Tony moaned as Steve pulled out of him again, pressing soft, wet kisses down over his back, his spine. He was trembling, felt hot, but the main thing it was hard not to focus on was how wet and open his ass felt around Steve’s (hot, thick, still mostly hard) dick as it slid back and out of him (damn, so easily). Tony buried his face in his arm, gasping, and moaned again. He felt so hot all over.
“Are you okay?” Steve murmured against the back of his neck, big, warm hand coming up to stroke through Tony’s sweaty hair. “We don’t have to keep going, you know. We can stop. No big deal.”
“It—it feels like a big deal to, to me,” Tony managed to pant out, after a second. “That’s a very big deal you have in your pants, handsome.”
“Tony,” Steve groaned, letting his forehead, sweaty and warm even against Tony’s sweaty skin (he was making him sweat, Tony thought with a glow of pride that made him want to squirm against the sheets), slide down against Tony’s shoulder. “Was that a joke about the size of my dick?”
“W-wasn’t it obvious?” Tony asked, even if it came out gasping and breathless. “Maybe I need to—to work on my delivery.”
“Maybe I need to go harder, if you can still make jokes like that,” Steve muttered.
“No, no,” Tony said, smiling against the bed. “There’s nothing wrong with your delivery, hot stuff.”
Steve’s hand slid down his back, rubbed gently at the sweat-slick small of it, the base of his spine. “I don’t know,” he said. “You’re making a pretty fast comeback for someone who was breathless and moaning on my cock like he couldn’t even remember his own name a minute ago.”
“I’m, uh, punch-drunk, from your dick,” Tony informed him, a warm flush sweeping over him at that, because it was true, he’d been a wreck while Steve was fucking him. He did feel more than a little giddy, dragging in huge lungfuls of musky, sex-warm air. “I’m not responsible for my actions. How many times have you gotten off inside me now?”
“Mmm,” Steve said, hand circling in warm, firm circles at the base of Tony’s spine, rubbing in gently so that muscles that had been wanting to tighten, to clench up, went loose and soft under his fingers, and Tony groaned again, felt himself flutter and leak out a little more of Steve’s come, and flushed. “Four times, I think. So … five if you count how you sucked me off first.”
“Mmm, let’s count that,” Tony mumbled. He could still taste Steve on his tongue, down his throat, the taste of his musk, the sweetish-salty flavor of his come. “After all, the come’s definitely inside me, right?”
Steve laughed, pressed his flushed cheek to Tony’s shoulder. “Tony,” he said, again, then, “Yeah, well, I guess so.”
“I know so,” Tony said, and it came out of him breathy and soft. His mind felt so—so soft, full and empty at the same time, his body sore and aching but light, almost fizzy, his stomach swooping on every breath. He felt giddy, light, lightheaded. He laughed a little, couldn’t seem to help it. “And I—I’m the one it’s all inside of, so I should know, right?”
“I take it back,” Steve said, pressing soft kisses over his shoulders now. “You are pretty out of it, aren’t you, mister?”
“I am good at, at babbling even when my brain’s, uh, uh, mush,” Tony told him. Steve’s hands, both of them, smoothed up over his back, massaging deep into the muscles, and Tony groaned, head lolling against the covers. His mouth felt wet. “It’s a skill I, I … developed. You wouldn’t believe how handy it’s been over the years, actually.”
“I think I would believe it, motor mouth,” Steve said, kissing the back of his neck gently, so soft and warm that Tony felt his face go hot, buried it against the bed, hiding it under his arm. Steve’s hands slid up, rubbed at his shoulders. “Since I’ve been on the receiving end once or twice, I’m pretty sure, plus, I’ve seen you pull my fat out of the fire with that more than once. Listen, are you feeling okay? Are you good to keep going?”
“Yeah,” Tony breathed. Steve was rubbing at the back of his neck now, one hand coming up, carding through his hair, then sliding back down, along over his back. “I’m, I’m good, sweetie.”
“Are you sure?” Steve said. “Tell me if anything hurts, all right? Even if you want to keep going. I will, I just gotta know.”
