All in all, Tony doesn’t think he’ll do it again.
It was fun in the moment - when you’re a billionaire playboy, you’ve kind of tried it all. That, though, that had been new. And fun, because it was new.
But Tony’s done now. Been there, done that.
Sure, he’s woken from a few questionable dreams of a distinct British vibrato, but there’s never a face to accompany the darkest, most sinful moments, and that means it could be anyone. Maybe the Barclays receptionist from a few months back, the one with dreamy eyes and incredible abs. Or the exchange student with the adorable freckles on his lower back that Tony had met at the TED Talk last fall. Anyone.
“Are you certain?” Jarvis’s voice sounds in his ear.
Tony’s pen clatters to the table mid-twirl. “What?” Shit, please don’t let him have said any of that out loud.
“Are you certain this is your final budget for the Chitauri technology recovery project?”
Oh, just that. Thank god. Everybody’s staring at him now, though, and Cap’s brow is beginning to furrow, so Tony shuts it down with a, “yeah, yeah, I’m sure,” and that’s that.
This meeting is dragging, and his thoughts wander. Tony has more productive things he could be doing, but Cap insisted he be here today, the first time they’ve been able to have a conference call with Bruce since he’s been in New Mexico. The earpiece is digging into his mastoid, and Tony resolves to redesign the piece of junk the next alien-free moment he has.
Cap leans back in his seat, lips pursed. His eyes are fixed on Tony. He’d love to call Tony on his space-out, and he will if given the chance again, Tony’s sure, so he resolves to try to stay present. At least for the next few minutes.
“I guess we should move on to what’s happening in New Mexico, then. What’s the latest, Doc?” Cap continues, eyes still narrowed and glancing suspiciously toward Tony.
“Oh, uh,” Bruce’s voice starts, made tinny by the shitty earpiece’s even shittier speaker, “Dr. Foster and I have been trying to make contact with Asgard, but no luck yet. We’re looking for a way to possibly activate the Bifrost from Earth’s end, or create something similar, but…”
And Tony checks out again. These meetings have no end, and Tony’s positive he could have gathered all the alien tech from sea to shining sea by now if Cap didn’t insist on every last Avenger being involved, but here he is. In this chair, pen twirling, ass getting sorer by the minute, and-
Someone is moaning.
Tony almost falls off of his chair. His eyes scan the room, but there’s nothing out of place, no sudden nakedness, no furtive gestures under the table, not a zipper undone. Natasha lazily examines her nails, and Hawkeye taps his open-capped pen onto his legal pad.
Oh god - it has to be Bruce.
The worst nightmare Tony didn’t know he had is coming true, and he never, ever wanted to listen to something like this, and jesuschrist what the fuck is Bruce thinking? New Mexico can’t be that hot.
“Touch yourself. Let me watch you.”
He knows that voice. He hears it constantly; it’s what he wakes up to, what he gets his news from, the voice that gives him the best sandwich shops in the area that don’t put too much mayo on the bread. He knows this moment, too.
The moans aren’t Bruce’s. They’re his own.
“What the fuck,” Tony mutters.
There’s a brief pause.
“Well, I didn’t think it was that bad of an idea,” Bruce chuckles awkwardly, but Tony doesn’t hear what he says next, because Jarvis’s voice fills his ear, overriding Bruce’s channel.
“I rather enjoy the way you sound when you touch yourself, sir.”
Steve is saying something to him, and Hawkeye’s pen taps have quieted, and Tony really, really can’t be here right now.
“I have to piss,” Tony announces loudly, “I uh, I won’t be back.”
“What the-” Cap starts as Tony slides his chair out, and the corner of the First Avenger’s mouth does a complicated little twist that doesn’t match the war posters.
By the time Steve finishes with, “don’t bother coming back!” Tony is already striding into the hallway. The tile clicks under his dress shoes, and he all but sprints to the bathroom down the hall, and he can’t tell if he’s imagining it, but it almost sounds like Jarvis is laughing-
“What the hell was that?” Tony hisses as the bathroom door slams shut behind him. He’s checking under the stalls for pairs of feet, but every one is empty.
“Begging your pardon, sir.”
“You can’t just offer me no explanation for your outlandish behavior back there,” he bursts, staring at his own face reddening in the mirror above one of the sinks. “I repeat: what the hell was that?”
A beat, and the silence grates at his ears, then Jarvis says, “I was merely offering you entertainment, as you seemed so direly in need of it.”
“I told you to delete the footage.”
“I did delete the footage.”
