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

Part 4 - Better

Tony ignored the footsteps behind him. He had just a couple more adjustments to the sensor grid to make, and anybody who JARVIS would have allowed into the lab wasn't a threat and wouldn't expect politeness from him anyway.

So he was still working when one hand clamped down over his upper arm, and another came to rest over his collar bone, just below his throat. Steve's voice whispered into his ear. "I've got thirteen minutes before I need to leave for a briefing. And I can't think of anything but how much I want to fuck you."

The words shivered over Tony's skin, dug in deep and raced through his blood. He was at half mast by the time Steve's hand moved down to his groin, and by the time it slipped up and under his pants to touch him skin to skin he was fully hard. He let a little moan escape his lips. "Fuck, Steve. What you do to me."

"What do you want me to do to you?"

"Everything. In the next thirteen minutes, apparently, so you better work fast."

Steve grabbed him by the back of his shirt and shoved him around and over to the nearest wall. Tony took the hint and braced both hands against the concrete, and couldn't contain a sound of anticipation when Steve's rough hand unfastened his pants and pulled them down around his knees.

He felt Steve's finger press into him, coated in lube but rough anyway, and he moaned again.

"Look at you. Ready for it any time I want." He shoved in another finger and wiggled them both, spreading him. "You want it like this? So tight you'll gasp on every thrust?" Steve's fingers found Tony's prostate flicked over it. The sharp sensation flooded Tony with need and he realized that it had taken Steve all of ninety seconds to reduce him to a quivering mess. A little embarrassing, that, but he couldn't bring himself to mind.

"Do it." Tony would have liked to think that he was more ordering than begging, but that was a feat of self deception beyond even him.

Steve added another finger and crooked it just right, and Tony felt his cock jump.

"Tick tock, Rogers," he spit out as soon as he could form actual words again. "Get going."

Steve groaned, and Tony felt his fingers slip away. An instant later they were replaced in a single brutal thrust by Steve's cock.

He moaned in Tony's ear. "Fuck. Fuck you are so good." He pulled back and thrust again, and then again, hard and fast and dragging against what felt like every nerve in Tony's body. "So good," Steve repeated. "Need to—" He grabbed Tony's arms and pinned them against the wall, pressing his whole body against it and rutting up into him, his lips still inches from Tony's ear. "Fuck, God, Tony."

The cool concrete of the wall felt too rough on Tony's cock to thrust against it—he was a masochist, sure, but even he had limits. That was OK, though, because with the way Steve was fucking him, gasping in his ear like taking Tony's ass was the best thing he'd ever felt, Tony wasn't going to need any more stimulation.

At this angle Steve's cock pounded hard against Tony's prostate at every thrust, not so much glancing off it as hammering into it. Tony's world constricted to that sharp, fierce pleasure, followed immediately by deep, profound fullness as Steve pushed all the way in, and then the aching friction as he pulled back to start again. Steve's hips setting a brutal rhythm—fast but not so fast that Tony couldn't feel every part of the stroke every time.

Tony choked out a desperate moan—he was so close his whole body trembled with it. Steve echoed the sound and gave one final thrust, holding there, deep inside him while Tony came apart, throbbing and spattering all over himself and the wall. Steve dropped his head against Tony's shoulder, biting through the shirt to muffle his groan as he spilled inside Tony.