“It … it doesn’t hurt,” Tony finally managed, trying to do an inventory of his body even though his mind felt thick and slow, like honey, all sweet and sticky. His thighs felt wet, his hole hot and raw and wet and—and open, his insides oversensitive, twitching and tender, loose and wet and quivering against the cool air he could feel inside when he shifted. He felt very puffy and soft, open and wet, and it wasn’t a feeling he was used to. But it didn’t hurt, not really. There was a little soreness, a raw hot prickle against the air where he felt so open and raw, but—Steve had been careful, kept him so slick and wet he could feel lube trickling out of him right along with Steve’s come, now. It didn’t hurt. His muscles were a little sore, but it was a good kind of sore, overworked and tingling like a good workout. He felt good.
Steve slid his hand down, rubbed it gently over the wet, sticky curve of Tony’s ass, and Tony sucked in his breath, shivered under him, at the suggestion in that touch. He was already so soft and tired, felt exhausted, but he could feel the warm, prickling muscles of his belly already clenching at that touch, burning lowly with overwork, wondering how soon he would get more. “I want you to take a deep breath,” Steve said, and Tony did, feeling himself relax a little more, his muscles unwinding, going loose again. He could feel more come (lube?) trickle down out of him, over his balls, over his thighs, but tried not to react to it, just stay loose and easy, Steve would have said, easy, Tony, relaxed against the bed. “Shh,” Steve said, “that’s good. You’re still, uh, lemme see.” His fingers were very gentle against Tony’s hole, stroking against the quivering muscles, but they made the raw skin prickle and ache, almost, and Tony felt himself gasp, shift under the touch, more liquid dripping out of him where he was so wet and open. “You’re still really open,” Steve breathed, and then his fingers were pushing inside of Tony, crooking into him. His fingers were soft, incredibly soft, against Tony’s sensitive insides, but he was so oversensitive, so hot and swollen and shuddering against Steve’s touch, that it felt incredibly vivid, overwhelming, just to have Steve’s fingers pressing into him again. He could feel himself wet and leaking around them as they moved slowly, pressing inside him, curving, stretching him open.
Tony moaned against the pillow, bit his bottom lip, feeling how wet and slack it felt, how messy he was making the pillow under his head with his own saliva, drooling out of his mouth.
“Shh,” Steve said, still curling his fingers gently, stretching at Tony’s already open hole until he felt himself spreading easily for him, opening up soft and fluttering, gaping around his fingers. “Oh, God,” he said, “I’m so afraid I’m going to hurt you.”
Tony groaned, blinked his eyes open again against the pillow. “What?” he managed to get out. It sounded breathy, slurred, even to his own ears. “No … no. You’re, you’re not, don’t think that, sugarpie.”
“I—I don’t know,” Steve said. His fingers were still rubbing gently at Tony’s inner tissues, against the rim of his hole, making him quiver and gasp. “Maybe you’re already too raw. Maybe we should have started with the fisting if we wanted to do it … you’re going to be so sore, and I—”
“Honey,” Tony breathed, “you would never be able to fit your hand into me without all the, all the, you know, the sex first. You want to do this. I—I want to do this.” He took a breath, swallowed, pushed his face into the pillow, overwhelmed for a moment at the idea of it, Steve’s hand, God, even bigger than his dick, probably, inside him, stretching it out, he had to be crazy to want to do this, but he did, God, he did, he just wanted to—to give it up for Steve, in any way he could, any way possible, to see if he could bear that penetration, to let Steve open him up and press his big, strong hand inside him, into his body, more intimate than anything. When he managed to speak again, it came out sounding hoarse, breathy, rasping. “Give it a try for me, please? If it, if it hurts too much, if I can’t let you in, I, I promise I’ll say.”
“You’re always so tight, though, Tony,” Steve whispered. “Even now I can feel you tightening up just a little on my fingers, and I … you have to relax, sweetheart, or this is never, ever going to work, and I—my hand’s big, bigger than my cock, and sometimes you can’t take even that, I—I really don’t want to hurt you.”
“So go slow,” Tony murmured into the pillow. “’m already open, just work on up, okay?”
“Are you sure you want this?” Steve asked quietly. “I know I was the one who first mentioned it, but if you don’t really want this—you really don’t have to to make me happy. I only want to do it if you’re going to enjoy it just as much.”
