Give and Take

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/21124859.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel
Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Relationship: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Character: Steve Rogers, Tony Stark
Additional Tags: Romance, Fluff, Established Relationship
Collections: Happy Steve Bingo 2019
Stats: Published: 2019-10-21 Words: 6494

Give and Take

by thegraytigress

Summary

There's no doubt about it: Steve Rogers is a blanket hog. Tony's not letting him get away
with it this time.

Part of Happy Steve Bingo 2019.

Notes

This work was created purely for enjoyment. No money was made, and no infringement
was intended. Please don't repost this story to other archives or websites.

RATING: E (for adult situations)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Here we have Happy Steve Bingo fill #2. The prompt for this square
is "blankets". This is probably the least plotty, most smutty thing I have ever written. No
real warnings (I guess there's a touch of somnophilia). I hope you enjoy!

There’s no doubt about it: Steve Rogers is a blanket hog.

Which Tony thinks is pretty adorable, despite how inconvenient it is for him. It’s really hard to
blame Steve for it. Sleeping for seventy years in the ice undoubtedly instilled some subconscious
need into him to stay warm at all times. Chilled is not a sensation he enjoys. The minute the first
touch of autumn hits, Steve is always dressed for the weather. Big sweaters. Jackets and hats.
Gloves and scarves. Hoodies and sweats. He’ll tolerate going out into snow and blustery winds
and cold rain and not make much of a fuss about it, particularly for a mission, but it’s more than
obvious that the cold gets to him.

That’s fine. Tony really doesn’t begrudge Steve anything. After everything Steve has gone through
in his life, he deserves all the warmth and comfort that can be had. In fact, since getting together a
couple years back right after the Battle of New York, Tony has made it his personal mission to
give Steve anything he wants and everything he needs. Steve, of course, is far too humble (and
self-sacrificing) to accept all of Tony’s doting (and purchasing, gifting, treating, pampering, and
lavishing), but Tony doesn’t give him too much of a choice. It’s all part and parcel of being loved
by Tony Stark. Therefore, if Steve needs jackets because he’s not fond of the wind, you better
believe they’re the finest wool from Armani or Dolce. If he wants sweaters, they’re fleece and
made of the highest quality from the best designers worldwide. If he so much as mentions maybe
getting away from the oppressive New York winters for a bit, there are Stark properties in Florida
and Malibu and the French Riviera and the Caribbean (or anywhere – it wouldn’t be the first time
Tony bought a place on the fly just to escape). Even if Steve requests to have the temperature a
little higher in their bedroom just to chase away some phantom chill, Tony will ensure it happens
everywhere in the penthouse, in the whole Tower. He’ll design an intelligent heating program that
follows Steve no matter where he goes and anticipates his schedule just so he never has to walk
into a cold room.

And if Steve wants all the blankets on their bed, Tony will make sure he has plenty to take. Every
night during the winter months they sleep with the duvet and a quilt on top of that and any number
of other covers. It’s quite a collection they have growing. Steve tends to bring them with him from
the couches around the penthouse, from the common rooms too, whenever he comes to bed.
Tony’s not even sure that he recognizes that he’s doing it. The quilts and throws are quite literally
security blankets to ward off the cold, both physically and psychologically, and Steve can have as
many as he wants.

The problem is he regularly takes all of them during the night, which seems crazy when there is a
half dozen of them spread around their luxurious California king bed, but it happens all the time
when it’s even the slightest bit cold out. It goes on regardless of whether the heat in the penthouse
is on high or whether Steve had to be outside earlier that day. He just seems to gather them in his
sleep. Tony’s spent most nights over the last couple years right next to him, so he can personally
vouch for Steve’s weird habit. Steve’s a fairly light and restless sleeper, not always because of
distress. He just moves a lot. Tony, on the other hand, is a pretty deep sleeper when he actually
gets himself down (which is his own trouble but the fact is it’s afforded him plenty of observation
time concerning his love). It was hard at first to settle down next to a guy who flails in bed, who’s
a giant octopus one second and unconsciously pushing him away the next and who practically and
systematically cocoons himself in every cover the bed has. Tony’s gotten used to it over the
months, that sometimes Steve is practically smothering him and snoring into his neck and other
times Steve is taking up most of the bed and shoving him aside and yet other times Tony is being
held like Captain America’s personal teddy bear. That’s all fine. He’s teased Steve about his
fidgety sleeping habits plenty of times before, and Steve always blushes and apologizes profusely
before begging Tony’s forgiveness, which Tony offers with a deep kiss and a promise that he really
doesn’t care. And he doesn’t too much.

