Archive of Our Own

There had been a moment, back on the compound, when Steve had been genuinely looking forward to this mission. The ‘Time Heist.’ Getting to romp around alongside Tony again, just like old times. He knew what was at stake here; knew very well what they had to do, and why. But that didn’t stop that old, familiar feeling from welling up in him anyway, back when Tony had looked into his eyes as they stood together on the platform— full of trust and faith that he wasn’t sure he deserved anymore, but couldn’t get enough of when Tony was the one giving it. 

Now, as he stared uncomprehendingly at a pair of pigeons furiously mating right in front of them on the city sidewalk — their bird eyes bulging out as if they’d gone positively rabid with the need to procreate — Steve’s private optimism over being here with Tony was quickly souring.

“Steve. Steve, look at me. We’re running out of time.”

Tony was saying his name again. The rare, startlingly intimate sound of it coming out of Tony’s mouth had always rubbed him a certain way. Wrong, the way it felt so right…

Steve swallowed, forcing his head up from where it was still staring down at the birds. 

Tony was right. He needed to focus. He’d heard Tony rushing through the sequencing analysis. He’d heard what FRIDAY had concluded. He’d heard his own voice, warning off Scott through the comms, ordering him to keep a safe distance away until they knew what kind of substance they’d just been doused with. 

Still, something about all of this felt strangely surreal, as if this couldn’t possibly be happening. Not to them. It was just too… too…

“Okay, hear me out. I’ve got an idea, but, uh… you’re probably not going to like it…”

Oh, Tony.

He wanted to laugh. Or cry. How could this be happening?!? It wouldn’t be, if they hadn’t inadvertently drawn the attention of that damn Leviathan as they’d navigated their way toward the Tower, inciting sudden chaos and frantically splitting up to avoid being noticed when 2012 Hawkeye broke script and swooped in with his bow, sending the monster careening into a skyscraper.

If Steve hadn’t been watching the whole thing, they might never have realized what had actually occurred until it was too late. But his keen eye had spotted that bulbous, hive-like organic matter clinging to the monster’s underbelly, just behind one of its massive fins; he’d seen the exact moment when the nest had impacted with the building, exploding in a cloudy burst of a fine, powdery substance that rained down on them from above as he and Tony crouched behind an SUV. 

So when they’d felt it — that first rush of wooziness, trying to shake it off as some strange reaction started to overtake them — Steve had been able to portentously reply: we just got dusted with something alien after Tony had murmured, what the hell?

“C’mon. We need to get into the Tower; sub level five. I’ve got a Quinjet prototype in there with full lockdown capability…”

Tony was still trying to reason with Steve, as if there was some kind of simple solution, here. There wasn’t, though. He might not've known all that much about what was happening to him, but he was terribly aware of the fact that he wasn’t gonna be able to fight this thing off. 

“Are there any other options for us out here?”

It felt weird to speak through the haze, but that was his own voice, trying to reclaim some semblance of self-possession. He wondered if Tony saw through his act as easily as he did.

Then he saw the way that Tony was looking at him — really saw it — and reality was like a hard slap to the face.

“We have one option,” Tony answered, stepping up closer to him as if to stress his point — though it really wasn’t necessary. Steve always got all hot and bothered whenever Tony took charge of a situation. He strongly suspected that Tony was into it, too; now was not the time to lean into their whole powerplay thing, though. “...You and me, we lock ourselves in the Quinjet.”

Between Tony’s proximity and the fervent sound of his voice, Steve was momentarily baffled by the suggestion. Was that the pollen messing with his mind, or was Tony honestly suggesting that they— that both of them— with each other?

What?

No…

Tony was actually trying to convince him, continuing with as much level-headed authority as he could muster, “We’ve got fifteen minutes, tops, before the pollen hits us. You do the math. Would you rather have your reaction with me or with the entire city of New York?”

Oh.

So that was exactly what Tony had in mind.

Steve stared back at Tony as realization slowly dawned on him, still processing the man’s words as his sharp eyes assessed Tony’s deceptively calm expression. Tony could be a pretty good actor when he needed to be — but it was the eyes that always gave him away. Tony’s words were saying one thing, but what those eyes were saying… 

It was a dangerous thing to even recognize it. Steve didn’t miss it, though— that intensity— quietly kindling behind all that deliberately-projected, level-headed pragmatism. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen it there, smoldering in Tony’s gaze. He was familiar enough with it by now: the low, slow burn of an old heat that had always burned between them, for as long as he’d known the man. Despite Tony’s attempt to play this off as if he was simply being rational about their situation, Steve knew— had always known— that there was a want in Tony that echoed his own; something never to be acknowledged in words, but evident enough throughout the years in shared looks and gestures that never went any further than that. 

Because it couldn’t go any further. They both knew that. Always had. 

It was as if they’d come to a silent understanding somehow, somewhere along the way, even if it had pained them to keep to it. 

Didn’t Tony even know what it was that he was suggesting, now? 

That pretense of rationality was pretty outrageous, all things considered. How on Earth did Tony think there was any way that the two of them could go through with something like this without emotions getting involved? —without inevitably unleashing over a decade’s worth of repressed longing; unfulfilled hopes and impossible daydreams; unresolved sexual tension that had grown so terribly soft and unbearably romantic with age?

…Was he honestly proposing such a thing? To Steve?