Tony took a deep breath, tried to relax all through his body. He’d heard (well, okay, read on the internet) that fisting was all about relaxing the anal sphincter, but he wasn’t exactly good at that, more like the opposite. Thus all the sex they’d had beforehand. And he was open wide and dripping now, that was for sure, Steve’s fingers still gently curling inside him, opening him, pressing him open and keeping him from closing up, but the last thing he needed was to start tightening up now. He’d also heard that this was—well, that fisting was a pretty amazing feeling, if the top was gentle and careful, and maybe he was a little curious. And Steve wanted to do it to him, wanted to watch him while he did it, and Steve had seemed so blown away by it when Tony had done it to him, and while he seriously doubted he’d come as much as Steve had from it, well, Steve was always talking about wanting to see Tony come from stimulation to his prostate alone, and Tony figured that if anything was ever going to make that happen, having Steve’s hand inside him might do the trick. “I hear fisting is, is all about the bottom,” he managed to get out, soft and breathy. “Maybe I should be asking you if you’re going to enjoy it.”
“Oh,” Steve said, soft, sounding already dizzy with the idea, soft and hot and turned on, “I’m going to enjoy it.”
“Then I’m ready, Steve,” Tony mumbled into the pillow, clutching it with both hands, breathing out deep and trying not to let himself get nervous. Steve’s fingers were still smoothing along his inner walls, stroking and slow, keeping him stretched out and loose until Steve’s hand had to be dripping with his own come, sending little warm sparks of prickling heat all the way through Tony’s body, even down to his own lax, tired cock, soft against the bed from his own orgasm. “Start going to town.”
“All right,” Steve said, and took a deep breath, blew it out. “All right, Tony.”
All that being said, Steve started slow, just adding one more finger to the two already moving and stroking inside of Tony so that there were three in his already loosened, open hole, moving in and out, stroking him slowly more and more open. Steve usually used three well-lubed fingers to prepare Tony for his dick, so that wasn’t too much more intense than normal, and Tony just took a deep breath, tried to let himself relax, surprised at how easily Steve fit that third finger inside, even knowing that his ass was loose and wet and leaking come all over Steve’s fingers. It was just a little warmer on his inner walls, a little heavier, a little more fullness there inside his rim, against his sensitive slick insides.
“How does that feel?” Steve asked, and his voice was soft, almost hushed.
“Mmm,” Tony moaned into the pillows. “Feels, feels good, feels good, cupcake.”
“No pain?” Steve asked, fingers slipping a little further into him, curling and stretching and stroking his inner walls. Tony moaned at the feeling, deep, invasive, against places he was already oversensitive and prickling and hot, but not unpleasant, more like a low soft burn of pleasure in the fullness and soft pressure at his hole.
“No,” he gasped out. “No pain.”
“Okay, that’s good,” Steve murmured, “that’s real good.” His other hand moved up, rubbed gently over Tony’s buttocks, up over the curve of his spine, stroking gently as he kept pressing his fingers in deep into Tony’s body, and Tony sighed, pleasantly, because oh, oh. That made it so much easier to relax, that warm, smooth, gentle touch of Steve’s hand stroking along his skin as Steve stroked him almost as gently deep inside. And then Steve’s fingers curved, pressed in gently at his prostate, not hard, but it was so, so sensitive, throbbing from all the attention earlier, and Tony cried out, swallowing hard, gasping, as that pleasure flared in him again, so bright and intense it was almost pain, and found himself rubbing his soft cock against the towels Steve had already laid down thickly under him.
Steve must have done that for a long, long time, because Tony could feel himself fuzzing out, going loose and relaxed and pliant under the gentle rubs to his back and ass, the three fingers working slowly in his hole, petting and stroking and gently, so gently, stretching his loose hole even more open, opening him further. He could feel himself dripping come as he opened up, was vaguely aware his thighs were wet and covered in it, but it was hard to focus on that when there was that constant pleasure from the way Steve rubbed at his prostate, pooling needily in his stomach, in his dick, making Tony ache with want until he could feel his mouth watering, how slick it was with saliva as he rubbed his prickling dick, hot and soft but throbbing, against the bed. He could feel himself hardening up just slightly, the oversensitive ache of the overstimulated skin of his dick, the way his prostate prickled and throbbed inside whenever Steve’s fingers moved away from it, almost like an itch that needed Steve’s fingers, stroking and firm and gentle against the oversensitized throb to scratch it.
Tony was blissed out, hands going lax in the pillow, by the time Steve pulled his fingers out. They had to be wet with the come Tony was dripping, the way he felt it drip out of him, so messy and wet, with how open his hole was now, as Steve dragged the pads of his fingers down over his open, throbbing rim, wiping some of it off in a way that made Tony flinch and twitch and moan as heat shot straight to his cock, biting into the soft cotton of his pillow at the feeling of it, the idea that Steve would wipe his come-slick fingers off on Tony’s wet, open hole.