But sometimes it just kind of sucks waking up freezing because your bed partner has taken all of
the blankets again.

Like now. Tony’s not a fan of being hot while sleeping; as much as he loves having Steve passed
out on top of him, it quickly gets uncomfortable because (and this is the most ironic part of it all)
Steve is a freaking furnace. He generates heat like a blast oven, and when he’s trapped Tony with
him under his blanket barrier, it’s really unpleasant (in other words unbearable). This current
situation, though? When Steve has rolled himself up in all of their blankets like a Steve-sandwich
and left Tony beside him with none? This isn’t much better. It’s the middle of particularly cold and
blustery January, and a Nor’easter dumped quite a bit of snow on the city the day before, so it’s
freaking cold. Steve got home fairly late last night after a long day of work at SHIELD, and he
came in frozen and fatigued. Tony was thankfully there, home from a series of meetings in Malibu
and then DC, and so he was ready with a hug and a kiss and a plan. Steve was alright, but he was
dragging, and Tony could tell he was feeling worn and chilled.

So it was a great meal brought in from one of the nearby restaurants Steve loved. Extra Thai
noodles and rice for him, enough to fill him up even with his nearly insatiable appetite. Then after
a dinner spent chatting about everything and nothing, Tony herded Steve into a nice, hot shower.
The spray was just shy of too hot, nearly but not quite scalding, and did quite a bit to ward away the
remains of the wintry misery. Tony carefully washed Steve, not letting him so much as lift a finger
to take care of himself. He rubbed shampoo into his hair, scratching at his scalp and drinking in
every contented sigh and little moan Steve let loose. He massaged smooth skin, lathering Steve in
suds that smelled of balsam, taking his time though Steve was not at all dirty. And he let the hot
water do its work, washing over them both, fogging up the huge shower and bathroom with a warm
mist that was soothing. Pretty soon Steve was putty in his hands, and the aggravations of the day
were far, far away.

Truthfully, that’s one of the ways Tony likes Steve best. He loves Steve in every way, in all ways
of course, but there’s something especially wonderful about seeing Steve relax, really relax. Steve
carries so much on his shoulders all the time: leading the team, running missions for SHIELD,
making so many tough decisions, struggling to be this paragon of virtue and integrity that everyone
wants him to be... Working so hard for the whole world. He bears the burdens of the team’s
failures, worries about mistakes that can’t be undone and many times aren’t at all under his control,
quietly does everything asked of him and more without ever expecting accolades or even gratitude.
Tony’s never met anyone like Steve, anyone so good and honest and pure and valorous. It used to
be off-putting and obnoxious, just how perfect Steve seems to be. He’s the first and best superhero,
the one to whom everyone is measured against, and it feels like an impossible standard. Tony’s
resented him for that (and a load of other things) for years before even meeting him.

But he knows now that Steve certainly doesn’t think that way about himself. Steve can be
miserably hard on himself. He can be solemn and overly serious and downright stubborn about it.
And Steve needs these moments that Tony crafts for him, times where he can just be a normal guy
who's okay with someone taking care of him, with someone getting him out of his head a little. He
used to so fiercely and stubbornly fight against it when the two of them first started dating. In fact,
since Steve was the one typically taking care of Tony, dragging him out of the lab and making sure
he ate and persistently (though sometimes not so gingerly) nudging him to do better as a team
player (and as a person), it took them both a while to get to this point, where Steve can receive
Tony’s care and not be ashamed or rankled about it.