Maybe Tony was wrong about that 15-minute countdown — or else Steve’s body was metabolizing the pollen a lot more rapidly than Tony’s prediction had accounted for — because as he stared helplessly at his reunited friend, at a complete loss for words, Steve felt that ancient resolve around his toughened heart already crumbling; all those critical ramparts he’d erected long ago just disintegrating— far too easily— at the mere suggestion of it; of this proposition— from Tony— that they simply lock themselves in the Quinjet and let each other have the very thing they’d forever promised to resist. 

He felt all shivery at the thought. Maybe that was the pollen; or maybe that was all him, hopeless as he was. With a fresh rush of terror and something way too close to excitement, Steve realized that he’d never be able to turn down an offer like that from Tony — an interdimensional alien-pollen’s effects notwithstanding. That want in him had grown too large, and the only thing that had kept it contained was his longstanding conviction that Tony would never allow anything to happen between them. Without that crucial bulwark in place, there was absolutely nothing holding him back anymore; nothing substantial enough to hinder the force of his desire.

Tony saw it, the moment that Steve’s rapidly-slipping resolve gave up. Of course he did. Some of that practicality fell away from Tony’s expression, revealing more of the underlying, anxious need that Steve already knew was lurking there. 

It wasn’t the pollen affecting Tony’s decision-making. …Not yet, anyway. That was just Tony standing there, excitement flaring up behind his eyes, looking at Steve almost apologetically for wanting this.

“Okay,” Tony nodded, trying to sound composed, though his voice came out too shaky and raw to pull that off. 

“...Let’s go.”

Yep. This was really happening.

The fact that he didn’t have time for nervous apprehension made no difference; Tony’s brain hadn’t gotten that memo.

So instead of getting wrapped up in it, he used it. He always could work well under pressure. He focused on the task at hand, initiating the programming he’d preemptively designed with FRIDAY to keep 2012 JARVIS from noticing their presence. 

It was all pretty straightforward. Tony knew how to get into the sublevels of the Tower as quickly as possible, and Steve was following him every step of the way. He was rushing, barely looking at the other man as he went; and not because of the whole ticking clock thing, either. 

If he moved quickly enough — made this seem convincingly urgent — then Steve wouldn’t change his mind.

The thing was, this might be the only chance Tony ever got.

He thought he’d long since blown any shot at ever getting into bed with Steve. That it was a fantasy never to be realized, no matter how long and how desperately he’d wished otherwise. 

God, how he’d wished otherwise.

It had just always seemed like it wasn’t meant to be between them... and maybe it wasn’t. Maybe the two of them together would always be a disaster. They certainly had the history to back up that theory. 

But that had never stopped Tony from wanting it to be different; from wanting—so badly—for Steve to just climb down off his high horse for one goddamn minute and meet him in the middle; in some make-believe middle ground where they could set aside their egos and their insecurities and all the fucking drama and see what was underneath all of that — something achingly tender… something so passionate…

Because he knew — he knew that Steve felt it, too. Steve might’ve been willfully obtuse about a lot of things, but he was no dummy. He’d figured it out a long time ago, probably, just like Tony had. Maybe he had some other name for it; had his own justification for its existence. But he wasn’t blind to it. Even if he’d resolved to pretend otherwise. 

Tony couldn’t blame him for that. It wasn’t as if the universe made it easy for the two of them. In fact, there had really only been a very small handful of times when they’d conceivably ‘missed’ their chance… 

The last time — the most desperate time — the time that Tony had thought, ‘now or never,’ only to immediately realize that it had to be ‘never,’ after all — was back after he and Pepper had been on a break, just prior to the whole Accords fiasco. He’d wanted so much, back then… wanted peace; wanted atonement; indemnification; solidarity… wanted a fucking signature…

He’d wanted Steve, more than anything. 

Steve, with him, in all the ways that mattered. As functional teammates. As a true friend. But with him, also, in all the ways that two very attractive people who’d been dancing around each other for years ought to be with each other— at least once— just to know what they’d been missing…

But then Steve had gone and broken his heart with a savageness that Tony hadn’t seen coming.

That really should’ve been the end of it. Siberia. Tony would never try again after that.

Some things just didn’t know when to stay dead, though.

“It’s just through here,” Tony told him, finally risking a real glance at Steve’s face. He didn’t know what to make of the expression Steve was wearing, so he turned back to the keypad, busying himself with unlocking the underground hangar. 

They stepped into the darkened space just as the lights cascaded on, illuminating the hangar and the expansive tunnel beyond it. 

“There she is,” Tony said, indicating the original model of the Quinjet, which differed dramatically from later iterations. Steve assessed it with an uncertain expression. 

“Wait’ll you get a load of the interior,” Tony quipped as he led the way, trying to make light of the situation — as much for Steve’s benefit as his own.

Tony’s heart was racing as he lowered the ramp, reminding himself not to fidget. He hoped that once the pollen’s delayed effects really hit, whatever mind-altering compound he’d been dosed with would be kind enough to lower his inhibitions—if not obliterate them entirely—given how nervous he was.

At the top of the ramp Steve paused, apparently taken aback by the unexpected configuration. The original Quinjet had been dramatically less utilitarian than the Avengers redesign; Tony had crafted the interior in the style of a private luxury jet.

“Told ‘ya,” Tony said, forcing a smile as he closed the hatch.

