Chapter Text
It was a unique situation all right, both stunningly direct and mind-bendingly complex — but what else could Steve Rogers have honestly expected, when Tony Stark was involved? Nothing, that's what, and later he would have to admit that he'd been a fool to expect things to be as straightforward between them as a simple grudge fuck.
But this was now. Tony looked up from his drink as Steve stepped out of the elevator into the vast shadowed penthouse, and the golden glow of the table lamp behind him made his dark eyes shine with pooled radiance. "So," he said quietly, looking Steve up and down without haste, "we're really going to do this, huh?"
Steve was used to stepping up and speaking up — he was Captain America, after all, the world's finest super-soldier and leader of the Avengers — but in the face of that gaze, running over his fully clothed body as if he were already naked and setting subtle fire to every square inch of him, he found all potential words turning to dust in his throat. So he simply nodded and managed to chop out a single affirmative: "Yeah."
Tony's smile was slight but warm, and Steve found himself briefly unable to tear his gaze away from those lips: wry, narrow, but oh God they'd felt so lush under his own barely five hours earlier, when anger and frustration — "If you take one more crazy risk like that I swear to God I'll" — had finally driven him to shove Tony up against a wall and Tony hadn't shoved back this time, no, he'd reached out and pulled instead, and Steve had found himself being kissed for the first time in almost seventy years, kissed with answering strength and unmistakeable challenge, kissed in a way that had made the whole world turn savagely on its foundations. It felt like it lasted forever, but actually couldn't have lasted more than a couple of seconds before Tony had pushed him away and muttered "Later, penthouse, if you don't show up I'll assume you want to forget this ever happened," and then walked away as if he hadn't just been sucking Steve's tongue down his throat, leaving Steve staring after him with his mouth burning and his head spinning loud enough to be heard in France.
He'd spent the past several hours engaged in a fierce internal battle with himself, because being attracted to another man wasn't right (even though he'd been feeling this magnetic draw between them for weeks now), it wasn't smart (even though the smart-aleck defiant contrary attitude was what made Tony so damned compelling in the first place), and most importantly it wasn't him (even though it felt as natural as breathing, the way his body fired up whenever Tony gave him lip, the way he wanted to show Tony who was boss with his dick)… but, well, here he was. And there Tony was, sitting cross-legged on the end of the couch with that effortless casual elegance of his, dressed in gorgeous style and practically begging Steve to mess him up a little — or maybe a lot, oh yeah, look at the way he was running his tongue-tip over his lower lip, definitely a lot. Steve's cock twitched in his khakis, his fists clenched reflexively, and he started forward, not entirely sure what he was going to do when he got there —
— when out of the darker doorway to Tony's left another figure appeared, tall and slender, neatly blond, dressed in a dark blue business suit and carrying a drink on a small silver tray. The interruption stopped Steve in his tracks and jarred his attention away from Tony, but not before he saw Tony's smile turn into something closer to a smirk.
"Good evening, Captain Rogers," Jarvis said politely. "I've taken the liberty of preparing you a Brandy Alexander. It is your favourite, if I'm not mistaken…?"
Steve nodded, again reflexively, and when Jarvis came toward him and offered the glass he took it, his tactical engine trying to figure out what the hell Tony's assistant was doing here at this moment and coming up with a complete blank. He was still mystified as Jarvis turned away and crossed to the couch, setting the now-empty tray on a side table… and even more perplexed when Jarvis, instead of requesting more orders or taking his leave, settled his hip on the low arm of the couch to Tony's right…
… then utterly dumbfounded when Tony slid his right arm around Jarvis's waist to give it a quick squeeze, looked up at him affectionately, and commanded: "Down, J." Without a fraction of a second's hesitation Jarvis slid to his knees at Tony's feet, settling back on his heels, and when Tony smiled down at him and stroked his hair with a more tender murmur of "Good boy," Steve's brain stalled completely for a good two and a half seconds.
When he finally managed to get his mouth to work again, another single word came out as a croak: "… What?"
Tony, his gaze still locked with the blue eyes upturned to his, curved his right hand around the nape of Jarvis's neck. "You didn't know?" He looked up at Steve, and his smile turned mocking. "No, of course you didn't. You strike me as a pretty vanilla kind of guy. Well, here's the deal: he's mine, in every sense of the word, and we come as a set. If that's a problem, there's the door, and no hard feelings, huh?"
Steve tried to make sense of that for another two seconds: 'Mine'? Because he used to be Tony's computer system? But that was four years ago… and what the hell's that supposed to mean, 'a set'? At last he had to admit: "I don't understand."
"It is kind of complicated," Tony said magnanimously (that contemptuous drawl that made Steve want to grab him by the back of the neck and teach him a little respect), "but basically he serves all my needs, including the sexual ones." He shifted his hold to cup Jarvis's left cheek and run his thumb lightly along the kneeling man's lower lip; Jarvis kissed it, his uplifted eyes unblinking and bright. "Which means he'll serve your needs too, if I tell him to. In any case, he's part of the equation if you decide you want to play with me —" Tony's gaze ran down Steve's torso, settling on his groin, where things were definitely sitting up and taking notice. "— which I strongly suspect you do, you gorgeous acme of American manhood, you!"
The pieces were starting to fit together in Steve's frantically working brain. "He's… you're… together? In bed."
Tony laughed low in his throat. "Gold star for you, Cap. Yes, he's my sub, I'm his Dom, and something tells me you'll give both of us a run for our money in the 'Shut up and take orders' department." There that tongue-tip was again, this time tracing his upper lip in a way that made the tip of Steve's dick swell and burn even hotter. "Truth be told, I've been looking forward to finding out which of us is the bigger top dog — pun definitely intended. So how about it, Stevie-boy? Think you're up to the challenge?"
Steve didn't get the pun Tony had claimed he'd just made — but he got the rest of it just fine. He nodded toward the doorway Jarvis had entered through. "Is that your bedroom?"
Tony glanced down as if suddenly bored and ran his fingers through Jarvis's close-cropped hair again, slowly, from temple to nape. "Sure is. What about it?"
Having sex with a man was bad. Having sex with two men was exponentially worse. Steve licked his lips in turn and felt the burn of dirty illicit lust settle red-hot in every nerve. "In there. Now. Both of you."
Tony smirked, but his tone of voice toward Jarvis was gentle: "Go on, get undressed and get into bed. We'll be along in a minute — maybe."
"Yes, Sir," Jarvis murmured submissively, and straightened gracefully. He wasn't even at the bedroom door by the time Tony had risen to his feet and walked right up to Steve, hands planted on his hips and grin cocky.
Steve stared down at him, feeling his own breathing quicken. Tony's grin widened. "You think you can make me?" he said softly, bracing his feet a little wider apart in shameless challenge. "You think you've got what it takes to make Tony Stark follow orders?"
Deep in Steve's hindbrain, every single readout switched over into the red.