But they’re there now, and this is a side of Steve that no one else gets to see, one where the mask
of Captain America has been utterly stripped away and Steve is just Steve. Tony has to admit that
he gets a lot of joy of out the process. As much as this isn’t a side of Steve that doesn’t exist for
anyone else, this part of Tony – this deeply caring, sweetly tender, slightly possessive part – isn’t
something he’s let show to anyone else. It’s not something he even knew he possessed until Steve
lowered his walls and allowed Tony inside. Tony loves to take care of Steve. It’s not anything he
ever imagined enjoying, let alone finding so fundamentally satisfying. Having Steve trust him,
want him, believe in him and love him like this… It’s the most precious thing Tony has ever had,
the most important and valuable thing in a life of wealth and luxury. He normally doesn’t let
himself think things like this, let alone say them, and he’s said it to Steve plenty of times before.
So he was perfectly happy to feed Steve a dinner he loves and wash the miseries of a long, difficult
day away and warm him up. And he was more than thrilled to lead Steve to bed last night and
spend all evening taking Steve apart. Tony does love having Steve be demanding and more
controlling and rougher in bed; Steve is much stronger than him and bigger, and there’s definitely
something to be said for being at Steve’s whims, for being under all that power, for being pushed
and challenged in ways no one else has ever been able to push and challenge him (and not just in
the bedroom; on the battle field and in the sparring ring and in the Avengers command centers and
in every debate and argument they’ve ever had). Tony’s never known sex (or pleasure) like he has
with Steve, the sweet, agonizing surrender of it, the give and take, the drive to go further and faster
than ever before. It’s incredible.

But it’s also incredible when Steve cedes to him. The give and take shifts, and with it goes the
dynamic, transforming quietly and gently into something very different by no less amazing.
Sometimes Tony can see that Steve needs to just… not. Not make decisions. Not be responsible for
anything or anyone. Not having to protect and fight and figure out the best course and the right
answers. Not even having to think or move but just lie there and feel. He offers everything to Tony,
and Tony has never known a greater honor than that, than to have Steve Rogers give himself
wholly, mind, body, and soul, to Tony’s care. That’s another thing he doesn’t let himself think too
often; it seems so wholly sentimental and cheesy, and Tony is not those things. More than that,
though, sometimes Tony fears the second he truly allows himself to bask in this and really accept it,
it’ll turn out to be some kind of fantasy.

It hasn’t so far, though last night does kind of feel like it was one. With Steve so soft and warm
from his shower, miles of rippling muscles and milky, clean skin that puckered in gooseflesh with
the slightest caress of Tony’s fingers or even the brush of his breath… Steve was a veritable feast
for Tony to devour. Like in the shower, though, Tony took his time, more a man intent upon tasting
and savoring everything than someone starving and frantic for his fill. Steve was quietly desperate
himself, wanting and needing and clinging, and it was some of the sweetest, most tender sex
they’ve had in a while. When they were through, with Steve practically melting into the mattress
and Tony sprawled on his chest, smiling and shivering with the aftermath of fading pleasure…
God. So good. And too long since they’ve done it. Days passed since they were together last,
really together beyond a hasty kiss or a quick conversation or a hurried meal. With the busy winter,
the bad weather, Avengers missions, obligations to Stark Industries and SHIELD and everyone
else… No wonder Steve was so tense and worn. No wonder he needed Tony so badly.

And no wonder he has every blanket in the bed around him right now, because it’s freaking
freezing. It’s not quite dawn, the very first hints of light peeking through the blinds on the massive
bedroom windows, but the room is still very dark and surprisingly drafty. Tony is lying there bereft
of covers, buck naked, and chilled. For a second, as he stares half-asleep into the heavy shadows,
he thinks he can just deal with it. Slip back down into slumber. It’s right there on the edge of his
consciousness, beckoning to him, and he can just heed its call and go back to sleep.

Only he can’t. It’s too cold. Now it’s his skin that’s prickling with gooseflesh and not the sexy
kind. The chilled-to-the-bone kind. He grunts and rolls over to see the massive nest of blankets
Steve has wrangled. He can’t even see Steve in them, just this mountainous lump under their gray
duvet and black sheets and another blanket (from the guest bed maybe?) and the fleece throw from
the couch in the living room. There’s a tuft of blond hair poking out near the pillow, the only hint
of a six-foot frame and two hundred fifty pounds of super soldier burrowed beneath it all. It’d
really be adorable, if Tony wasn’t freezing his ass off.