“Lock it down, FRI. Disable override protocols. Neither of us get out of here until the effects wear off enough to resume the mission.”

“You got it, boss.”

“There’s a bed,” Steve unnecessarily noted, staring with a perplexed expression at the reasonably-sized, raised mattress tucked into a half-partitioned nook situated off to one side. “...On the Quinjet.”

“Prototype,” Tony reminded him. “...This was 2012, remember? I had different priorities then; priorities that didn’t entail carpooling with a bunch of superheroes. …Don’t look at me like that — at least there aren’t any stripper poles.”

“Doesn’t look like it’s seen a lot of mileage,” Steve mentioned, still eyeing the bare mattress like it didn’t belong there. Like he was afraid of it.

“I mean, I think I passed out on it a few times when I was down here working overtime, but nothing as spicy as you’re probably suggesting,” Tony replied, crossing his arms and rocking back on his heels a little as he considered the mattress for a moment. His voice went a couple notches lower as he continued, “Never did get around to properly christening the thing, actually… not before gutting all this to make way for Quinjet 2.0.” 

Tony watched Steve’s throat bob as he swallowed, definitely thinking what Tony was thinking. 

“...Have you done this before?” Tony heard himself ask, the hushed words falling out of his mouth with an odd sort of reverence, all too aware of what was being invoked just by speaking them. “...With a man?”

Steve felt his stomach drop out at Tony’s question. He was in a strange sort of liminal headspace, in which this whole scenario kept vacillating between a dreamlike kind of unreality and a staggering too-realness — back and forth — unable to settle on either state of being. What Tony had just asked was tilting everything back into that too-real zone again — disorientingly real, like he’d just woken from sleepwalking.

What a loaded question. He couldn’t tell Tony about those brief, unfulfilling encounters he’d sought out in that dark period of time after he’d forfeited the shield; about those anonymous, dark-haired men with not-right facial hair and wrong-shaped hands, but whose willing bodies he’d made good use of, nonetheless. Tony didn’t need to know those sordid details. 

“I know what to do,” Steve answered, instead. He’d tried to say it with enough confidence to pass, but had probably fallen short. He didn’t know, really. Not what to do with Tony. Not what to do when it actually counted. 

Tony was looking at him uncertainly, like he didn't quite believe him. He uncrossed his arms, perching one hand on his hip as the other rubbed at the back of his neck. “You, uh… feeling it yet, big guy?”

Steve closed his eyes on a sigh. Yeah. He was feeling something, alright. 

“It’s okay,” Tony tried to reassure him. “We’ll get through it. Whatever happens. Y’know that you— um… don’t have to hold back… okay? …Really. Feel free to go full-on Pon Farr with this thing, yeah? I can take it.”

Steve wasn’t even going to ask what ‘Pon Farr’ was supposed to mean; Tony’s message was clear enough. He felt heat rising to his face at the thought.

“I’ve actually got some sheets down here, I think…” Tony mentioned, looking away awkwardly and scratching the back of his head as he glanced around the luxuriously-appointed interior with narrowed eyes. Without looking at him, Tony added in a confidential undertone, “The bathroom cabinets are partially stocked, too. Soap, toothpaste, lube… y’know. All the essentials.”

Now Steve was fully blushing. If he couldn’t even handle Tony mentioning “lube,” his outlook seemed pretty bleak. 

A sudden burst of static through the comm unit in his ear nearly startled him. 

“This is Ant-Man here, calling Cap and Stark: I’m still hunkered down in position, awaiting further orders or whatever. What are you guys up to? Please tell me you’re not dead. Over.”

Tony pulled a face as he tapped his earpiece, heading over to the bathroom as he irritably replied, “We’re still kicking, Lang. Quit it with the questions. We’re gonna be off comms for a stretch, so deal with it.”

“Easy for you to say,” Scott grumbled. “There’s an actual alien invasion happening ten feet away from me, so is there any way you could speed up the whole mysterious ‘pollen situation’ you won’t tell me anything about? Over.”

“Maintain your position until further notice,” Steve authoritatively replied, before Tony could sass the poor man any further. “We’ll be in touch as soon as we can. Over and out.”

“If you indulge the guy like that, he’s only gonna get worse,” Tony chastised as Steve pulled the earpiece out and set it aside. Steve watched as Tony set a little plastic bottle and a few condoms down on the bedside ledge, feeling his pulse quicken. 

“I don’t see any point in being rude to him,” Steve pointedly replied as he averted his eyes. “He doesn’t deserve it.”

“You think I’m being rude?” Tony asked with faux surprise as he started rummaging through the cabinetry, likely searching for the missing sheets.

“You sure aren’t being very nice,” Steve retorted, deciding to remove his gloves and boots, for lack of anything else to preoccupy himself with.

“You gotta rib the new guy a little,” Tony told him matter-of-factly. “That’s just how it works. Gotta make sure he knows his place and all.”

“...Is that why you were so rude to me, at first?” Steve mentioned, letting some snarkiness edge into his tone. 

“Huh?” Tony replied, looking over and hesitating when he noticed Steve undressing. Tony turned back to the cabinet that he’d definitely already checked, focusing deliberately on its contents as he murmured, “We were all ‘new,’ back then. Back ‘now’. …whatever. You know what I mean.”

“Not as new as I was,” Steve pointed out. “I was new to this century, and you seemed pretty keen on reminding me of that fact at every opportunity.”

