Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Requested by WickedPinapple

Thank you to my beta, WithinHerHeart :)

Steve didn't know the man's name until after it had all happened.

They had met at a club – a place that he knew he had no business being – and, after what seemed like hours of talking, flirting and lingering touches that made him shiver with anticipation, Steve had willingly followed the man to his penthouse suite.

And god, that night was one of the best of his life.

The feeling of his lips against his own, or creating a path down his chest was like nothing he'd ever felt before. The man had nice lips, a perfect cupid's bow that had looked delicious and completely obscene wrapped around his cock. Steve wanted to tell him that, how wonderful he looked like that, but the man had swallowed around his head and he'd choked on his words, the hands in the brown locks tightening and tugging, receiving a gurgled moan for his efforts.

He remembered the breathless moans in his ears and the sound of flesh hitting flesh when Steve buckled inside him. He remembered the feeling of the heels digging into the small of his back and the blunt nails embedding themselves into his broad shoulders when his climax hit him. He remembered the tightness around him, how it all seemed like too much, not enough, and how he had to bite down on his bottom lip until it bled to keep himself in control because he didn't want it to end. He'd left bruises on his hips, permanent prints of his fingers on the man's skin, that he'd traced contently for awhile before the man had rolled over, begging to be fucked again.

And the whole time, that night and the day they'd spent together, entangled in the silk sheets, only leaving the perimeter of the bed to get food (mostly Chinese take-out) or to use the bathroom, Steve never asked the man his name. He wasn't sure why – maybe it just never came up – and he'd taken to referring to him as Brown Eyes in his head.

At least, until he'd met him again; this time, under less than desirable consequences.

Tony Stark.

His friend's son.

He'd fucked, sucked and jerked off in the weeks that followed to Tony Stark, Howard's only son.

And what was worse, is the man didn't even seem to recognise him as anything more than "Captain America". He never brought it up, just gave him this cool, professional look that made Steve want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he told him that the time they spent together meant something for him to.

But he didn't. He resisted the urge and, yeah, he may have acted like a jerk. He wanted the man – the billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist – to hurt like he had been. He wanted Tony to feel as worthless as he was feeling, now that the memory of the time had been tainted and ruined for him. And it had worked. Yeah, the man had given back just as much as he got, and he knew that the pain in his brown eyes were reflecting in his own, but it was worth it, at least for that moment, as petty and childish was it sounded.

Even after everything, from the battle in Manhattan, to the parting of ways to the Avengers ending up moving into Tony's home, they were still skirting around each other, neither wanted to talk about that night or the jabs that had been used as weapons whilst on the helicarrier. In fact, other than Friday night dinners (which had been designated as team bonding sessions) and the occasional team meeting that Coulson insisted they all attend – and even when he found it difficult to breathe or walked with a support, the agent was scary – neither men really interacted.

That is, until they had to.

Steve's steady stream of punches on the heavy bag faltered for a moment, before he forced himself to focus on the training at hand, rather than the eyes that were burning into the back of his neck. He'd known that Tony was behind him for a while, even if the man hadn't said anything, and he didn't want to admit it was distracting.

He paused for a moment, shaking his shoulders as if it would loosen the tension brewing in them, before continuing, the blows faster and harder, as if to compensate for the lack of concentration.

It was when the punching bag finally broke from its hinges and fell to the floor that Tony spoke.

"Wow Cap, remind me to make you a better punching bag. Something that can handle that kind of abuse," he commented, taking a step closer.

Steve breathed out heavily through his mouth and wiped the sweat of his forehead with his bandage covered hands. The other man stood there in an AC/DC shirt and sweatpants, hands buried deep in the pockets, and his bare feet tapping a quiet beat on the cushioned flooring. Although his face was expressionless, his eyes were intense and, not for the first time, the war hero was overcome with the memories of that night and had to look away.

"What do you want Tony?" he managed to sigh out, focusing his attention on unscrewing the lid of his water and taking deep gulps from the bottle.

"…Tasha seems to think we need to talk," Tony responded after a pause.

A bitter smile twisted on his face. Yes, that made sense. Of course, Natasha knew. She knew everything. "Oh," he replied with as much indifference that he could force into his voice, "What about?"

"You know what about," Stark shot back.

Steve rested the bottle back onto the floor and began to stretch his arms, the click of his joints a welcomed feeling. "I didn't know there was anything to say about that."

Tony's laugh was strained. "Cap, there is so much to say about that."

