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Harnessed

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Steve stared at the puddle of their clothes on the floor. This was a brief reprise - at a safehouse, sure - but they were on a mission nonetheless. He shouldn’t be thinking about the two of them alone together, about Tony’s hands and mouth and cock. But every time he tore his eyes away from the mix of Tony’s undersuit and his uniform, it was to look up at the other man, curled in a chair a few feet away, frowning at a tablet, glasses on. Tony was soft and domestic, in boxers and a t-shirt, but Steve’s blood boiled.

It felt wrong to be thinking about sex while they were halfway through a mission, but Steve couldn’t help it; his thoughts always twisted dirty around Tony. Everything reminded him of something they’d done together, because Tony was endlessly imaginative in the bedroom.

They had two days here, and they hadn’t brought anything. Tony would have lube, sure, he didn’t go anywhere without it, but Steve wanted and with that burning, aching want, came a drive for something more. More than Tony pinning him down and taking what he wanted. More than being brought to the edge and held there. He needed Tony’s control to be absolute.

He wished Tony had brought the suitcase suit. The thin chain, the weight of the metal clasp around his wrist, the soft clink it made whenever Steve moved - he wanted that. He wanted to be held, restrained, owned. Taken.

His cock twitched, and he swallowed, hoping it wasn’t audible in the small room. The pile of fabric drew his eye again. So many times, he’d seen their clothes mixed together on their bedroom floor while Tony knelt him down, took him to pieces, and put him back together again with heart-stopping precision.  

The uniform, his armour, reminded him of Tony too, and not just because he’d been the one to build this version. No, it was the way it wrapped around him, strapped him in, made him feel safe and protected. It was fitted, almost restrictive. Sometimes, zipping into it was a bit too much, stealing his breath the way Tony did when he pushed inside him in one long, slow slide.

But the uniform moved with him, giving him exactly the freedom he needed to succeed while clinging as much as it could to armour him. Tony held him too tight sometimes, made Steve feel like he couldn’t take it, but then there was always the right amount of give in the places he needed, the places he didn’t know he needed. Tony took care of him. Here - after the battles, in their home and the safehouses and the common room couch in the late night dark - here Tony was his armour.

The urge to show Tony that, to offer himself up in gratitude, rushed through him with a flood of hot adrenaline, and he almost fell to his knees right there. But he needed something more, and as he stared at the uniform, he realized what that more could be.

Steve stood, and Tony’s gaze slipped up from the tablet to meet his. Tony must have seen the heat there, because he set his tablet aside and pulled off his glasses. His pupils blew black while Steve watched, and he licked his lips, shifting his legs wide in a way that couldn’t be anything but an invitation. Steve hooked his thumbs in his sweats and dropped them to the floor; he hadn't bothered with a shirt or boxers after his post-battle shower. Tony’s eyes followed the line of his arms then settled on his cock which, already hard, throbbed fuller under the attention.

With Tony’s eyes burning hot on his skin, Steve crossed the room and rummaged through the pile of clothing until he had his shield harness gripped in his hands. The bands of firm, unbreakable leather lay heavy in his hands. He thought about the way it hugged his shoulders, crossed his back, bound him.

In three steps he crossed the room and stood in front of Tony. He slipped to his knees and held the harness out, an offering. They didn’t have their ropes or cuffs or Steve’s collar, but Tony could bind him with anything, could own him with a piece of string or hold him down with the weight of a sheet of paper on his chest.

Steve met his eyes and thrilled at the unrestrained lust he saw there. His fingers twisted around the leather. “Please?”