Okay, so. Tony has a problem. A small one. A teeny, tiny prob—okay, no, that’s not fair. It’s about Steve’s dick and that’s not small, God bless America and all that.
No, the problem is that Tony wants Steve to stuff him so full he can barely breathe, to hold him down and just fuck his way down Tony throat but somehow, that’s not happening. And it’s not because Tony hasn’t been trying to make it happen, no sirree, he has been trying very, very hard. And yet it’s not happening.
If Tony could cry over not getting dick down his throat, he would. So far, he’s been getting by with that deliciously thick dick as deep in his ass as it could go, which doesn’t mean he’s been deprived in some way. Because as uptight as Steve might be as the team leader, there’s nothing uptight about him when he gets Tony under him. Or over him. Or bent over the desk or against the wall, etcetera etcetera. Even when he’s fucking Tony stupid, he’s ridiculously attentive and generous and Tony might be a little bit (head over heels) in love.
But he still doesn’t let Tony choke on his dick.
It’s a travesty.
”Oh, god, Tony,” Steve gasps.
Tony hums around Steve’s dick and redoubles his efforts. It’s hard and heavy on his tongue, leaking precome and so so hot and huge and Tony just wants to sink into it until all he can feel is Steve. He takes a deep breath and dives down only to be stopped by Steve’s hands. Tony grits his teeth—figuratively, mind you! He’s not a monster—and does that special twirl with his tongue he knows drives Steve out of his mind. He’s rewarded with a thunk when Steve’s head hits the wall and he congratulates himself of a job well done.
”Your mouth…” Steve lets out these small sounds, the breathy moans he doesn’t know he’s doing and Tony knows he’s near losing it. About time, too, because Tony knows what he’s doing, thank you very much, and he’s doing it pretty damn well. Steve’s hands clench on both sides of Tony’s head and his hips jerk forward and Tony thinks fucking FINALLY, and then…
Steve tenses in the non-sexy way and pushes himself back against the wall.
Tony sighs internally and lets go with a wet pop. ”Something wrong?” He asks, raising a brow. All he really wants is to grab a hold of Steve’s ass and force him down his throat but he has a feeling Steve might not like it. Weird guy.
Steve stares down at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. ”No, why?” His thumb strokes Tony’s cheek and he leans on the touch with a hum. ”You look gorgeous down there, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs and his dick twitches against Tony’s cheek, smearing pre-come and saliva on his skin.
”Well, then, let’s get back to it,” Tony says cheerfully and dives in—but, once more, his attempts are thwarted when Steve stops him from going too deep. Oh, for fuck’s sake, he thinks and gives Steve a flat look. For a moment, he contemplates just getting up from his knees and walking away but the truth is that even when denied deepthroating, Tony loves Steve’s dick too much to give it up mid-blowjob.
If he finishes with a bit too clinically, well, too bad, so sad, you should’ve just shoved it all the way in.
But because Steve is not just a pretty face in a perfect body, he knows something’s up.
”What is it?” He asks a couple of days later when Tony is sitting innocently in the kitchen with a banana in his hand. ”I know something’s bothering you.”
Tony raises a brow, takes a bite of the banana, and promptly chokes on it. Goddamn banana, every damn time, he swears while trying to look cool and collected. He hasn’t looked cool and collected in front of Steve in, well, never, but a guy has to try, right?
”If you must ask,” he says calmly, ”I’m somewhat miffed you won’t let me deepthroat you.”
Steve goes red which is all kinds of funny, if you think about it. Because that man has been balls deep in Tony for more times he can count (it’s 287,5, thank you JARVIS, and the half was just the tip), hearing the word ”deepthroat” shouldn’t be a thing.
”I don’t—”
”Because a guy might think you don’t like his mouth,” Tony barrels on. ”Even though I have it on excellent knowledge that you like the mouth, considering all the other stuff you’ve let him do. Is it the throat that puts you off? How is it any different than my ass; it’s just an orifice that accommodates your magnificent girth with tears of joy, or it would if you’d let it—”
”Because you choke on bananas!” Steve yells. ”And bananas are way smaller than my dick!”
From the periphery of his eye, Tony sees Clint entering and hears a strangled noise that sounds a lot like a plea for mercy but he ignores it because, ”What?”
”I saw you choke on a banana!” Steve says, exasperated. ”Just like you did now.” He points at the banana like it personally offended the constitution.
”Yeah, but I’ve never choked on DICK, Steven. I only gag when there’s too much banana in my mouth!” Tony snaps back, throwing his hand wide, narrowly avoiding slapping the banana on Clint’s nose and completely ignoring his horrified face.
”Now, let me go down on you properly, or so help me God I’m gonna—”
The sound Clint lets out this time is something between a foghorn and the high-pitched wail of an underfed goat (Tony knows this because of That One, Unfortunate Countryside Trip We’ll Never Mention Again) and pushes himself in between Tony and Steve.
Rude.
”No. Abso-fucking-lutely not. This is the kitchen. You’ll not have sex in the kitchen—”
”Why not?” Tony asks, affronted. ”What makes this any different from the previous times?”
Clint opens and closes his mouth, looks from Tony to Steve (whose face is flaming red, again, that’s so cute!) and then just… wilts. ”Why— You know what? Fuck this,” he huffs.
”I believe you mean, ’fuck that,’” Tony says and points at Steve’s crotch, ”which I’m gonna do in a moment if you just let yourself out. The door’s behind your back.”
”Tony—” Steve chides while Clint just shakes his head and leaves, muttering something under his breath.
”What? I meant what I said, you know. I’m gonna go down on you properly and you’re gonna let me, you hear me?” He raises an imperious brow. ”Why are you still wearing pants?”