“Yeah, well, I was a jerk,” Tony tossed out with a shrug. “And I thought you were a jerk, too, so… Had to make sure I one-upped you on the whole jerk factor thing. The cycle of jerk-ness. Or something. I guess there’s no sheets in here.”

“Forget the sheets,” Steve told him, starting to unfasten his uniform at the neck closure. He was just going through the motions of this thing, on a kind of auto-pilot, trying to keep it as perfunctory as he could before the pollen overwhelmed him. He felt a compulsive need to maintain as much dignity as he could before he inevitably lost it. 

Tony was deeply regretting the lack of sheets. This whole thing felt sordid enough, already — trapping Steve in here with him; making sure that he had no other option but him… The least he could do was try to spruce up the bed a little; make it look more inviting. He closed the cabinet with a small sigh, then turned his head just in time to see Steve starting to strip out of his suit. 

“Oh, you’re gonna take that off?” Tony heard himself ask, silently cursing the pollen for giving away his uniform kink.

Steve stilled, looking up at Tony with confusion before seeming to straighten with understanding. “...I thought you hated this suit,” he quietly replied. 

“When did I say that? I never said that,” Tony defended. 

“You called it a ‘spangly suit’,” Steve reminded him. “In a mean way.”

“Was I really that mean to you?” Tony balked, then, seeing the look on Steve’s face, murmured, “...Don’t answer that. Anyway, just because you tease someone about a thing doesn’t mean you ‘hate’ it.”

“You sure jumped at the chance to redesign it,” Steve mentioned, working open the fastenings down the side.

“Of course I did,” Tony easily answered, deciding that if the pollen was gonna make him confess his secrets, he might as well go all in. “I got to dress you up like my own personal Ken doll. Who wouldn’t jump at that chance?”

Steve just shook his head with a small smirk tugging at his mouth as he undid the last fastening and peeled open the suit, baring his chest as he worked the top off of his shoulders. 

Tony could only stand there staring for a prolonged beat before he coughed out, “Ehrm, yeah, on second thought, you should totally ditch the suit.”

“Better start undressing, yourself — before I lose control and tear the clothes off of you in some lust-addled mania,” Steve warned, actually sounding grumpy about it. 

“That argument’s really not as compelling as you think it is,” Tony quipped, but shrugged out of his pullover, anyway. 

He paused as he reached for the hem of his shirt, suddenly self-conscious in the face of Steve’s glorious half-nakedness. Any time now, sex pollen…

Steve noticed his hesitation, of course. He slowed as he continued to gradually unfasten his utility belt, asking, “...Is there a problem?”

“...Not if you’re into 53 year-old dad bods,” Tony sheepishly replied. 

Steve just stood there blinking at him for a beat before his hands fell away from his belt. He was looking at Tony in a strange sort of way as he approached him, slowly, coming to stand right in front of him, all that exposed skin close enough to just reach out and touch. But it was Steve who reached, carefully placing his hands on Tony’s hips, one at a time, making sure that the move wasn’t unwelcome. Tony inhaled sharply as Steve gently squeezed, his big thumbs finding the fleshy divots of Tony’s pelvis through his clothing and sending a loud wake-up call straight to Tony’s overeager cock. 

Steve’s hands were on him. 

Steve was touching him. Feeling him up, in a slow, searching sort of way. Tony had nothing to say in response to this; no witty remark ready to negate the intensity of what he was feeling. All he could do was stand there barely breathing, marveling at the wonder of it all. 

Then Steve’s fingers hooked under the edge of Tony’s shirt, and he began to pull upwards, and all Tony could do was go along with it, letting Steve Rogers strip his t-shirt off if that’s what the guy wanted, helplessly captivated by the way that Steve was looking at him. 

The pollen seemed to be taking hold of Steve, sure enough, as he stared at Tony with dilated pupils and confided in the huskiest voice Tony had ever heard, “...I like your 53 year-old dad bod. A lot.”

Tony swallowed. Steve’s eyes watched the flash of his throat, then lifted to lock onto his again. It was too intense, that look, but Tony couldn’t avert his gaze from it. 

“Pants,” he barely managed to say, nodding as he tried again, “Pants now.”

Steve nodded as if he understood, but instead of removing his own pants—as Tony would’ve expected—he reached out for Tony’s, efficiently opening them up and sliding his hand down the front of them before Tony even knew what was happening.

“Oh, hello– ah! Jesus, fuck!” Tony gasped as Steve’s hand pressed over his erection, fingers trying to clench around it through Tony’s underwear as Steve let out a strange, muffled sound and drew Tony closer to him, wrapping his arm around him snugly and pressing his face into the side of Tony’s as he held him like that, breathing hotly against Tony’s skin as his big hand continued to grope at him needily through his underwear.

“Okay, okay…” Tony stammered, dizzily trying to compose himself. “Yep. Okay. It’s happening. Let’s, uh… bed. Bed, yeah?”

“Tony, ” Steve moaned into his skin, releasing Tony's erection as he buried his face against Tony’s neck, kissing the first patch of skin he encountered while both of his arms snaked around Tony’s torso. Steve was holding him almost too tightly as he gasped out Tony’s name against his neck again — and was Steve shaking?

“Hey, hey,” Tony soothed, rubbing one hand over Steve’s strong, muscled back as the other dragged over his nape, raggedly murmuring, “...it’s okay, Steve. Just let it happen. I want it to. You know I want it to.”