"Like what? Like how you acted as if it hadn't happened at all? That I thought about it for days and days afterwards? How much of a moron I felt like when I realised that it was nothing to you?" he wanted desperately to take the words back, to cram them back into the seal of his mind, but it was as if a dam had burst and suddenly, he couldn't control what he was saying, or the steps he was taking closer to the smaller man, or the look of utter distress on his face. "Is that what you think we should talk about? Because I don't; I think we've said all that can be said about that night and that, for the sake of my sanity and that of this team, that we continue to pretend like it never happened. Because I can't…" he choked off.

Steve inhaled a shuddered breath and clenched his eyes tiredly, as if to fend of the overwhelming emotional agony that had been building up for weeks now and would destroy him. He turned away, not wanting to see the pity on Tony's face now that he knew, and practically stormed over to his equipment. Without order, he shoved his belongings into the duvet bag, slung the strap over his shoulder and made to leave the gym, muttering something about showering in his room, when Tony's voice stopped him.

"It didn't…" his broke slightly and he had clear his throat loudly, "It didn't mean nothing to me. That night, you weren't…I was…god, I can't even say it!"

Steve tilted his head slightly towards his shoulder, although his purposely kept his gaze on the floor. Because floor was safe, it didn't make your heart clench painfully or make you want to draw it into your arms and never let go. Floor was safe. "Say what, Tony?"

"T-that you, that that night, that it…it wasn't nothing, it was…everything…"

The last word was whispered but in the silence of the room, it seemed to echo just the same as if it were yelled. That one word, so simple and seemingly meaningless, which sounded so broken and vulnerable, told him so much. It told him everything he wanted to know, everything he needed to know and everything he didn't realise he did.

For a moment, he was stunned to stillness.

The next he had Tony pressed up against the wall, their bodies aligned together, and their lips fighting a bruising battle for dominance. Steve bit down harshly on his bottom lip and Tony released a whimper, for a moment, letting himself go lax, giving over the power to the blond man and he happily plundered into the wet cavern.

Tony rocked his hips forward – or as much as he could in the little space between their bodies – and moved loudly at the friction. Steve cursed quietly and he shoved a thigh between the splayed legs, something that the other man rutted almost desperately on. It had been so long, so long, since they'd been like this, just feeling each other, finding pleasure that was so overwhelming that it reminded Steve intensely of why he always wanted to remember the first moment they had spent together. Never had anything felt so right, so wonderful, and, now that he had Brown Eyes back with him, he was going to make sure he never left again.

It could no longer be called kissing, what they were doing. Their lips hovered over each other, almost struggling to reach other as they panted heavily, and when Tony licked his lips, the tip of his tongue would trace the seam of Steve's own. His hand clutched tightly at the back of Stark's head, keeping him in place as if he would just disappear, and the tug on the strands of his hair acted as an anchor that kept him hanging on the edge of relief.

"Please, please…" he muttered, his hips moving jerkily. The friction just wasn't enough, he couldn't – he needed Steve to touch him. More than anything, Steve needed to touch him. He couldn't control the stream of pleads that left his parted lips, assaulting the flushed skin of his lover.

"Please, please, I can't…Steve, I need – please…"

"Please what?" Steve grunted out, his jaw set, "What do you want Tony? Tell me."

"Steve…" he whimpered pathetically.

"You have to tell me Tony, or I won't know what you want."

"…T-touch…please, touch…"

"Touch? You want me to touch you?" Steve pressed, "Come on Tony, you're going to need to be more specific."

"You fucking bastard," he cursed loudly, his back bowing and he tried to glare darkly through his half-lidded eyes.

"Where do you want me to touch you Tony?" the blond continued, with an almost sadistic smirk across his face, too smug for his own good. His free hand trailed down Tony's chest and the man automatically leant towards the touch.

"Here?" he offered, his fingers brushing his nipples that were pebbled through the fabric. He pinched one gently and rolled it between his fingers. Tony bit off a curse.

"No? Not here? How about here?" his hands trailed further down and cupped his cock through his jeans tightly. His eyes darkened when Tony yelped and he rocked down frantically into the hold. The heat was delicious against Steve's hand, making him press harder. "Here? Is this where you want me to touch you Tony?" he whispered, his voice croaked.

"Y-yes, yes, there, please Steve," Tony whimpered out.

"Don't cum Tony," Steve ordered firmly, "Not yet. I don't want you to come like this."

He reluctantly released his hold on the other man's cock, and instead moved to make quick work of his jeans, tugging furiously at the button and zip, and pushing the offending article of clothing down muscled legs. The black boxer briefs followed. His cock slapped against his belly, leaving a trail of pre-cum in its wake.