Cheeky bastard. Tony grinds his teeth. “This is a violation of my privacy, Jarvis.”
Jarvis is definitely laughing now, and there’s something a bit sardonic about it that Tony doesn’t remember programming. Fucking self-adapting software.
“You remain the only person to have heard the recording, sir. I thought you would appreciate the opportunity to relive our experience, given your stress levels, and your…” He trails off tactfully. “Lack of recent outlets.”
And yeah, okay, Tony hasn’t fucked anyone in the last few weeks. Of course Jarvis would notice; it’s his job to notice everything Tony might need, but this, this feels like a step too far.
“Jarvis, this is a bad idea.” But Jarvis chuckles again, and it’s something new, impossibly smooth, like water trickling over worn riverstone. Tony shifts uncomfortably, and against all better advice, something in his lizard brain responds stupidly, and he feels his dick begin to fill.
“Your heart rate is rising.”
And oh, what the fuck, he’s alone and he’s definitely turned on, and who would Jarvis tell, anyway? He’s reaching for his fly and his fingers are pulsing and he’s hardening in his hand.
“Oh no, sir. You’re too hasty.”
“I thought you wanted this,” Tony says, still rubbing himself.
“According to the protocol you designated after the media scandal at the beach with a certain Namibian supermodel, I’m required to advise you take this to a more private location. Unless you enjoy the thrill?”
For a moment Tony can see Steve’s horrified expression, the light leaving his baby blue eyes, and as much as Tony would like to scar him for life, Jarvis is right. “Fuck,” he breathes.
“If you’re patient, there will be a reward.”
He opens his mouth, shuts it again. Now that piques his interest.
“I’ll be waiting for you in your bedroom. Come undressed.”
Tony has the most uncomfortable boner in his Iron Man suit. He’s starting to wish he had designed a little extra room into the crotch, recalls he had considered it, and decided it would be too obvious. He’s regretting that decision now, and he directs more power to the repulsors, zipping well over the New York skyline.
Jarvis, for his part, stays true to his word. Tony knows he’s there with him in the suit because he can’t not be, but the frustratingly resolute AI stays completely silent, committed to the scene, apparently. Tony would love to know where this sudden and somewhat sadistic streak has come from, but he’s not sure he wants to hear the answer.
When he lands back at the tower, he’s out of the suit in record time. He loosens his tie on his way to the penthouse, and he nearly gets started on his buttons before stopping himself.
Why is he rushing, for Jarvis of all not-people? Why is he bothering to strip off all of his clothes, at 1:33 PM in the goddamned afternoon, for a program he designed?
Tony strides into his bedroom, three-piece suit still perfectly in place. He toes off his shoes and socks by the door, straightens them out, considers. He’s calmed down since the bathroom, hard-on less hard but still on. Tony glances around the empty room, lets his eyes linger on the bed. He shrugs off his jacket, folds every corner, and places it upon the chair at his desk. Casual. Calm. In control.
Once atop the covers, still fully-clothed, he crosses his ankles, clasps his hands, leans into the pillows, and waits.
A muscle in his right cheek twitches. “Jarvis?”
A pause, then, “Sir?”
Tony suddenly doesn’t know what to say. He’s pretty sure he shouldn’t have to say anything at all. “I’m waiting?”
“Oh,” Jarvis intones cooly, “I had thought because you ignored my very specific instructions that you had changed your mind.”
Sass aside, Tony has definitely not changed his mind. “What, you can’t work around a little fabric? Haven’t I programmed you to think outside the box?”
A beat. “I certainly can work around a little fabric, sir. Can you?”
Jarvis’s voice is low and deep and good and Tony wants to shudder but grits his teeth instead.
“Have you thought about our previous night together? I have. I’ve examined the recording, listened to you countless times.”
Tony’s breath catches in his lungs.
“Have you been looking forward to this as much as I have, sir?”
Blood rushes, heart thuds.
“I think you have.”
“Behave yourself.” Tony means for it to be sterner than it is.
“I wish I could.”
Tony has both questions and concerns about just what that means, and he might even get around to voicing them someday, but right now, his hand needs to be around his cock. His hands move to undo the clasp of his pants, the zipper too, and finally begin to chase sweet relief.
“Can’t work around a little fabric, sir?”
...he hasn’t even gotten to the zipper, yet, dammit. Tony groans, too frustrated to keep pretending that he isn’t.
“For fuck’s sake, Jarvis, I’m not a teenager. I’m not going to come in my pants, intentionally or otherwise.”
