Steve Rogers Never Was A Boy Scout (BDSM/Smut)

Part 1 - Steve Rogers Never Was A Boy Scout

A/N: This is not my work. I just put it here so it's easier for me and others to read. Enjoy!

Tony dropped the last three feet to the landing pad and winced. He hadn't had the time or inclination to do more than the minimum repairs he needed to get himself, suit and all, back to the tower, and it showed. He focused on keeping his strides even as he made his way down the platform, relieved to feel the damaged suit peel off him.

Even the few repairs needed to get the suit back in the air had taken long enough that he wasn't surprised to see Romanoff and Barton already nursing drinks on his couch. They had their own floors, top of the line and rent free, but somehow booze and takeout in the penthouse had become a post-fight tradition, whether he liked it or not. And, ok, technically it started because he'd invited them. Several times. Insisted, one might say. But that was only because otherwise who knew what depressing moping they'd all be up to, and none of them needed any more of that.

No sign of Thor and Banner yet, nor of Rogers, and it occurred to Tony that if he skipped drinks with the crew and made straight for his private rooms, he might avoid the Captain America lecture altogether.

Barton and Romanoff exchanged looks as he walked past them, and Tony assumed that they knew exactly what he was doing, because he always assumed that they knew everything everyone was doing, and he hadn't been proven wrong yet.

Tony was across the room and nearly out the door when Rogers' voice brought him up short.

"Stark!"

Tony cursed himself for stopping, and wondered, not for the first time, if the super soldier serum had something to do with Rogers' ridiculously effective command voice. Tony didn't turn to face him, but it was a near thing, "G'night Captain," he returned with a jaunty wave and all the nonchalance he could muster, and pushed through the door.

But Rogers was behind him before the door could close. "Do you have any idea what a knuckleheaded move that was out there?"

Tony managed one more step before he felt Rogers' grip on his arm, forcing him to turn, and Tony was almost, almost too pissed to notice his body's reaction to that. He shook it off. "Do you mean the effective one? The one where I single handedly saved all our asses, again?"

"Maybe this is about credit for you. Keeping score. For the rest of us it's getting the job done and keeping everybody alive."

"Job's done, everybody's alive. You're just pissed that your good little soldier routine didn't win the day."

"I'm pissed," Rogers took a step closer to Tony, "because you didn't give us the slightest warning, you broke your own suit, you didn't even see Natasha until you'd crashed practically on top of her—"

Tony found himself forced to look up at Steve. The weakness of the position galled him more than it should have—and did other things as well, things he would just as well ignore. "Romanoff can take care of herself."

"Yes," Rogers agreed, "she can, but she shouldn't have to defend herself against her own damn team."

Tony found himself momentarily distracted by the flush of anger down Steve's neck, wondering how that flush looked as it met his chest under that ridiculous uniform. He blinked and refocused. "It wouldn't have been an issue if your plan had been up to the job. But these days you need a little more than a can-do spirit."

Steve placed one hand on the wall behind Tony's back, his posture almost threatening. "And you think can-do spirit is all I've got?" he demanded.

For a moment Tony could think of nothing but the three centimeters, four tops, separating their bodies. And suddenly saw in the flush of Rogers' skin, the hard focus of his eyes, and the slight tremble of his free hand, something altogether different from—or at least more than—anger. "I think," Tony answered, his tone deliberately provocative, "that you vastly overestimate the power of positive thinking," here he poked Rogers in the chest. "And vastly underestimate innovation," he continued, tapping his own arc reactor with two fingers.