"Ooh, look at you," Steve teased huskily, "So hard and ready for me. Dripping. You look so good like this, you have no idea. God, I want to fuck you. I want to feel you tight around me, just like last time. I remembered it so well, you know. Jerked off to it for days afterwards, just thinking about how you felt, how you looked, how you sounded. I've wanted to do this again for so long…"

Tony let out a pleasured moan and his cock twitched. Yes, he remembered it as well – how full he felt, the feeling of strong hips pistoning into him, the gritted moans of pleasure in his ear. He wanted to feel it again, to feel Steve.

"…But not right now, I'm not going to fuck you now," Steve continued with haggard breath, "I want to taste you first. Can I do that Tony? Can I taste you?"

Tony whimpered out his approval.

Steve dropped to his knees, hands pressed firmly against his stomach to keep him pressed up against the wall. He didn't do anything for a moment, just watched the muscle as it twitched and leaked, feeling Tony's darkened gaze burn into the crown of his head.

Then he ran his tongue over the weeping slit briefly, just enough for Tony to let out a noise like a wounded animal and he rutted against the air. The blond waited for his lover to let out a shuddering breath, his body going boneless, before rearing forward to take him in.

Stark cursed loudly and thrust forward instinctively. God, it all felt so good. He'd forgotten how talented Steve's mouth was. His eyelids flickered, threatening to close under the pleasure, but he forced them open, forcing them to keep watching the blond between his legs. Steve looked sinful like this: skin shining with a thin layer of sweat; eyelashes resting on his high cheekbones; his lips, now red and swollen, wrapped so prettily around his cock. His eyes took in every detail; every flutter of his lashes, every bob of his Adam's apple; every trail of saliva that escaped his mouth when the seal broke.

Steve's tongue traced along the pulsing vein at the bottom of his cock, promoting in a low grunt from his lover, and swirled around the head as he pulled back slightly. The taste was overwhelming, wonderfully bitter against his tongue, filling his senses. He wanted more, craved it. Taking a deep breath, he took more of the pulsing member into his mouth, only stopping when the tip nudged at the back of his throat and he had to swallow around it to bury his face in the coarse hair. He breathed in shakily.

"Fuck, yes, Steve," Tony moaned out, and Steve opened his eyes to watch the man coming apart before his eyes. One of his hands, previous scratching blindly at the wall now clutched the blond strands of hair like a life force, trying to force more, too much, not enough. He was so close, teetering on the edge, so wanting to just let himself fall but not wanting this to end. Steve made the decision for him, humming loudly around his head.

A cry ripped from his throat as his orgasm hit. Steve whined greedily as he milked all he could, the scent so much more than before. He waited until Tony had stopped shaking, until the incontrollable jerking of his hips had stopped, before moving away, causing the man to fall into a boneless heap on the floor. He made a startled sound but was too sated to care, just watched through half lidded eyes as Steve, sweating and so hard, roughly tugged off his sweatpants and soaked boxers. Tony licked his lips at the sight of his cock, long and hard, and his balls, tight and pulled up towards his body. It was clear he wouldn't last long.

"Stay there," Steve gritted out as he neared, his cock hovering just about eye level with Tony.

"Wait, what about-"he started to say, but his mouth dried up, making the words impossible to get out, when Steve gripped a hold of himself tightly, letting out a low hiss. Tony watched with avid interest, as the man rocked his hips into the tight fist, pre-cum acting as lube, spreading with each unsteady movement.

"Wanna mark you," he slurred out, biting down hard enough on his bottom lip to draw blood.

"Y-yeah," Tony stammered out, his breath hitching with anticipation, "shit, yes, I want you to mark me. Steve-"

As if on command, he came with a low, broken noise, his hands trembling and unable to move while his hips rutted frantically. Tony closed his eyes at the first burst that hit his cheek, warming the air, and he shuddered dramatically, his mouth falling open to catch some on his tongue.

Steve couldn't keep his eyes off him. Tony was always beautiful, probably always would, but this image, of him so willing and needy, covered in and desperate for his cum – nothing was hotter. Stark lipped his lips, his tongue actively seeking more seed, and Steve gave it to him, shuffling closer to press the head of his cock against his parted lips. He latched onto the offering ravenously, and Steve's hand slipped down to cup his jaw, feeling the workings of the muscles, and tracing along his cum covered cheekbones.

"Don't ever do that to me again Brown Eyes, I don't think I can-"he found himself pleading, his voice rasped and cracked.

Tony pressed one last kiss to the head before replying. "Never again," he vowed.

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