Steve stroked his back with his other hand, murmuring softly to him, and then he was reaching for the tub of creamy lube Steve had bought for this specifically. It was a little different for Tony to have Steve buying their sex things, but they’d agreed on the type, the brand, together. It was a brand-new tub of the same formulation they’d used on Steve, and Tony had agreed it worked like a charm. Steve must have slicked his fingers with it, because they were slippery and creamy and slick when they returned to Tony’s hole, and he rubbed his thumbs along the outside, then pushed them just inside Tony’s rim, pulled him open. The air felt very cool on his wet, hot insides, still warm from Steve’s come, hot from the friction of his cock rubbing along inside him, and Tony gasped, panting at the feeling, at the prickling sting as Steve pulled him open.
“Shh,” Steve said, “it’s gonna be all right. Deep breath. That’s it. That’s just right, Tony.”
His thumbs pressed inside further, stretching Tony out, and Tony thought he might have whined, high and embarrassing, but he couldn’t really seem to care, feeling as floating and soft and warm as he did. He felt so open, Steve stretching him even further, rubbing gently at his rim, then Steve pulled his thumbs out of him, slipped a wet finger into him, two, then one, two, from the other hand, and stroked them in and out, gently. Tony moaned, shaking, shivering under him, now feeling very—very invaded, very stretched, and Steve leaned down, kissed the back of his neck, down over his shoulder, over his spine.
“Shh,” he said, “easy, Tony. I’ve got you. Are you okay? Still feeling okay?”
“S’okay, Steve,” Tony finally remembered how to slur out. “Just … just feels like a lot.”
“It is a lot, sweetheart,” Steve murmured, his fingers delving even deeper into Tony. “You’re stretching open really nice for it, though. You’re real good and relaxed, aren’t you?”
“Mmm,” Tony said, took another deep breath, blew it out, and tried to stay that way.
It was actually easier than he’d expected, with Steve’s fingers moving softly, rhythmically, in his hole, stretching him, massaging him, it felt like, from the inside out, nice and deep. It was a shockingly intimate feeling, and he moaned as Steve pulled his fingers out, slathered him with lube, pressing it into his wide open hole with three fingers, then pressed four back into him, from the same hand this time, twisting and pressing, gently massaging.
“Oh,” Tony said, feeling himself buck up under it, the feeling suddenly intense, pushing so deep into him, filling him up so much, quickly despite Steve’s gentle massage along his inner tissues. “I—ah—”
“Shh, Tony,” Steve said, soothingly, kissed the back of his neck, brushed little, soft kisses over his shoulders. “I know, I know, I really do, but you’ve been so good for me, opening up so much. This feels like a lot, but it’s not going to hurt you. Does it hurt?”
“Nn,” Tony moaned, “nn. Nn-nn. No. It, it doesn’t hurt, Steve.” And it didn’t, that wasn’t it. It didn’t hurt at all, actually, except for the strange burn and openness of being so stretched out, like a really deep workout in his muscles, except in a place he never felt that, deep inside and intimate, his twinging, tingling rim. He just felt so—so loose, so relaxed, so open, so full, and it, it was strange. “Oh,” he said then, because it really didn’t hurt, and that was kind of a shock, considering sometimes it hurt when Steve’s dick was still halfway into him, not even all the way, and—and his fingers were going deep, four of them, and he still felt okay. He felt himself shiver, the way it shifted him around Steve’s fingers, but—but it felt all right. He took a deep breath, pushed it out, and felt himself relax, felt Steve slip his fingers even further into him, until he was rubbing his knuckles just there, at the top of his hand, against Tony’s open hole, the curve of his ass, and Tony just lay there and shivered, gulping in air, because it was—because that was almost fisting already, wasn’t it, and it had barely even hurt, just the raw overworked twinges of tired muscle, nothing tight or stinging with the stretch, nothing painful.
“Does that hurt?” Steve’s voice was thick and rough with sex, and Tony sighed out a long, slow, luxuriant breath, feeling like he was aching all over but at the same time nothing hurt, nothing at all.
“No,” he said.