Had he really just admitted that? Fuck.

“But what about —”

“Don’t,” Tony warned him as he clenched a fist in the soft hair above Steve's nape, cutting Steve off before he could say it. “Different timeline, different rules— okay? This is… these are extraordinary circumstances. A whatdoyoucallit… a medical emergency, essentially.”

“...Is that what this is?” Steve whispered, pulling back slightly, the words displacing the air around Tony’s right ear. 

“Uh huh,” Tony answered less-than-convincingly, leaning back enough to reach for Steve’s chin as he held him in place and kissed him before he could say another word. 

It was meant to be a quick little indulgence, feeling the other man’s lips against his for one fleeting moment; a stolen kiss, to add to his running tab. But Steve reacted as if Tony had just flicked a switch in him, reorienting his entire posture as he chased after the kiss with single-minded intent. 

Tony had shared plenty of kisses in his time. Kissed both women and men with varying levels of passion, some more memorable than others.

But this kiss...

This was something else; getting kissed like this, by Steve Rogers. It wasn’t that it was lacking in sexiness — because— hot damn —Tony could feel the kiss all over, his whole body lit up by it — it was the sweetness of it that threw him for a loop. 

The weird thing about it was that it really felt like a first kiss, as if neither he nor Steve had ever done this before — which was categorically ridiculous in his case, and he knew for a fact wasn’t really true of Steve, either (yes, he’d heard all about Peggy, and Natasha, and was certain there would’ve been plenty of others by now) — but still, it felt like something completely new and frightfully tender; something precious; innocent… Something men like him weren’t supposed to be able to experience anymore (definitely not at his age…).

But he did experience something remarkable in that stretched-out moment, as if this were the only moment in existence that mattered; only this, right here, with Steve. Steve, who kissed like he had nothing to lose. At that moment, Tony could even believe that was true. 

Then — as the kiss gradually deepened, and their bodies grasped and clung and twisted until they were as close together as a partially-clothed couple could be — they bumped crotches.

It all turned pretty frantic, after that.

It must’ve been the sex pollen. Had to be, the way that they started bumping and grinding against each other as they stood there gasping into one another’s mouths, hands tugging and squeezing in greedy, possessive grips on whatever parts of each other they could grasp as they tried to find a rhythm in their frenzy. 

Tony wasn’t sure who reached for whose pants, first, but soon they were both tugging urgently at the other’s remaining clothing, barely managing to work each other’s pants and underwear far enough down their thighs before Steve wrapped both of their shafts in one hand and moaned loudly as Tony’s palm simultaneously pressed down on their swollen cockheads, digging his fingers into the side of Steve’s hand as he failed to muffle his own warbling moan against Steve’s jaw.

There was so much heat between them, he could feel it like a hot caress; his skin felt oversensitive, like every touch was so good that it bordered on a kind of pain. The smell of his own heated body mixing with Steve’s — skin and sweat and that musk of arousal beneath — was the most intoxicating thing he’d ever experienced. He needed more of that.

Steve felt delirious as Tony started mouthing at his skin, sucking first on his jaw, then down his neck, his own cock throbbing against Tony’s as he held them together, unable to resist twisting his hand around their twined lengths and groaning as Tony bit down hard into the join of his shoulder in response. 

As Tony mouthed at the bite mark, soothing over it with his damn tongue, Steve felt like he was about to lose his mind. It was all so much; too much; everything he’d wanted for so long, all cascading over him so hard and so fast, burying him under an avalanche of feeling. 

It was so many things; having this, now, with Tony... 

What it wasn’t, though, was compulsive. Not in the way Tony had predicted it would be.

Maybe the serum had already metabolized the pollen he’d been exposed to—or else he was having some kind of delayed reaction—because Steve still had enough of his faculties about him to stop this if he wanted to.

The thing was, he really didn’t want to stop. 

If this was his only chance to be with Tony, he was gonna take it. 

Maybe that made him a bad person. Steve worried at his lower lip as he stared down at the top of Tony’s head, which was kissing a slow trail down his chest and making his heart beat at an irregular tempo. He hadn’t forgotten that Tony was a married man, and a father now, even… But Tony didn’t have the advantage of Steve’s supersoldier serum, and he’d been exposed to this crazy stuff, too — so if he needed to fuck until it was out of his system, then Steve could help him out with that… ought to help him… shouldn’t he?

Then Tony’s mouth connected with his left nipple, and the question became completely irrelevant.

For a little while there, it all seemed so easy — to have this — to have Steve. Tony had even almost forgotten that they’d been exposed to a pollen from outer space; a pollen that made pigeons flutter down from their hiding places to hump each other on the sidewalk in the midst of a hostile alien invasion. FRIDAY’s analysis had confirmed that the pollen contained mind and body-altering intoxicants, including a potent, unknown compound that acted like an aphrodisiac. 

Sex pollen, essentially. The stuff of cheap, clumsy sci-fi; the stuff of Tony’s wildest, most outlandish fantasies involving Steve Rogers and the kinds of implausible circumstances that would be required in order to ever actually consummate his longstanding, not-remotely-platonic mancrush on the guy.

But Tony wasn’t even thinking about pollen anymore. It was easy to forget everything else when Steve was practically naked in front of him, reacting to Tony like he was the sexiest man alive, gasping out such sweet noises and actually shivering with pleasure at Tony’s touch. 