He can handle it, though. It’s not worth disturbing Steve. It’s barely worth even getting up for. He
has no idea where his clothes ended up after last night, and he’s too tired and worn out for that,
anyway. He’ll just lay there until he goes back to sleep. That’s fine. It’s all part and parcel of being
loved by Tony Stark, right? Doing things for Steve because Steve is perfect and precious and all
his. Making sure Steve has all the blankets he wants. Taking care of him. Keeping him warm and
relaxed and comfortable. Loving him, because he deserves it. And he does deserve it.

But Tony is very, very cold. And, a few miserable seconds later, he decides he really can’t handle
it. So he sighs, rolls over, grabs the edge of one of the quilts, and tugs. Nothing happens. Tony
wakes up even more, putting more effort into it, but still the blanket doesn’t really come loose. It’s
probably tucked up under Steve or wrapped around him or who knows; it’s too dark to see and the
blanket pile is so tangled up regardless. Sighing harder and shivering more, Tony throws out his
arm and fumbles for another quilt. He can tell he’s found one by the different texture – the fleece
throw – and he yanks that toward him. It doesn’t come free, either. Ugh. He pulls harder and
harder, clutches at everything he can reach, but it’s all to no avail. Steve’s cocoon is particularly
strong tonight, nigh impenetrable.

Tony’s not about to admit defeat, though, or let Steve get away with this again (or leave the bed or
even bother to ask JARVIS to turn up the heat because he wants the blanket). If he can’t beat
Steve, he’ll just have to join him. He slides closer to the pile, searching for a way in. Steve’s on his
side, back to Tony, legs curled up in his nest, probably holding onto his blankets like Gollum
coveting and clutching the One Ring or something. He really is laying on the duvet; that’s obvious
this close, and there’s no getting under that. There’s also no moving Steve (especially when he’s as
conked out as this). Groaning, Tony tugs and hunts and pulls, reaching and reaching, and it feels
just a bit like he’s unpacking something, unraveling and unpeeling but always finding another layer
beneath. Finally, after what feels like forever, he hits bare skin, warm bare skin, and he grasps and
pulls himself closer. Carving a tiny space for himself right next to Steve is almost too much work,
and he ends up with only a tiny section of a blanket to cover him.

Even still, it’s sweltering under here. Tony feels just a bit like a block of ice, and the contrast
between the frigid air of the room and the space next to Steve is shocking. It’s good, the heat
seeping like liquid fire right through his skin to ease the chill that has very quickly settled into his
bones. He wants more of that. The little piece of quilt he has doesn’t quite cover him all the way,
his left leg and side exposed, and that won’t do. It takes a little more struggling with all the
blankets and sheets blocking him to get right up to Steve. Once he does, though, the heat gets even
more glorious closer to its source. Tony groans and gets as close as he can, spooning Steve,
pressing right up to the broad expanse of Steve’s back. Steve’s breathing slowly and evenly,
apparently completely undisturbed by all the motion and pawing at him. Tony slides an arm around
Steve’s stomach, nosing at the back of Steve’s head. Warm at last, he tries to go back to sleep.

But then Steve groans quietly and pushes his rear into Tony’s groin. Tony’s well on his way to the
land of Nod when that happens. His reaction is more automatic than anything, biological maybe,
something formed in his animal hindbrain because almost immediately his nerves come alive and
the heat settling into his body coils in his core, in his groin where his cock stirs. He felt pretty
magnificently spent when they finished last night, deliciously drained dry, so the fact that he’s
feeling anything down there is pretty shocking. It’s not enough to wake him completely, not really,
just this pleasant haze of warmth and contentment that mixes with recent memories of last night
and more from the many, many times before those. It’s this mesh of watercolors, each sensation
running together in this blurry but beautiful wash of image and sensation. Tony drifts in an ocean
of it.

Until there’s another low groan. “’sa matter?” comes a muffled slur.

Tony opens his eyes as the blankets are pulled from him. He feels them slide sideways, feels Steve
stealing them anew, so he gives a tug at the duvet, fighting for more of it. “You took all the
blankets. Again.”
A hum answers, the body beside him rolling further away and wrapping up tighter. “Cold.”