“Oh, good,” Steve said. “Good, good. God, you look. You look so.” He swallowed, and apparently he couldn’t think of what Tony looked like for a long time, because there was a long moment, of Steve pulling his hand out and making Tony shiver and groan at the feeling, the drag of it out of him, the feeling of his hole trying to flutter closed, of Steve slipping more creamy lube into him, fingering it in, rubbing with his fingers, then pushing them deep inside again, easier this time, making Tony cry out and rub his cock against the bed, not even sure why he was doing it, just that it was aching, itching, needy for stimulation, Steve’s depth inside him, that full, throbbing, intimate pressure, made him want it, even when it wasn’t exactly pleasure. “Sexy,” Steve said, then, “You look so sexy. You’re just opening up for me so sweet. God, Tony, you’re good, you’re so good; I, I can’t believe you can do this for me. God, you’re incredible.”
Tony laid his head back down on the pillow and just sighed, feeling warm all through at the sweet wonderment in Steve’s tone. He was sexy, Steve thought he was sexy, he felt full and hot and trembling and he ached, but it was perfect.
And then Steve was pulling his hand back out, and there was more lube applied to his hole, until Tony felt like he had to be all over with the creamy stuff. It felt good, though, stroking and gentle, inside and out, like the most slow, intimate massage he had ever experienced, so he just rocked back into it and breathed evenly and tried not to feel gross. Steve had wanted to use Crisco, but Tony told him that he would let Steve do a lot of things to him he’d never have let another man even try, but that was it, his line in the sand, Steve was not using a product meant for the kitchen (for baking, grandmas used it) on him or he’d kick him out of bed.
Steve had laughed, said, “but Tony, it works the best,” and then agreed to find another kind of lube. “For your sake, Tony,” and kissed him on the lips, squeezing his hips gently, his eyes dancing, until Tony had groused at him and smacked him in the belly and returned the kiss, leaning up into him.
And then Steve’s hand was pushing into him, his fingers tight together, so it didn’t feel quite as big as Tony had been afraid of, not as big as his dick, at first, but then he hit his knuckles and oh, that—that felt very, very big. “Shh, Tony, it’s all right, you’re so loose and open for this, your rim is stretching so nice,” Steve murmured. “I swear, I promise, I’ll go slow. Are you hurting? Does it hurt?”
“N-no,” Tony groaned out into the pillows. It didn’t hurt, but it felt overwhelming, intense. His stomach felt tight, like it was cramping, but then Steve’s other hand was sliding up his back, back down again, rubbing at the base of his spine, curving over his ass, squeezing at the meat of it, rubbing at the underside, massaging, and Tony felt himself relax, somehow, go loose and easy again, and then Steve’s knuckles slid past his rim, past the inner muscles, in a quick smooth slide that felt shocking, shockingly easy and fast, and it was so overwhelming, so intense, that Tony felt his whole body do—do something, spasm or ripple or open up or relax or—he didn’t know, but it left him feeling limp and dazed, like he’d gone somewhere else, light exploding behind his eyes, and when it cleared and he was there gasping wetly against the pillow again, and feeling, Steve’s whole hand was inside him, resting inside where Steve had already left him all full and wet with lube and his own come, and hey, Steve was probably loving that, Tony thought, feeling his own come inside Tony’s wet hole. Tony was feeling a little loopy, gasping against the bed at the sudden pressure, the sudden fullness, wow, this was, it was something else.
“There,” Steve said, sounding breathless, awed, his hand coming up to rub gently at the small of Tony’s back again, “there, it’s in, I’m in, my whole hand is inside you, Tony, I—I wasn’t sure you could do this, but there you are, you’re so amazing, you’re so—so determined, and, and beautiful, Tony, you feel so, so hot and slick and silky in there, you’re like velvet or something.” Tony wanted to tell him that was just the lube, but he couldn’t seem to find the breath. At least he was clean inside, down there, he’d spent hours on that earlier, making sure he was fully cleaned out for this. “Are you feeling okay?” Steve said, then, “Does it feel okay?”
“Fine,” Tony groaned, his mouth feeling very wet, when he could remember how to talk again. “I mean.” He groaned. It was hard to talk. His head felt so floaty, so far away, warm and good. But this was important. Steve needed to know. “I mean, full. But it feels, it feels fine. It doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t feel … I mean, it’s weird, but not in a, a, a tight, I don’t know, a get this out of me way. S’good, Steve, s’good.”
“Oh, good,” Steve said, all in a rush. “That’s good.”
“’m doing okay?” Tony moaned out into the pillows. “’s this, this how it’s supposed to go? ‘m okay? Okay bottom for you?” He flushed, hid his face, but—but he really wanted to know. He’d loved watching Steve while he did this, hearing his soft gasps and loud, wanton moans, watching his muscles ripple, Tony's whole hand disappearing into his body, Steve’s perfect, open permissiveness for him, but—but was it as fun for Steve? Tony couldn’t be as pretty, as interesting to watch, as perfect, could he?
