Actions

Work Header

Burn It Down

Work Text:

Steve’s lip is split, blood dribbling over his chin and to the floor.  It splatters the tiles like a Rorschach test, rest disappearing on his tongue as the taste of copper hits his throat.

He tells Tony, with lip curled high enough to bare teeth, that if he thinks himself worthless, maybe he is.

There’s a moment of silence before Steve is flat on his back over a workbench, screws digging into his spine and the head of a hammer lodged under his shoulder blade.  Tony jams his body between the other’s legs, sending Steve skidding backwards, arching against metal shards.

“I don’t praise your primitive tactics and lick your boots,” Tony growls, tugging the other’s shirt until his head snaps forward.  His left arm is captured inside the half-finished suit he was working on; mechanical fingers gripping so roughly the cloth rips.  “Everybody here - they're not your friends.  You know who's your friend?  I am.  I'm the best friend you've got.  I’m not the one lying to you.”

Steve spits, “You think too highly of yourself;” is tired of Tony in so many ways; would laugh in his face if in a better mood.

An elbow whips Tony in the jaw, then palms thrust into his chest to shove him away.  Steve’s off the bench and Tony’s regained his footing.  The arm of the suit goes off, energy beam barely missing the super soldier in warning.  Whatever was resting on a shelf explodes behind Steve; thousands of dollars of equipment and hundreds of hours of work, and Tony doesn’t care, and that pisses Steve off, too.

He whips the hammer in response, making it cut through the air with a sick song.  It lodges in the wall behind Tony and only then does dread drip down Steve’s back, realizing what he could have done.

He falters, barely reacts to the other rushing forward and headbutting him into a wall.  Steve swipes Tony’s leg out from under him, grabs his shoulder and whips backwards.  Tony hits the floor with a thud and then a crack when his skull meets, and Steve’s stomach rolls, partly satisfied and partly ill.

He’s there immediately, bent over with arm outstretched in a half-assed attempt at apology, but Tony gives him his heel instead; slices into the other’s knee taking him down too.

A sharp cry still splits the air when Tony flips Steve onto his back and straddles his abdomen.  Robotic fingers dig into flesh while Tony’s free hand gropes at the younger man’s waist.  Tony’s sucking in breath faster, grinding against muscle.  He can’t outfight Steve so he’ll go for something else; rip weakness from him and make him choke on it.

Their body heat is suffocating with the thick smell of oil and sweat and cologne.  Wet patches bleed through Tony’s shirt as he curls fingers around the elastic of Steve’s sweatpants, exposing the hard outline of his hips.  The boxers remain flush against skin, stuck by sweat, and Tony’s peeling them off, staring straight into clear blue eyes as he does it.

He gets punched in the face for that, knuckles connecting with the side of his head jerking him sideways.  Steve tears at his comrade’s hair until Tony panics that he’ll lose half his scalp and slams forward into Steve’s crotch to free himself.

The mechanical arm catches the blonde’s neck before he can slither away.  It snaps suddenly and his entire body tenses, and he finds himself clawing at metal, heels digging into the floor.

Anxiety is Steve’s enemy now, heart beating into his ribs as Tony’s on him again, with that smirk that’s drunken and predatory, dragging a palm up his clothed groin.  The sweatpants are wriggled down to expose him, Steve’s grunts rewarded with a tighter grip around his neck.  Tony’s put him on display, naked and vulnerable in a big open room, unable to hide from the bright fluorescents.

He knows it scares him.  That’s why he does it.

Fingers run over the shaft of Steve’s cock, barely touching because it’s more fun to see the fear and anticipation on his face.  The strokes are cautious at first.  Steve can break Tony’s wrist - snap his neck if he’s feeling particularly agitated - but the kid stays down, back arched and legs spread.  He shoves Tony’s head away when he gets too close and it becomes too intimate.  He doesn’t love the man, he hates him; hates his ego and hates his greed, hates how he thinks he can take what he wants, and hates that he allows Tony to do so.

Soon, Steve’s hard, painfully so, head purple and slit dripping onto his stomach in a clear, sticky mess.  He’s done it to himself, imagining what twisted things the other has planned; mind creative when it can’t have what it wants.

The whimpers are getting to Tony and he’s hurting too.  Steve can never seem to shut up during missions, but now he loves it; needs to know what gets the pretty boy off.  He hopes it’s sick.