Tony can’t help a bit of a grin. “You’re always cold.” There’s another groan for a response. The
blankets are pulled back and away from him yet again, though. “Quit it.” He yanks them back, only
there’s not much to get. “Share.”

Steve doesn’t say anything to that because he’s already sleeping again. At least, he seems to be.
His hips roll back more, pressing his bare butt right into Tony’s equally bare groin, and Tony stops
battling over the blankets. He can’t stop a soft moan. Through this fog of sleep and mounting
desire, he wonders if Steve knows what he’s doing, if he’s being a little shit and turning Tony on is
all part of some clever plot to own every blanket on the bed. Tony leans up a bit from behind him
to check. Nope, probably not a trick. There’s still that mess of blond hair peeking out but basically
nothing more. Tony hooks a finger under the top of the blanket and carefully lowers it to see
Steve’s face, eyes closed so that long lashes dust beneath them, pink lips that are still a little kiss
swollen parted with slow breaths, so completely peaceful. He’s just beautiful like this.

And he pushes his ass back yet again in what really feels like an invitation. When he does it this
time, Tony’s hand gets knocked lower from Steve’s stomach and brushes against Steve’s own cock,
which is far from limp. Steve’s just dreaming, a really good dream maybe or seeking out something
in his sleep. Nothing that nefarious. It’s not all that an uncommon thing really, and sometimes,
particularly after such a fulfilling night last night, they just let it go.

Tony doesn’t want to right now. More awake, he presses even closer, kissing Steve’s shoulder.
“You know,” he rumbled against smooth skin, his knuckles lightly brushing over Steve’s half-hard
erection, “if you’re cold, you could just ask me to warm you up rather than swiping all the blankets
in sight.”

There’s no answer. Steve doesn’t even respond to the teasing caress. Normally he’s such a light
sleeper that Tony could never get away with this. The fact that he is intrigues him, and he rubs a
finger carefully down Steve’s length. “Babe.”

Still Steve doesn’t speak or move, though his breath hitches a bit. Tony sweeps his thumb around
the head of Steve’s cock a moment more before letting his hand drift up to grip Steve’s waist. He
knows they’re gone already (if they were ever there at all with the serum so potent), but he can
imagine the bruises he left before, can press his fingertips into the groove of Steve’s hip like
they’re meant to go there. Again it’s possessive, but Tony’s not sure he cares anymore. This is a
golden opportunity. “Babe?”

Steve exhales a long, tremoring breath and groans again. Lightly Tony slides his hand up and down
Steve’s flank. Steve’s really ticklish along his sides and ribs, and he figures the tantalizing touch
may rouse him some. “Darling?” He kisses again, a little more forcefully. Still Steve doesn’t stir
much, doesn’t answer, so Tony nips him a little on the top of his shoulder and moves closer to his
ear. Steve is so warm; his skin is soft and smooth and hot to the touch. Tony just loves it. “Steve,
sweets, wake up.”

Another grunt but not much more than that. This is really unbelievable, something that has never
happened in the years they’ve been together. Tony catches Steve’s earlobe gently between his
teeth, tugging and then sucking just enough to get Steve uncurling just a bit. “Wore you out, huh?”
Tony husks, planting a line of kisses down Steve’s cheek and jaw. His hand drifts across Steve’s
chest to pull at a nipple. “Gotta say I’m pretty proud of myself. Don’t manage that too often.”

There’s another shivery sigh and a low hum that sounds particularly blissful. Tony chuckles. He
kisses the nape of Steve’s neck more, tasting the slightly salty tang of sweat as he rubs his fingers
across Steve’s chest. The heat under the blankets is pervasive, permeating Tony’s body more and
more, and desire coils tighter until he’s praying he can make something of this. He rolls the pad of
that his thumb over that nipple again, calluses dragging across it until it’s firm and pointed under
his touch. He rolls it, rolls his hips up into Steve’s ass, pulling Steve back into him with the hand
on his hip. “Blankets are boring and overrated,” he whispers into Steve’s ear. “You want me to
warm you up?”

