“Aw, really?” Tony’s voice is incredulous as he runs his fingers over the curve of Steve’s neck. “Already?”
Steve, watching the machine pour coffee in the pot, feels Tony’s hand wrap his waist from behind. His other hand stays at Steve’s neck. They have the morning free, so Steve hoped to work on some reports for SHIELD, but right now he can’t bring himself to get away from Tony, feeling those clever fingers inspecting his skin. He nods, wordlessly, focusing on the warmth of Tony against his back.
“It’s all gone,” Tony says, and Steve can hear the pout in his voice. He chuckles, turning his head, and, yup, there he is, actual hero and genius Iron Man frowning and pursing his lips at Steve’s neck like a child. “You look positively undefiled. I hate it."
Steve leans onto Tony’s embrace and presses a kiss on his cheek, but the pout doesn’t go away. “Tell it to Doctor Eskrine.”
“I would.” Tony’s fingers travel to the collar of Steve’s shirt, slipping inside the gap and pushing the fabric to get a look at Steve’s back. “Actually, I might sue the U.S. government,” he grumbles, and Steve feels a shiver at the warm pressure of Tony’s hands coming under his shirt, travelling towards his abdomen and pulling him closer.
“I don’t think you’d have a solid case,” Steve says, feeling a flush spreading over his face. Tony’s lips grin against his nape as he presses soft kisses there, hands climbing slowly over Steve’s stomach.
“I sure as hell do,” Tony says, and the soft kisses turn into light bites at the curve of Steve’s neck, the prickliness of his goatee and the warmth of his breath feeling delicious and familiar. Steve keeps himself steady, or he tries to, when Tony’s hands reach his chest and clasp his pecs. “Bet all the work I made here is gone, too,” he whispers into Steve’s ear, mouth kissing his earlobe as his fingers lightly stroke Steve’s nipples, and Steve’s face and chest are both hot now, his body melting further into Tony’s arms.
“It was hardly a masterpi—Ah,” Steve sighs, when Tony presses his hips against his rear, evidence of his arousal impossible to ignore. Tony’s shorter than him, but in those moments it’s hard to remember that, because his presence is so strong, enveloping Steve in a warm, delicious haze where there’s nothing but Tony’s big, calloused hands stroking Steve’s chest and his hot mouth scraping his teeth against Steve’s neck.
“Are you kidding me?” One of Tony’s hands focus on Steve’s nipple, teasing it and squeezing it lightly between two fingers. “I could’ve taken a picture and sold it to the Louvre. You looked amazing,” he says, the light tone of his voice growing fonder toward the end. “On these specifically,”— his other hand travels lower, skimming over Steve’s lower back and squeezing one of his buttocks—“I made a masterpiece that would put Picasso to shame.”
“Maybe those haven’t faded yet,” Steve says, a little breathless, head resting on Tony’s shoulder. “Maybe you should check.”
“Hmmm,” Tony hums, pleased. “What a great idea.” Both of his hands grab Steve’s buttocks, squeezing and massaging with steady, focused circles. Steve barely holds back a whimper, feeling a hot spike of arousal on his belly when he thinks of what else those hands can do. “I should make a thorough inspection.” He follows up his words with a light slap on Steve’s ass. “Back to bed, soldier. And you’re not getting off it until I’ve made a true mural on those sweet cheeks of yours.”
Steve is not going to argue with that.