“You’re perfect,” Steve said at once. “You’re—good, Tony, I can’t, I—I don’t know how to tell you. You’re so beautiful, so—so gone on it, so open. I love you. Thank you for letting me do this. You’re incredible, you’re doing better than okay, so, so much better than okay, Tony. All right?”
Tony felt a warm flush of heat all over his face, his ears, crawl down the back of his neck, and buried his face in the pillows. He thought he was probably smiling like a loon, all dopey and stupid and pleased, and was a little glad Steve couldn’t see it, hiding his face against the wet spots his mouth had left. “Thanks,” he mumbled into the pillows.
“No,” Steve said, fervent, sincere, running his hand up and down Tony’s back. “I should be thanking you.”
Tony couldn’t really process that, especially since right after that, Steve’s fingers closed into a loose fist inside him, and God, the way that pushed on him inside—he went away, floating again, drifting and panting and dizzy, like he was falling, or flying, and he didn’t know which, and when he came back to himself Steve was still there, holding so still inside him, stroking his back.
“Okay, Tony?” Steve asked, hoarse and deep, and Tony nodded his head, croaked out a little groan of assent.
“Okay,” he managed.
And then Steve was rocking his fist inside him, just a little bit, hardly at all, and Tony could only feel. It wasn’t even pleasure, it was—sensation, overwhelming, overarching, more than penetrating, and he was whimpering and helpless before it, at its mercy. Steve rotated his wrist slightly, rubbed his knuckles just—just there, against Tony’s prostate, once, twice, rubbing against it over and over again, and then there was just—
Tony was aware of his mouth against the pillow, his lips dry and sticky, when he moved it again, heard, felt himself panting, his face sweaty against the pillows as he shifted, warm cotton under his skin. He felt as if he’d been somewhere else for a long time. His head felt dazed, fuzzy, stuffed with cotton wool. There was still pleasure thrumming all through his body. “Oh,” he heard himself croak out.
“Tony?” Steve sounded a little tense, a little worried. His hand was warm on Tony’s ass, the other—oh, right. Yeah. Buried deep inside him, a loose fist. God, he felt so full. Steve felt so—warm? there. Full. Warm. Tony groaned.
“Yeah, ‘m here,” he managed.
“Oh, okay,” Steve said. “Good, I—I think you passed out. Are you okay, sweetheart?”
Talking was too difficult, but he felt loose and sweet and relaxed and good, high and soft and buzzing all over, so Tony freed one hand from the sheets and pillowcase and lifted it in a thumbs up.
“Okay,” Steve said. “I, uh, am I okay to keep going?”
Ugh, so many questions. Tony groaned, spread his legs, became aware that his dick felt soft and sticky, and got a hand down under his belly to feel at himself. Oversensitive, tingling under his fingers—his fingers trailed through the sticky wetness of spend. Oh. He’d come. He hadn’t even realized he was hard. Maybe he hadn’t been hard. Oh, wow. He’d come from just his ass, just like Steve always wanted. Tony grinned into the pillows, light and bright with heavy, deep pleasure that burned honey-sweet through every inch of him. “Please,” he managed to get out in a low, thick rasp. “Keep. Going. Okay. So okay.”
Steve rolled his fist again, and the slow wave of sensation rolled over Tony again, pulled him under with it, trembling, overwhelmed, perfect. He groaned out into the pillow, tugged at it with one hand, helplessly. His ass ached, spasmed, welcomed Steve inside. Steve rubbed at him with his knuckles, so gentle, but every moment felt immense, felt like Tony was being fucked so hard he couldn’t breathe. It felt amazing, thick and sweet like honey, like molasses.
“Don’t stop,” he whimpered into the pillow, and Steve, always so quick to listen to what Tony asked for when they were in bed like this, didn’t stop.
The second orgasm shocked him. He didn’t expect it, felt it slowly rising up him, uncoiling from his toes, hot in his belly, shooting to his dick, but didn’t believe it, not until bright hot pleasure was washing over him from every inch of his body, like his whole body was coming, and he was rocking against the bed and crying out and shaking. He didn’t pass out this time. He didn’t think he ever got hard, but he didn’t care. Steve murmured to him, sweet and loving, kissed his ass, the small of his back, his shoulders, stroking every inch of his skin.