The pressure increases as he pulls up his shaft and Steve sucks in breath, hand around the other’s arm squeezing.  Tony’s pressed against his ear, voice too sweet and too smug when he whispers, “Boy scout’s loving this.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Tony stifles a guffaw at the sudden language, rocks his own arousal against Steve because his losing it makes Tony anxious in all the right ways.  His tongue slips out, chasing the other’s mouth as Steve repeatedly jerks away.  Steve growls and teeth sink into Tony’s bottom lip, ripping half-formed curses from him.

Tony grabs at Steve’s inner thigh and spreads him with an angry jerk.  Damp skin rubs his own as the younger man writhes, and Tony hopes he keeps struggling while he fucks him.

Fingers slip into Tony’s mouth and then press against Steve’s skin, in an action quick and sloppy and unceremonious.  Steve’s mouth falls open when he penetrates, teeth clacking together to bite the air.  He’s squirming and Tony presses deeper, forces in a second finger on the third thrust.  The movements are short and deep, pumping and curling, trying to stretch him though he’s still so fucking tight.

He pulls out hastily and Steve cries out as he throws his head into the floor.  Tony tears at his own zipper, waist wriggling until pants fall low enough to release his erection, already swollen and aching.  He slicks himself with spit, and it’s good enough.  If Steve doesn’t like it, he can take his own advice and fuck himself.

Steve jerks again and Tony makes him still, pushing in while the other is being good.  The head forces inside and stretches him wide.  Steve is hot and tight around him, barely used.  He’s slow on purpose so Steve can feel it; the thick width of his cock, hot and pulsing, ready to split him apart.

There’s a strangled whine and Steve’s leg shakes and he’s so inexperienced it’s disgusting.   Sweat pours from Steve’s body, back sticking to the floor, keeping him grounded during each brutal thrust.  His eyes are wet but he says nothing, and Tony licks lips, imagining how much the brat hates himself in this moment.  Steve likes being used; likes being dominated by someone else because that’s all he’s known for so long. Tony preys on that, picks apart his insecurities because he’s the best at knowing where to find them.

    Steve’s cock twitches with each thrust – desperate.  He lets Tony fuck him but won’t touch himself.  He’ll think about it later and he’ll jerk off, in the dark, under the sheets.  He’ll do it alone where he can’t be seen or heard or judged.

    Tony could leave him as he is, but that’s no fun.  Steve is panting, hip bones jutting against his skin, and fuck him for trampling Tony in the field and now whining like a bitch when there’s a cock in his ass.

    Saliva drips from Tony’s mouth and splatters the head of Steve’s cock.  It drips down in one thick glob, and even that pulls a moan from him.  It’s warm on his skin and he bucks up wanting more.  Red metal flashes in front of his vision and those solid, heavy fingers wrap around his shaft.  Steve tenses and his bottom lip disappears, and he almost begs Tony to stop before he starts.

    Tony pulls up and down, smooth metal interspersed with rough edges that catch his skin and make him groan.  His body shakes nervously but he’s hard, watching anxiously as the suit leaves deep red lines in his skin.

    “Really, you like it rough?”  Tony’s chest heaves and a smile creeps up his face.  “That kind of clashes with your image.  You want it to hurt, huh?”

    Tony…” is breathed and it’s barely a whisper.  The voice is frail and helpless and that’s all the other can take.

    The mechanical arm hits Steve’s neck again.  Tony’s empty hand takes its place around Steve’s arousal so  he can fuck him like he wants, thumb pressed into the underside of his cock, pulling upwards till palm wipes over the sticky head.

    There’s a struggle when Tony pushes weight forward to get a better grip, and the other is stilled when the pressure around his neck becomes too much and his throat burns and head pounds.

    A few more strokes and he’s coming, thrusting into Tony’s hand though punished by a squeeze of the neck.  Tony milks him, tells him he’s done well because, “That’s what you like hearing.

    Cum splatters Steve’s chest, coats muscles and the remnants of his t-shirt.  The last drips from his slit and slowly oozes to his skin as Tony releases him.  There’s a strangled moan then, missing the contact, suddenly feeling every bruise and every inch of Tony’s cock as he pounds into him.

    He’s silenced with another tightening grip.  It’s too much now - he can’t breathe - but Tony’s spilling into him with long thrusts, pushing until buried completely.  Tony’s still moving, pulling out and fucking in again, until cum is forced out of Steve’s hole and streams back down Tony’s cock, leaving Steve filthy and covered.

    Steve wrenches fingers under the suit’s thumb and almost rips it off.  Tony lets go, shocked back into reality as the other heaves violently.  Lips are at the younger man’s cheek, trailing down to bite his jaw.  He writhes again and Tony still loves it; covers Steve’s mouth with his own and sucks the breath from him.