It was surprising, the way this was playing out… In so many of Tony’s fantasies, he’d imagined that it would be Steve who’d take the lead — manhandling Tony every which way, fucking him like a beast. If that beast was in there, though, he was too overwhelmed right now to do more than gratefully submit to Tony’s every whim. 

And he had a lot of fucking whims. 

He liked it, actually, being the one in control. Maybe it was because of the pollen, making him unbearably horny and drawing out his basest instincts. Or maybe it was because of how beautiful Steve was when he dropped the Man With a Plan act and showed his submissive side, as if he just knew that there was some dominant urge deep down in Tony that would know how to handle him accordingly. 

Whatever it was, as he pushed the younger man down onto the mattress and frantically tugged off the rest of his clothes before shucking his own, something definitely had his blood up. 

Steve must’ve recognized it as he laid there beneath him, chest heaving as Tony slotted their naked bodies together, bracketing Steve between his tightly tensed arms; must’ve seen something feral in Tony’s eyes — because the way that he let out a small gasp and twisted around until his bare ass was snuggled up right against Tony’s erection very much resembled the way an animal might roll over to show submission to another.

“You sure?” Tony choked out, trying to hold himself still, lest he just start humping into Steve like some kind of degenerate. 

“Yeah, ” Steve answered in a gruff voice, rubbing his face against the mattress as if to hide how much he really wanted it. Shame. Shame and want. That’s what Tony was picking up on as he strained above him, considering what he was about to do. 

His feelings for Steve had always been complicated. There had never been a time when that wasn’t abundantly true. He wished it were simpler, now; that he could just take what he wanted, giving in to the fevered lust and that lingering thing in him that still sought to conquer this man; to break him down and take him apart, once and for all. 

But there was something else that was inside of him, too; some other instinct that needed to protect Steve — not just from himself, but from anything and everything that might hurt him. 

Of course it had to be complicated, now. Even now, in his one-in-a-million sex pollen fantasy come to life. Old baggage rearing up at a crucial moment, right alongside this newfound protectiveness that wasn’t actually new at all. 

Pushing through the onslaught of his overactive mind, Tony reached for the lube. 

He had barely started lubing up Steve’s ass before the man was bucking back against Tony’s hand, clearly eager for more. Between Steve’s choked-off sounds of need and the way that his naked body was moving all antsy beneath his, Tony knew Steve wouldn’t mind when he started rubbing his slicked-up cock against Steve’s hole, teasing him with the pressure and slide of it. He was unsurprised when Steve went wild for that, crying out like he was starving for it. 

“Easy… easy… ” Tony soothed, not quite believing how hard his cock was, engorged to the max. He felt like he could do some real damage with it.

“I can use a condom if you want,” Tony offered in a soft voice. 

“No,” Steve immediately answered, practically begging him. “No condom.”

“You got it,” Tony thickly murmured, feeling himself leaking against Steve at knowing what it was that he wanted.

Tony positioned himself better until he could use his leverage to work his cock inside of Steve’s tight, needy opening. For all of Steve’s apparent neediness, he was pretty damn tight. 

“C’mon… yeah… that’s it… ” Tony coaxed him, putting all his focus into his goal as he slowly fed his rigid cock into Steve’s shivering body. “C’mon, baby… just relax… ”

When Steve moaned loudly at the pet name, his hole dilating around Tony in response, Tony knew he was onto something.

He started rubbing a hand over Steve’s lower back, caressing his ass as he pushed into him a little further, saying in a breathy half-whisper, “Yeah, baby, that’s it… so good… fuck, Steve… you feel so good…”

Steve opened up for him real sweetly after that. It wasn’t long before Tony was sliding into him, stretching open that tight ring of muscle as Steve keened beneath him, sounding like he’d never felt anything as good as Tony’s cock sinking into his ass. It was definitely good for Tony, too, but nothing compared to what it felt like when he actually started moving inside of him. 

No sooner had Tony started properly fucking Steve than those complicated emotions reared up again, vivid as ever — only now, they were actually compounding his pleasure rather than hindering it. 

There was no holding any of it back, now, so Tony let himself feel it all — everything he had ever felt for Steve, all at once, jumbled together in some chaotic mashup of his various personalities — the caring friend; the spurned would-be lover; the competitive asshole; Howard’s insecure son… — every one of them fucking Steve in unison like some kind of psychotic gangbang. It was wild; it was unhinged…

It was fucking amazing.

It was an odd thing, wanting to inflict pain on another person as much as wanting to be the one to soothe it; being both the punisher and the nurse; the fixer and the destroyer. He was fucking Steve brutally one moment and making sweet love to him in the next, until Steve was sobbing from it, sounding completely wrecked whenever Tony reached around to stroke his sensitive cock, seemingly just as lost in the heady emotions and craven lust as Tony was. 

Tony could really see him, now. Steve, as he really was. There was no hiding any of it. Not now.

Though he’d known it was there since the beginning, it still smarted to finally recognize just how deep Steve’s attraction for him really ran. …How long had he felt this way??

Part of him was resentful of it; that Steve could actually feel this much—for him—and never did anything about it. Another part of him was grateful that Steve had kept that to himself. He didn’t know which part was wrong and which was right.