They must have lain there for a long time, Steve murmuring to him, stroking him, kissing him, rocking his fist inside him so gently. When Tony came again, it was sweet and soft, washing up inside him, over him, like a warm tide of pleasure, waves made out of honey-sweet softness. When it finally ebbed, he could barely open his eyes.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Steve said, sounding like he was—like he was a little choked up, thick and wet and awed and wondering. “You’re so—you’re so beautiful.” Tony felt him bend down, kiss his cheek, tried to raise his head just enough for a kiss, and Steve gave it to him, pressed a gentle kiss into his mouth that made Tony moan and shiver and open his mouth for it softly. Steve pressed his tongue, soft and wet, into his mouth, mouthed over his bottom lip, sucked so gently. “I’ve almost never seen anything so beautiful,” he murmured, and Tony panted, squeezed his eyes tight, overcome, tried not to let the overcome tears he felt prickling at the edges of his eyes escape.
Steve kissed the edge of his eyelid, his temple, then moved back. “Okay, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I’m going to pull out now. This might feel a little strange, I’m sorry.”
Tony whined, first because he wasn’t quite certain if he was ready for Steve to leave, that full heavy warmth inside him of his fist felt like—too much, certainly, but also good, full and tight and too much and right—but then because—because it was intense, pulling on his hole from the inside out, splitting him wide, dragging on every inch of his internal tissues, even as Steve relaxed his hand into the shape he’d used to press it into him, and then all at once he was sliding out, and then Tony was gasping, almost sobbing into the pillows, because he felt so open, so empty, empty and fucked and taken inside and like he was just slack and gaping all over, like Steve had to be able to see right into him, deep inside him, like, like—
Steve’s fingers slid back into him, soft and gentle and feeling like almost nothing against the openness, the emptiness, the itch and ache to be filled, and Tony felt so. Oh, God, it was strange. It was so strange. Tony lay there and gasped, and Steve massaged him inside, pulled him open on his two fingers, rubbing his thumb against the top of his rim, along the outside edge, until Tony was gasping, squirming, at the strange, unfamiliar intensity of it, Steve tracing him where he was so soft and puffy and slack and open.
“Oh, good,” Steve murmured. “There’s no bleeding. Not even a little bit of pink. I thought you might have had a little, but you’re—you’re amazing, Tony. So—so flexible. Adaptable.” He rubbed gently at Tony’s ass, the small of his back, his shoulder, then patted his ass again. “You did it, sweetheart,” he said, then, sounding so pleased and proud. “You came, just from your rear, did you notice?”
“I, I, yeah,” Tony stammered, feeling hot all over again, but still, a little proud that Steve had seen, Steve had noticed, been proud of him. “I, I did.”
“I told you you could,” Steve said, and Tony nodded, feeling warm and shuddery and torn open, so pleased and proud he could do that for Steve, plucking at the blankets under him with his fingers as he gasped, and suddenly it was too much, and he was talking, babbling, because that was what he did when he was overwhelmed.
“Well, well excuse me for, for not knowing that,” he groaned, breathlessly, “because apparently I needed your, your fist up my ass to do it and I don’t know about you, Rogers, but I don’t routinely shove stuff that big up there—in fact I don’t think I’ve ever had anything that big up there, and I—”
“I know you haven’t,” Steve said, and Tony could tell he was smiling, “you’re my gorgeous little tight-ass, Tony Stark.” He ran his fingers gently over Tony’s rim, crooked them inside and rubbed gently, and Tony moaned, buried his face in his arms, shuddered all over. “Well,” he said, “maybe not right now,” and Tony somehow found the strength to raise one ankle and kick his foot gently into Steve’s big solid thigh.
“Stop it,” he said, “that is, that is just. It’s rude, is what it is, you’re, you’re gloating, you’re gloating over opening me up so much.”
“A little,” Steve said. “You’re so open and sweet, just for me. You let me do this to you. You’ve never let anyone do this to you before.” His voice dipped down, got low and soft, sincere. “How can I not want to bask in that a little? Appreciate it? I mean. I mean, hell, Tony.”
“Okay, okay,” Tony said breathlessly, but he still felt warm all over, sweet and soft and shuddering. “I—okay.”