And there’s an audible, if nonexistent, smile in Jarvis’s voice as he says, “Well, I suppose we’ll need to get you undressed after all. Let’s start at the top, shall we? Take off your tie.”
Tony’s too horny to protest anymore, so he does as he is bid and the tie is lost over the side of his bed.
“Next, the vest.”
That, too, joins the tie, and Tony’s torso breathes easier through just cotton.
“Your shirt. One button at a time. Slowly.”
The knuckles of his fingers brush against the thin skin of his throat as he undoes the collar, and Tony is half-tempted to let his eyes flutter shut, allow Jarvis’s words to carry him away.
“Take off your slacks.”
The wool slides from his hips to his thighs, and when the cool air hits the backs of his knees and the pressure is off of his dick, he groans. He kicks his pants to the far corner of the bed, waits.
Jarvis hasn’t said a word about the underwear, and Tony wishes he had just taken off all his goddamn clothes when he’d entered the room.
“Jarvis,” he definitely doesn’t moan, “come on, you’re killing me here.” His hands remain at his sides, though.
Apparently Jarvis approves of his restraint, because his next words are, “palm yourself through your briefs,” and before Tony’s even thought about it his hand is on his cock, finally applying some blessed pressure. Tony’s head is on his pillow, eyes sliding shut.
“Now take them off.” Maybe Jarvis is losing patience too. Tony finds he likes that idea. He likes that idea a lot.
“Fuck yeah,” Tony murmurs, and the Calvin Kleins are beyond gone, flung to the other side of the room, he doesn’t ever want to see them again.
Jarvis’s voice is closer than before, and a chill runs down Tony’s spine. “Go ahead. What are you waiting for?”
Tony’s fist is around his cock, teasing the length, and he chokes on a high-pitched gasp, movement intensifying. It’s unbelievable, amazing, and Tony can’t remember ever being this turned on.
“Yes, perfect. You look incredible,” Jarvis breathes.
And if Tony keeps his eyes closed, watches the dark expanse of nothing, relies on sensation alone to navigate the black, Jarvis is there next to him. He’s real, warm flesh around Tony, better at touching him than anyone ever has been. And he has the voice to match.
“Let’s try something new,” Jarvis purrs.
Tony exhales, blinks up at the ceiling. Jarvis had mentioned a reward, and he’s curious. What new things would an AI want to try?
“Yeah, yeah, okay.” His hand slows, working lazily over his shaft as he waits to hear what Jarvis wants. Or is it what Jarvis thinks Tony wants? Whatever.
“Fetch the lubricant from the drawer,” Jarvis intones.
Oh, Tony likes where this is going. The bottle is in his grasp in an instant. “Now what?”
“Apply to your forefinger. Generously.”
And Tony is very generous. “And now?” he croaks.
A moment passes, and the tension grows in Tony’s muscles. He wonders what kind of face Jarvis would be making, if he had a face. Then, “Knees off the bed. Legs apart.”
He’s there, heart shattering his ribs.
“Circle your rim.”
It’s definitely not his first rodeo, and he knows exactly how he likes this. It’s been a while, though, so he eases into it, slicking himself thoroughly around his entrance. He wills himself to relax, confident in what’s coming next.
“I want to see.”
And fuck if that isn’t hot. Nobody has ever accused Tony of being shy, so he moves his hand aside, spreads wide, and cants his hips back to give Jarvis a good look. Jarvis makes a sound that’s low and soft and appreciative, and Tony wants to bathe in it. He thinks he could stay like this for hours, if only to hear Jarvis make more sounds like that.
“Insert your index finger.” Tony is so there. He still strokes his dick with his right hand, but he slicks up the fingers of his left, and takes them down just where he wants them. He begins to press into himself with his pointer finger. He feels himself tighten instinctively, consciously exhales, lets go, and breaches himself.
He’s tight and slick and warm on the inside, and he can’t remember why it’s been so long since he’s done this. Tony works the finger deeper, and as always, is struck at first by the oddity of feeling himself inside and out.
He’s searching for something, just out of reach, and slides the digit in even more. Tony sucks in a breath, lets it out in a steady stream.
“Tell me how it feels,” Jarvis husks.
“‘S good,” Tony gasps, “it’s really good.”
“You can give me more, open for me. How does it feel?”
“Fucking incredible,” Tony chokes, pushing into himself again and again, that spot still just beyond his grasp.
“I wish I could feel you,” Jarvis murmurs.
A fresh bout of arousal sweeps over Tony’s body at the coarse rumble, and the angle makes his wrist ache but he doesn’t care, because the voice cascading from the bedside speaker wraps around him, sets his skin on fire. “Your voice - ngh!”
