the way that it makes his entire body burn to see Steve losing control like this, falling apart for him. He's human perfection, and he's getting himself off against Tony's suit while panting and moaning like he's lost all sense of shame. Tony is painfully hard, and the hard confines of the suit weren't designed with erections in mind. For the next model, he'll have to consider that.
He starts to move his hand again, moving with Steve to make him shatter apart, crying out loudly as he spills inside his bright blue outfit, climaxing with a shudder that seems world-ending. Tony's smirk is smug and self-satisfied, as he allows Steve to cling to his torso as he catches his breath.
He breathes in the scent of Steve's hair, which smells of dust and dirt after the fight. It still manages to be more enticing than shampoo would be.
"Pull yourself together, soldier," Tony says, his voice so hoarse he hardly recognises it. "You've still got to debrief the troops when we get back."
Steve groans and pulls back. He looks down at himself: stained, sweaty and debauched. To Tony he looks delicious. Apparently Steve isn't quite as pleased with his own appearance. "You're a little bit evil," he says dubiously.
Tony grins. "Come back to my place tonight," he suggests. "I'll show you just how evil I can be."
Steve hesitates for a moment or two, and those moments are unnaturally long and terribly painful. When he laughs and nods, Tony feels warm and heated from the inside out - his blood feels like its fizzing with possibilities.
He takes Steve back to base and watches him slip back into the persona of their captain, as if there is a perfectly innocent explanation for why it took the pair of them an unreasonably long time to make it back to the base. From the way that Natasha hikes an eyebrow at him, Tony thinks that she at least knows exactly what's been going on.
He grins back at her, teeth on show.
He wants everyone to know.
Steve might be in charge of the group. By the time he's done, bit by bit, inch by inch, kiss by kiss, Tony hopes to be utterly in charge of Steve.