Whatever the case, recognizing the depth of Steve’s feelings for him was waking up a dormant piece of his own heart — stirring up feelings that ought to remain undisturbed.

For his own part, he’d kept his true feelings hidden away out of necessity. Steve had always been the thorn in his side that he could never remove — permanently stuck there, no matter how furiously he’d tried to dig it out. And the longer it stayed, the deeper the wound surrounding it had grown — never healing properly, even after he’d finally stopped agitating it.

That old wound was tearing open now, bleeding all over the place as Tony fucked his damn heart out. And as it split apart—as he practically eviscerated himself all over Steve—that niggling thorn buried in the center of it suddenly became accessible in a way it never had been, before… 

As his thrusts slowed—realization slowly dawning as Steve whimpered and moaned softly beneath him—Tony finally understood that it wasn’t a thorn he’d been pricked by, after all… 

It was love, lodged there between his sore ribs, all that time — love, caught and thwarted, in perpetual constraint; always reaching for his heart, but callously kept out — out, in the cold, barred from the answering warmth he’d hidden away deep inside of himself; out where it was left to fester and nag at him for all those myopic, misspent years. 

“Steve, ” he breathed, knowing that it sounded like a prayer for forgiveness. He kept on repeating the name, just as beseechingly, unable or unwilling to disguise the feeling behind it anymore. 

“Steve… Steve…… Steve……… ”

Beneath him, Steve was crying out like he’d heard it all — heard everything Tony still couldn’t say; no more than that repeated, love-soaked syllable.

“Tony, ” Steve gasped, his left arm twisting around until it found Tony’s wrist, tugging on it until Tony relented, leaning all his weight onto his right side and tilting his pelvis to lodge himself more deeply inside of Steve’s ass just as Steve dragged his other arm beneath his body, taking his hand and pressing it over his heart with urgency. 

With Tony’s hand pressed to his heart like that, Steve let out a pitiful sound and came, his body taut beneath Tony’s as he found his release, tightening and pulsing around Tony’s cock with the force of it. 

For a prolonged beat, Tony didn’t even know how to react to that. It was too many things at once. The force of Steve’s orgasm, and what had triggered it; the sound he’d made as he came, so erotic but tinged with a desolation that made Tony shudder. 

He didn’t know if he could go on, after that. He’d been spooked by it, but his unflagging cock was still hard. It felt wrong to continue… why did it feel so wrong?

“Don’t stop, ” Steve panted desperately, sounding like he might truly die if Tony stopped, now. “Please — don’t stop… ”

“...Turn over,” Tony hoarsely instructed, pulling out of Steve and making him whine as if he’d been hurt by the loss. 

“C’mon,” Tony softly urged, rubbing an encouraging circle against Steve’s hip. “...I wanna see you.”

Steve did as Tony asked, turning around until he was on his back, though he was holding himself a little stiffly. His face was blotchy — probably from shyness, though the wetness of his eyes gave away the fact that those sobs Tony had heard earlier were genuine. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d made someone actually cry during sex.

Then Steve lifted his legs, spreading them apart in clear invitation, looking at Tony like he was pleading for Tony to finish what he’d started. 

It was even worse, this way. So much worse. But Tony couldn’t ask him to turn over again. 

Feeling like he was condemning them both, Tony grit his teeth and lined up his cock with Steve’s ruddy opening, sinking into him like he knew he was stepping off a precipice there was no coming back from. 

It was all over, after that. Seeing Steve react up close to getting railed by him was more than he could handle, conscience be damned. 

He fucked Steve with everything he had left. All in. He didn’t stop; couldn’t stop, even after Steve had managed to come a second time—fresh tears streaking down his beautiful face—crying Tony’s name and spilling profusely between their sweaty bodies as Tony continued to ram into him as if great sex was the only redemption left for both of them, so he’d make sure it was fucking spectacular. 

When he finally broke, he shattered. He was all in pieces, decimated by an orgasm so good that he must’ve blacked out for part of it, because one moment he was groaning out a broken sound as he shot his load deep inside of Steve— 

—and the next thing he knew, his eyelashes were wet and his head was spinning as he found himself wrapped up snugly in the other man’s arms, both of them still struggling to catch their breath. 

Steve was holding onto him as fiercely as if they'd both just narrowly avoided certain death. But as their breaths evened out, Steve relaxed his firm hold, blunt fingertips drawing lazy patterns against the skin of Tony's back in a way that should not have felt so damn good. Tony didn’t want him to stop, but if Steve kept that up, there was a very good chance that he’d start drooling onto the younger man’s chest...

He didn’t stop him, though. He had the irrational conviction that if he just stayed still, they could remain like that forever.

At length, it was Steve who finally broke the silence. 

“Tony…” he spoke, the warm sound rumbling against Tony’s ear, which was resting close enough to Steve’s heart to pick up on the change in tempo. His own heart rate increased in sympathetic response before he'd even clocked the threat.

Quieter, Steve started again:

“Tony, I—” 

( love you )

“Hey. Stop.”

Steve froze at Tony’s interruption, the words left unsaid — though they hovered in midair so conspicuously that there was no mistaking the form they sought to take. 

Tony closed his eyes, his whispered voice a quiet murmur as he begged, “Don’t say it, Steve.”

( don’t you dare fucking say it )

The silence stretched out for too long as they laid there, stuck in a standoff whose outcome was rigged from the start. Steve’s hand had gone still against Tony’s side, resting lightly as if unsure whether it was still clinging on or already letting go.

