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Six days out of seven, Steve wakes up before the alarm.
Not by much; usually only by five or ten minutes. Most people would probably be annoyed by this, but Steve loves this stolen time, loves sitting in the early morning dark with the knowledge that he doesn’t have anything to do, that he can cuddle up to his boyfriend and run his fingers through his tangled curls until the alarm sounds.
They’ve settled into a pretty comfortable routine by now; the alarm will go off, and Steve will reach over Tony to turn it off, and then he’ll spend half an hour coaxing the other man into wakefulness, rubbing his back with one absentminded hand while he reads a book with the other. Eventually, Tony will open his eyes, and he’ll give Steve this bleary-eyed look that never fails to make Steve’s heart skip a few beats, the melted chocolate of his irises nothing short of mesmerizing.
Today, though, he wakes up to four different sounds in quick succession. The first is the most predictable — the blaring, screeching sound of Tony’s alarm instead of his, because Saturday is the one day Steve doesn’t set his own. The next is the sound of Tony’s sleep-heavy hand smacking at his phone; or, more accurately, thumping at it until it falls to the ground with a clatter, which is the third sound. The fourth and final sound is that of Tony grumbling something entirely incoherent, and then the duvet is shifting and a warm body is pressing to Steve’s side, one arm coming to rest on top of his chest and a leg hooking itself around his. A nose tucks itself into his neck a moment later, and the scratch of Tony’s goatee against the sensitive skin there tickles in a way that makes the corners of Steve’s lips tick upwards.
Steve considers opening his eyes, joining the land of the living, but for once in his life, he can’t find a reason to do so just yet.
That is, until Tony mutters something under his breath, lips brushing against Steve’s neck as he does. Steve cracks an eye open to peer down at him, but the other man doesn’t repeat himself. Instead, Tony just squirms, pressing himself impossibly closer to Steve until he’s practically halfway on top of him.
“Y’wake?” Steve manages after a moment, voice rough with sleep. He closes his eyes again and presses his head back into the pillow.
Tony hums. His voice is no less lethargic than Steve’s when he says, “Yeah. Looks like I’m not the only one, though.”
Steve makes a confused noise. Instead of elaborating, Tony flexes his thigh where it rests snug against Steve’s groin. He sucks in a breath at the pressure against his cock, and, okay, he’s fully awake now. Tony presses a wet, sloppy kiss against his collarbone, and he grimaces even as it sends a shiver down his spine. Steve opens his eyes finally, tilting his head downwards to look at the other man. Tony pushes himself up onto an elbow and shoots him a lecherous look, and then he’s pushing the blanket down until it’s tangled around their feet and shuffling downwards and settling himself in between Steve’s thighs as Steve watches on silently, jaw ticking.
When Tony’s made himself comfortable, he pulls Steve’s boxers down to his thighs. He grabs the base of his cock with his left hand, right coming to rest high on Steve’s thigh. It’s the look Tony shoots him through his lashes more than anything that sends a frisson of heat rushing through his body, the fire in his eyes and the subtle curve of his lips into a smirk, because he knows just how much he’s affecting Steve like this, how could he not.
Tony’s hand squeezes around his cock, and Christ, Steve already feels lightheaded. He forces himself to pull in a breath, and after a moment, to blink, too. Tony’s grin only grows wider, toothier.
Then, Tony presses a wet kiss against his cock, lips parting so that he can kitten-lick the vein there. Steve watches his cock pulse out a little thread of precome with his breath caught in his throat.
“Someone’s eager,” Tony comments, a soft murmur against the side of his dick. It takes Steve far too long to decipher his words, and by the time he does, Tony’s already pressing his lips against the head of his cock, and all of the words promptly fall out of Steve’s head.
Tony’s lips part then, and he sinks down Steve’s cock at an agonizingly slow pace. He doesn’t break eye contact the whole time, even as Steve’s dick presses against the back of his throat and tears prick at his eyes. Almost subconsciously, Steve’s hand comes up, fingers threading through Tony’s hair. Not pushing, just — resting, at least for now. His mouth is bone dry, and his mind is blissfully clear of all thoughts other than a steady stream of fuck, shit, that’s good.
Tony doesn’t stop until his nose is pressed against Steve’s pubic bone. Tony rests there for a long moment, tonguing the underside of his dick in a way that feels like it’s specially calculated to drive Steve crazy — hell, knowing Tony, it probably is. Tony pulls back then, until just the head of Steve’s cock rests on his tongue, a lascivious grin spreading his lips as he raises an eyebrow in question. He doesn’t make any move to continue, and Steve growls out a frustrated sound, fingers closing in a heavy grip in his hair to pull him up, mourning the loss of the other man’s tongue against his dick even as he watches the blush on Tony’s cheeks deepen. He pulls until Tony sits up.
“My turn now,” Steve says, letting go of Tony’s hair and instead dropping his hand to push playfully at the other man’s shoulder.
Tony jerks his shoulder back like he’d been shot instead of turning over, a facetious pout plastered across his lips. Always the drama queen. He sits up and obediently lies down on his back in the next moment.