The next groan is louder, still sleepy but less insentient. Steve nods and turns a bit, trying to get
closer, trying to kiss him, but Tony stills him. “No, babe. Just let me.” He takes the sloppy kiss
Steve’s trying to give, sealing his mouth over those plush, dry lips. Steve whimpers, and Tony just
drinks it in, breathing in Steve’s air, his scent, the heat under the blankets. Steve’s eyes are still
closed, and he’s craning his neck for more, but Tony hushes him and gently pushes him back
where he wants him. He slides his hand from the jut of Steve’s hip to his abdomen, caressing the
hills and valleys of Steve’s abdominal muscles that he knows so well before laying his palm at his
flat lower stomach and trailing through the fine hair there. Steve breathes faster, shifts, seeking
sensation. Tony doesn’t tease him. He wraps his fingers around Steve’s cock, stroking carefully,
and the whine Steve lets out is positively sinful.

Tony grins against the back of Steve’s shoulder. Beneath the covers he grips a little tighter on
silky, sensitive flesh and immediately adopts the rhythm he knows Steve likes, twisting his wrist
just so and squeezing enough. There’s moisture there, Steve leaking thickly onto his fingers, and
he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He gathers the fluid at the tip, swiping there at the
sensitive head with his thumb and using the slickness to coat his fingers. Then he slips his hand
back down to the base of Steve’s cock, squeezing there and rolling his hips into Steve’s to guide
him. Steve follows, moans, thrusting into now Tony’s curled fingers. Pleased, Tony sucks at his
neck, licking at a tendon, and Steve clumsily throws back an arm to grab at Tony’s hair. His grip is
loose, far from the tight grasp he has sometimes that can perfectly border on painful, and Tony
can’t help it, can’t deny the rush of power and satisfaction that Steve is so deeply trusting and lost
in peace and pleasure and it’s because of him, of what he’s done and what he’s doing now, how he
loves him.

God, he loves him.

“You want me?” Tony husks into his Steve’s neck. He lets his other hand travel down the glorious
muscles of Steve’s back, lets it caress over the line of Steve’s spine, the curve of his ass. Tony
can’t see it under the covers and in the darkness, but these are details he’s long since committed to
memory. Steve’s hips still the second Tony’s fingers slip lower. “Steve?”

Steve groans again, pushing back into Tony’s hand, and if it wasn’t an invitation before, it’s
definitely one now. That and his whine, his legs spreading. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Tony breathes,
watching the blankets shift, feeling Steve’s leg drape over his own. The position isn’t the easiest,
but leaving the blankets and going back to the cold room is utterly impossible. And Tony can’t
think about anything else, nothing aside from his own erection that’s now so hard it hurts, from
Steve’s entrance right at his fingers still open and slick from hours ago. “God, baby…”

Another desperate moan is the answer, hungry and needful, and Tony can’t resist tangling them
closer together, painting Steve’s back with suckling kisses. He’s gentle as he pushes a finger inside
Steve, careful and tender but insistent. Even as loose as he is and wet with leftover lube and – God
– Tony’s own come from before, Tony takes it slow. The serum’s always working against them,
and he doesn’t want any part of this to be uncomfortable, to pull Steve out of this languid, liquid
state. Steve bucks against him, twitching and bending his back so that his head’s on Tony shoulder.
His face is stunning, eyes closed, mouth open, desire mixed with sweet contentment. Tony props
himself up to kiss at more skin and take what Steve’s offering. Steve’s breathing in long pushes
and pulls, drinking deeply of air as he rocks his hips back to take Tony’s finger deeper before
rolling forward to press his cock through Tony’s hand. The rhythm of it slow, unhurried, sleepy
even, and it’s so good.

Tony adds a second finger, and Steve gasps, shivers, tightening his grip in Tony’s hair. “Okay?”
Tony whispers, stilling his hand on Steve’s cock and letting Steve settle. Steve gives a slow nod,
and Tony bites teasingly at his shoulder, squeezing at his erection before thrusting deeper with his
fingers. That earns him a series of broken, desperate mewls from Steve’s throat, quiet and hoarse
and most definitely embarrassing were Steve awake and with it enough to care. He goes back to
moving his hips, vacillating between the points of pleasure, taking it all with a wanton sigh.