Tony would make it easy for him. He rolled off of Steve before he could make up his mind about what to do with that lingering hand. It hadn’t fallen away from him quite as easily as he’d expected, though; after a full minute of leaden silence, he could still feel the heavy drag of Steve’s fingertips against his bare skin. 

Tony rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and pointer finger, trying to covertly disperse any moisture that had gathered there as he asked, “FRIDAY. How are we looking.”

“All clear, boss. Vitals are stable.”

“...How about the sequencing you’ve been running? Do we know if this stuff is contagious or anything, yet?”

“I’ve completed a more comprehensive assessment, and can conclude with a high rate of confidence that the pollen does not appear to pose a significant risk to humans. Despite the symptoms you observed in the Columbiformes, the effect on humans and other mid-sized mammals ought to be markedly less pronounced.”

“Uh… excuse me?” Tony balked, blinking up at the ceiling of the Quinjet, not missing how still Steve had gone beside him.

“I believe that your initial reaction — the lightheadedness you described — was likely the strongest of the symptoms you experienced in reaction to the dose that you and Captain Rogers were exposed to. Subsequent symptoms would have included mild vasodilation, increased body temperature and a temporary increase in energy and euphoria, all of which were reflected in your body scans. Though my secondary data is inconclusive, additional effects may have included minor instances of space and time distortion and impaired concentration; reactions similar to a mild dose of the protoalkaloid, tryptamine.”

“...Hold up. You’re telling me that... that we were basically microdosing on LSD?” Tony tried to clarify, still blinking up at the ceiling with wide-eyed disbelief. 

“A closer analog would be 3,4,5-trimethoxyphenethylamine, commonly known as mescaline. Toxicity levels are fortunately quite low for larger mammals such as yourselves," FRIDAY informed him, the AI's cheeriness at odds with the import of this belated update.

Beside him, Steve was rubbing his face as he let out a short sigh. Tony lay there trying to parse the new information for another beat before he turned his head to face him, trying to guess at what he might be thinking.

“So, uh… I guess I... um... I might’ve overstated the severity of our situation,” Tony reluctantly admitted. 

“Yeah,” Steve breathed, his voice sounding strangely resigned. “I got that.”

Tony’s fingers drummed nervously against his chest, unable to stop fidgeting as he stared helplessly at Steve, wishing he could do something about that faraway look on his face. 

His voice came out small as he tried, “...Good news is, crisis averted…”

Steve took a deep breath, letting it expand in his chest for a prolonged hold before he slowly exhaled through his nostrils and finally turned his head to look at Tony. The low sound of his voice broke against Tony’s expectant face like a gentle wave as he intoned, “...And the bad news?”

Tony’s face fell at the question. He couldn’t hold it back, suddenly swamped with too much emotion to even try to mask it. 

It was all the answer that Steve needed. He stared at Tony for another moment, his own face clouding with too much feeling, before he slowly reached up to touch Tony’s cheek in a soft, barely-there caress. 

“...We should get back out there, then,” Steve quietly murmured. “Scott’s still waiting.”

Tony’s eyes searched Steve’s, looking for something he couldn't even put a name to. When he still couldn't find it, he was compelled to try something else. Tony lifted his hand to gather Steve’s fingers in his, still holding them against his cheek as he ran his thumb over Steve’s knuckles while Steve just watched him with a sadly stoic expression that Tony was determined to change. Carefully, Tony drew Steve’s hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the tops of Steve’s fingers as Steve closed his eyes a little too tightly, swallowing thickly and taking a steadying breath.

When Steve reopened his eyes, the clouds behind them were parting to reveal too much brightness as he stared across at Tony, looking more handsome and more fragile than Tony had ever seen him, before. 

Good god, how he loved this man.

Though he hadn't spoken it aloud, it seemed as if Steve had still heard it. Steve's hand shifted in his as Steve wove his fingers between Tony's and grasped on tightly; so tight that it almost hurt, the clasp of Steve's strong fingers forcing Tony's wedding ring to dig deeply into his skin. Tony wanted it to hurt more. He squeezed back, hand held tightly in Steve's in a white-knuckled grip as his eyes flashed with renewed intensity.

That thorn in Tony’s side had been dislodged at last. Now, finally recognized for what it was, it had found its rightful place in Tony’s heart. Tony had no choice but to keep it there, permanently, right where it had always belonged. 

Maybe in another lifetime… in another universe… they could’ve been… could still be…

…but not in this one.

He stared back at Steve and knew it was impossible. Steve nodded his head, just once, as if he understood exactly what Tony was thinking — as if they were in agreement. Steve wasn't supposed to agree with him; as unforgivably selfish as the thought was, he wanted Steve to fight for him...

A rush of panic swept through him, knowing that this was already slipping away. He looked at Steve’s mouth, wanting desperately to kiss him again, just one more time…

“Let’s get cleaned up,” Steve decided, that authoritative voice already taking over, again. Tony felt Steve's hand relax in his, forcing him to ease up on his own hold.

Though he knew it was futile, Tony wished that Steve would take it back. Wished he'd ask Tony to stay here with him, like this, for just a little bit longer. Let them have this — just for now — for no other reason than that naked, unholy truth of how much they really wanted it...

“We gotta complete the mission," Steve told him instead, and let go of his hand.