Steve lay down beside him then, Tony could feel it, and his hand came down, smoothed over the side of Tony’s face, and Tony looked up at him, to see his big bright radiant smile, lighting up his face, see him looking sweaty and bright and beautiful, eyes so blue, down at him, and Tony bit his lip, because he was so beautiful, and Tony just felt so—so pulled apart, so open, so overcome.
“Can I, can I do something for you?” he gasped out, and Steve shook his head, stroked his cheek.
“No,” he said. “Shh. This was for me.” He thumbed down gently, against Tony’s lower lip, kissed his forehead. “This was for me.”
“But,” Tony said, and rubbed his lip against Steve’s thumb, pressed his mouth into the touch. “But, I mean. You. Can I get you off.”
“You can suck me off in the bath, okay?” Steve said.
“But I’m so open,” Tony murmured. “You could, you could slip right in. You could fuck me, just like that.”
Steve’s arm curled around him, so warm and soft. “It’ll hurt, Shellhead,” he murmured. “You’re really raw. It’ll really hurt.”
“I don’t care,” Tony gasped out. His chest suddenly felt tight with how much he wanted Steve inside him. “Please?” he begged, felt the shame of it, let his head tip forward against Steve’s shoulder. “Please, I want to—when I’m all loose and limp and relaxed, Steve, just like this, I don’t care if it hurts. I’ll be all raw and hot inside from how you used me. I just want to feel you. Please. I feel so raw and open. I want you so much. I want you so much.”
Steve’s hand came up, stroked gently over the back of his neck, his hair, back down over his shoulders. “I,” he said. “I. You. You. You really want that, Tony?”
“Yeah,” Tony whispered, hoarse and rough and raw.
“Well,” Steve said, and Tony raised his eyes just enough to see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed convulsively. “Well, all right. I—all right.”
Steve felt perfectly warm, covering him. He slicked himself with more of that creamy lube, and Tony was right, he just slipped right in, just like that. It was so easy, in and out, Steve moving slow and gentle, and Steve was right, too, because it burned, raw and hot, but Tony loved it, every moment of it. He loved when Steve fell to his forearms, bracing himself over Tony, panting, and told him how strange this felt, how good, how Tony was so loose and limp and relaxed and open, how there was no friction, just warm soft velvety looseness around his cock, loved it as Steve slipped and dragged soft and slick and silky through his swollen, hot inner tissues, the almost painful raw softness as Steve fucked him so slowly and gently, loved it when Steve came, and he felt the hot wet pulse, felt it as Steve fucked him and fucked him, rubbing himself along inside, and Tony could feel himself fluttering wildly, so loose and open that it just leaked out around Steve’s dick, and when Steve slipped back out of him with a wet, messy squelching noise, even more of it followed out of him, just dripping out, because there was no way Tony could clench down, there was no way he had the muscular control to stop it just leaking out of him. Steve ran his fingers through it, fingered it back up into him, feeling his loose edges, his raw rim, his raw soft slack looseness, and called him good and beautiful and wonderful and sweet and sexy in breathless tones, and it was perfect.
Steve had come inside his loose, aching, well-fisted hole, and it was perfect, and Tony just relaxed into that, the soft sweet perfection of it, the dirty drip of come out of him, the flaring ache of pain, the overworked soreness of his stomach muscles, and was barely aware when Steve kissed the top of his head, got up for a few moments, only rousing when he came back and scooped Tony up in his arms, just aware enough to sigh and roll over to rest his head on Steve’s shoulder, for once not at all worried about Steve carrying him, feeling too soft and sweet and good to mind at all.
Tony fell asleep in the bath, he thought. He remembered warmth, Steve’s smile, gentle touches, laughter. Being cleaned out, the intimate invasiveness of it, the careful warmth. But he didn’t remember much else, except the perfect, gentle pleasure of Steve washing his hair, until Steve was settling him into fresh, crisp sheets, and his warm, nude body was pressing against Tony’s under them, sliding under the blankets and curling around him.
Tony pressed back into him. “That was so good, sugar plum,” he mumbled.
“Was it?” Steve asked. His hand came up, stroked gently through Tony’s hair. “Good.” He sighed out, a long, slow breath. “Good.”
“Really good,” Tony mumbled. “We can talk more tomorrow but, mm. I’m sorry. Don’t know why I’m so sleepy.”
“I do,” Steve said. “You came about four times, your body’s not used to it. Sleep, Tony, okay? Sweet dreams. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
Tony smiled sleepily, at the sweetness of that good night. “You too,” he breathed, “no … bugs …” and just like that, he was asleep.