Then Tony crooks his fingers just the right way, the way he’s learned because they’ve done this so
many times that he knows Steve’s body even better than his own. Steve cries out. Tony’s heard his
voice a million different ways, from calm, confident commands on the battlefield to angry
statements of fact in arguments to loose and happy with uninhibited laughter to moments like these,
thick and husky with desire.

But even those many moments before where Steve’s unraveled in under his hands and teeth and
tongue aren’t like this, with Steve so lax and pliant with the weight of lingering slumber, with him
this unguarded and open. The sound is low, raw, primal, like Steve’s been reduced to nerves
vibrating with pleasure, to muscles flexing and skin sliding against skin and his heart beating blood
around his body and the air filling his lungs and the heat trapped around them. Tony spreads his
fingers inside him, stretching and tugging before reaching deeper again. He finds that place, puts
pressure there, alternates between teasing touches and more assertive rubs. As he does, he strokes
Steve harder and faster. Steve gasps suddenly, hips stuttering as if he doesn’t know what to do,
where to move, which pleasure is sharper and more intense. Which one he wants more. The
muscles in the thigh over Tony’s legs tighten, rippling with impending orgasm, and Steve’s
breathing gets faster. He writhes against Tony’s chest, panting that way he does when he’s about to
come, and Tony knows he can take him there right now.

Tony’s no saint, though, and greedy and so deliriously possessive. His blood is thrumming in his
veins with arousal, with Steve so close and so hot against him, and he pulls away to search under
his pillow for the tube of lubricant he stashed under there last night. It’s still there – thank God –
and he grabs it, opens it, rolls back over and slathers his aching cock with slick. Then he’s pulling
the blankets back. Steve’s turned himself prone, spreading his legs and raising his hips, and Tony
gets right behind him. Uncovered, Steve’s breath-taking. Despite how close he came to release, his
body is relaxed and patiently waiting for Tony, his muscles loose and his cock hanging hard
between his legs. In the darkness, his skin is so pale against the bedding, almost silver and
ethereal. His blond hair is an utter mess, and his eyes are still closed. His face is free of pain and
concern. Serene and blissful and adoring. Tony shivers at the sight of it, of Steve offering himself
so completely. His hands go back to Steve’s hips, pulling him close, pressing lube into his entrance
in a sloppy mess of warm wetness, and with that it takes nothing at all for Tony to slide back inside
him.

Steve groans, sinking down, pressing his face into the pillows. Tony goes with him, pushing in as
far as he can, because it feels unbelievable, somehow just as intense as ever, as it was mere hours
ago, but different. Not hurried. Not frantic. There’s a promise of pleasure, of sweet release, but
there’s no need to race to get there, no need to fight for it. Tony breathes through the initial rush of
being inside all that tight heat, relishing in the pressure on his erection, in the waves of sheer
pleasure blazing through him. Then he pulls the covers up over them both before blanketing Steve
with his own body and thrusting forward. He moans loudly, and Steve gasps into the pillows. He
grasps at the blankets and tugs them down tighter around them. There isn’t much room for Tony to
move, but somehow it isn’t all that necessary. Just rocking his hips is glorious, pulling out a bit
only to press so deeply back in, slow and steady and powerful, so overwhelmingly good that Tony
just buries his face into Steve’s back and hangs on. Like this, he can hear Steve’s heart beating, feel
the air come in and out of his lungs, sense every muscle move. He can hear the sighs he’s pushing
from Steve with each thrust, feel Steve’s body welcoming him in, opening for him and cradling
him deep. That primal connection, basic and intrinsic to them both, is humming because there’s
nothing between them and nothing around them but soft sheets and heavy blankets. A reduction of
the world to him moving in and out of Steve’s body. Tony reaches up to take Steve’s hands where
they’re holding the pillows, weaving their fingers tightly as he brings their bodies together. As he
makes them one.