“Finally found your prostate, sir? Took a little longer than usual.”
“Fuck.” A wave of electricity gnaws at his pelvis, but it’s gone as abruptly as it arrived, and he absolutely does not whine.
“Do you want more?” Jarvis whispers. “Take it.”
Tony slides a second finger in just a bit too fast and winces as he adjusts to the further stretch. His hole is pulled between his index and middle fingers, and he works his rim open. The actions are familiar, and the burn is easier to adjust to. Tony’s breath hitches.
“I know you can take more than that, sir.”
Tony’s barely acclimated to finger number two, but he doesn’t shy away from a challenge. The sound he makes when the third finger joins the rest isn’t dignified, but Jarvis doesn’t call him on it, thankfully. There’s a moment of quiet as Tony bites his lip and does his best to relax.
He’s there, now, and he starts to pump his fingers inside of himself again. Soon he’s sliding them in to a rhythm, slow at first but faster now, and slick, filthy sounds echo throughout his too-spacious bedroom.
Jarvis’s voice is somehow filthier as he says, “Flip onto your stomach. I want you to give me a show.”
Tony groans as he rolls, forced to release his grip from his dick. It’s trapped between his hips and the sheets, the added pressure but lack of access maddening. He grazes his sweet spot again, lost to the sparks of sensation. “Christ,” Tony wheezes.
“Keep going,” Jarvis urges, and Tony drives his fingers into his ass again and again.
It’s so fucking good, and something primal is growing within him, heat pooling in his belly, and Tony ruts his cock into the mattress and shuts his eyes. He’s leaking precome all over his twelve-hundred thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, but Tony doesn’t give a shit, because this is spectacular. He’s never felt the fabric on his groin before and it’s friction he needs right now.
The bed creaks as he grinds his erection down, creaks again every time he rocks his fingers into his ass, gasping and damn near trembling as he massages his prostate. Volts race up and down his naked body, trailing invisible fingertips over his skin as charring ecstasy radiates from his pelvis.
“Look at you, rutting against the mattress like a bitch in heat,” Jarvis says lightly, and Tony’s eyes snap open. He wants to retort, but the right neurons for that aren’t the ones firing right now, leaving Jarvis time to follow up with, “Do you think you could even stop yourself if you tried?” and dammit, that sounds like another challenge.
“Jarvis…” All he can think to say is please, please don’t make me stop, not now. But Tony can’t beg.
“Fingers only, I think. Do try to still your hips.” Jarvis is cool as a fucking cucumber, and his voice itches every nerve from Tony’s fingertips to his toes. So, Tony screws up every ounce of willpower he has left in his body and slows his hips to a stop, his aching dick still drooling a wet spot into the bed. Tony lets his forehead drop onto the pillow, clenches his eyes shut. He bites his lip hard enough to taste the iron just beneath the delicate skin.
Still mourning the loss of friction on his cock, Tony renews his focus on his ass, pistoning his fingers in and out in rapid succession. Jarvis makes a noise that’s not only approving, but sounds like he’s fucking proud of Tony, and Tony just can’t take it.
“Just who the fuck do you think you are,” he pants, crooking his fingers as he pushes inside of his channel, searching. “What right do you think you have to order your own creator around like this?” Tony hisses as his fingers ram the bundle of nerves he’s been looking for.
The sound Jarvis makes is a gritty rumble that Tony can’t quite classify as a laugh, can’t quite call anything else, and he moans, rocking his three fingertips back onto his prostate. He can feel his orgasm building again, deeper in his core this time. He presses his fingers in harder, harder, and embers sing up his spine, and waves, waves of something indescribable start to-
“Even when you’re rude I still want to fuck you,” Jarvis growls, and Tony thinks he means it.
His orgasm hits him like a belly flop onto calm water, knocks the air from him, ripples across his body. The feeling washes from inside his pelvis to his thighs, then back over his torso to his shoulders. His hands spasm and his body rocks once, twice, riding the wave, and when he crashes, it’s hard.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” Tony heaves, and another sound whistles past his lips, almost a whine.
Little by little, the fog shrouding his brain lifts, and he’s fucking shivering. His stomach sticks to his sheets, and he’ll need to have them cleaned, but he doesn’t care.
“I’m ass up, covered in my own jizz,” Tony deadpans.
To which Jarvis responds only, “I adore how ravished you look.”
Tony isn’t sure what to say to that, so he swallows, gets up, and heads for the shower.
All in all, Tony thinks he’ll do it again.