It goes on, quiet and unassuming, this slow, languorous climb towards ecstasy. Tony thrusts into
Steve’s body, and Steve rolls back, and they carry each other higher. Complementing each other, as
they always do. There’s so little beyond pleasure, and the room is silent save for long sighs, soft
gasps, skin sliding wetly on skin, and the sheets rustling. Underneath the blankets, the air’s turned
into a veritable sauna, hot and moist and smelling of sex. The sheets beneath them are probably
soaked, but it’s hard to care, hard to think, hard to even feel beyond the clench of Steve’s entrance
around him. It’s too much, growing beyond this sleepy rhythm of their bodies, and Tony’s can feel
his muscles tighten. That heat around them is driving, and he wants to feel it more, wants to have it
wash over him, burn him and remake him.

So he shifts, letting go of Steve’s hands to get an arm under him and coax him upward. Steve goes,
and Tony can feel how damp the bed is beneath him, sweat and his own cock leaking in a steady
stream. He runs a hand up Steve’s chest, gliding through the perspiration, pausing to pinch and pull
at a nipple just to feel Steve’s inner walls clench around him and hear Steve beg with a wordless
whine. Steve nearly collapses again, but Tony doesn’t let him, keeping that hand beneath him,
dragging it higher to Steve’s throat just above the pillow. God, that’s incredible, to feel the rush of
Steve’s pulse, the very beat of life through his arteries and veins, right beneath his fingertips. Tony
braces his forehead to Steve’s back, drowning in sweat, in pleasure, in heat, twisting his hips to hit
Steve’s prostate anew, finding it and wresting a cry from Steve that almost shatters his control.
He’s not going to let himself go though, no matter how close he is. He’s dancing along a knife’s
edge, thrusts turning uncoordinated and ragged as he’s tugged nearer and nearer to that precipice,
but he never allows himself to take a reward like this before Steve’s been given his.

But he needs to get a move on, because he only has so much restraint, and even at his most
generous, he’s a selfish, selfish man when it comes to Steve Rogers, and he wants Steve,
everything Steve has. He lifts the hand at Steve’s throat to his mouth, prodding at parted lips until
Steve opens them wider, sucks Tony’s fingers in and swirls his tongue around them to get them
wet. Then Tony drops his hand to Steve’s cock, grasping the achingly hard length and stroking in
time with his thrusts. What began so slowly and leisurely finally settles into a fever pitch, but even
this is still somehow gentle, something to be coaxed rather than forced. With Tony touching him
inside and out, it doesn’t take much more for Steve to come. He surrenders with a quiet cry, back
arching, and Tony feels his pleasure far more than he sees it with his face to Steve’s back and his
arms around him. Steve shakes, unravels, burns, and his inner muscles ripple and clench around
Tony’s length. That’s all it takes for Tony, too. That fire burning inside him and all around him at
long last envelopes him completely, and he lets go.

It takes a moment of two of just breathing for Tony to feel anything aside from euphoria. When he
does come back, he finds himself plastered over Steve’s back. Steve’s beneath him, breathing hard,
and the blankets atop them both feel unbelievably heavy, like a wet rag crushing them down. It’s
dark, and everything’s damp, and Tony’s sweaty and godawful hot.

With a groan, he slips out of Steve’s body and rolls gracelessly to the side, throwing the oppressive
blankets aside. Steve doesn’t move at all, eyes closed, face flushed with color, perspiration glowing
all over his body in the paltry early morning light. Tony sinks to his side right next to him. He’s
quivering with fading pleasure, his pulse slowing and his breathing evening out. Muscles ache in
that pleasant way they do after exertion. Steve looks like he’s feeling the same, spent and
exhausted, floating in that happy haze after really good sex. More really good sex even.

Tony reaches over and brushes the hair away from Steve’s forehead before trailing his fingers
down Steve’s face. Steve smiles, eyelashes fluttering, and tiredly kisses Tony’s palm as it passes
by his mouth. “Warm enough now?” Tony asks teasingly.

Steve appreciatively hums. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Best blanket ever.” Tony smirks. “Love you so
much.”

Tony leans over to kiss him. “Love you, too.”

In a matter of seconds, Steve’s conked back out, even though he’s probably laying in wetness and
he’s a mess. He’s snoring softly into his pillow, half a dopey smile still on his face, completely
naked and totally and miraculously unbothered by the chill. Tony keeps grinning, rolling his eyes
and shaking his head as he snuggles close, grabs one of the blankets, and covers them both.

THE END

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