“Well?” Tony says after a beat, turning his head to bat his eyelashes at Steve. “I’m very vulnerable right now, you know. Just waiting for some elk-snouted mountain man to ravish me.”
Steve rolls his eyes but climbs on top of Tony nonetheless, knocking his knees further apart to make space in between them. After a moment’s consideration, he grabs each of Tony’s wrists with one hand. Steve leans down then, until there are scant few inches between their faces. Tony’s eyes have widened, pupils dilated so much that the brown of his irises is only a thin ring now. Steve smiles at him, his charm school one that he knows Tony hates.
Before Tony can open his mouth to complain again, though, Steve leans down and slots their lips together in a careful kiss. Tony’s lips immediately part, his tongue coming out to lick along the seam of Steve’s lips as he lifts his head up in an attempt to deepen the kiss, but Steve pays him no mind, instead pressing a few more chaste kisses against Tony’s bottom lip, the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his jaw. Tony strains against the grip Steve has around his wrists, grumbles something wordless when Steve releases them instead of giving him what he actually wants.
“You know what your problem is?” Steve tuts, landing one final kiss on Tony’s now scowling lips before sitting back on his haunches, hands running long, reverent lines from Tony’s pecs all the way down to his thighs. “No patience. No one ever teach you to wait, sweetheart?”
Tony scoffs, rolling his eyes even as his legs come up to slot themselves around Steve’s hips. “What do you think?”
Without any fanfare, Steve thrusts two fingers right into Tony’s hole. Tony makes a choking sound and Steve glances up at him, tearing his eyes away from where Tony’s hole easily swallows both of his fingers. Tony’s face is contorted in pleasure, his back already half off the bed from surprise alone. “What was that you were saying?” Steve asks disinterestedly, crooking his fingers in a way that he knows makes it hard for Tony to focus on much else.
“I— you— fuck you, you’re such an asshole,” Tony grits out around a moan, an eye opening to direct a futile glare at him. “I hate you so— fuck, so much.”
Steve pouts, pulls his fingers out just enough to line up a third, and pushes back inside without fanfare. “That’s not very nice.”
“I know where you sleep, Steve Rogers,” Tony threatens, but again it’s not very convincing. His entire face is flushed red, eyes scrunched shut as he squirms on Steve’s fingers, little aborted cants of his hips. His moans take on a brand new pitch when Steve finds his prostate and rubs at it without mercy. “If you don’t stick your dick in me right fucking now, I swear—”
“Your threats might hold more weight if you weren’t enjoying yourself so much, you know,” Steve observes, doing his best to keep the smarmy grin off of his face.
Nonetheless, he withdraws his fingers, nothing if not amenable. He spits onto his hand and uses it to slick himself up as Tony’s legs tighten around his hips, and then he’s sinking into that unbearable heat, the almost too much of it all making him grit his teeth, groaning out a low sound as his hips meet Tony’s ass. Steve sits there a moment so that they can both adjust, eyes opening halfway so that he can stare down at Tony, watching his face like a hawk for any sign of discomfort, no matter how minute.
When the last crease in Tony’s brow smooths itself out, Steve wastes no time pulling back until only the head of his cock is still inside of Tony’s hole before slamming back in and setting a relentless pace.
“Shit, that’s— that’s really fucking good, fuck, Steve—” Tony gasps out in between groans as Steve drives into him again and again and again, doing his best to roll his hips in time with Steve’s pace.
Where Tony is talkative even — especially — during sex, Steve is the opposite. He tends to zero in on what’s happening, focus narrowing down until all he can see, hear, feel is Tony, the way Tony’s searing heat feels around him, the sound of his grunts and groans, the way red colors his tanned skin and a sheen of sweat covers him from head to toe.
He usually makes it his goal to fuck Tony hard enough to get him incoherent — to fuck my brains out, Tony had once said, a sort of wistful look in his eye that had brought Steve’s own brain to a screeching halt — and today is no different.
The fire in Steve’s veins is only getting hotter. As he thrusts in and out, he can’t tear his eyes away from Tony’s face. Tony’s given up on trying to speak now, panting and groaning loudly, fingers scratching lines into Steve’s thighs that only serve to spur him on. Something possessive claws its way through his chest at the sight that Tony makes like this, the fact that he knows he’s the only one who gets to see him like this, the only one who can take him apart so thoroughly.
That last thought only excites him more, and he doubles his efforts. Tony chokes on his next groan, eyes flying open, and he babbles out, “Close, ‘m close, fuck, gonna come,” just as that familiar feeling starts building up in Steve’s groin.
He leans down to press their lips together, a sloppy, open-mouthed thing that hardly even counts as a kiss as Tony pants and moans into his mouth. Steve licks at Tony’s lips anyways, groaning against him, and soon enough, the fever reaches a pitch. His thrusts become erratic, shallow and not enough one moment and deep and too much the next, and on one particularly deep thrust, Tony throws his head back and comes with a loud groan, and it’s all Steve can focus on, his hips jackrabbiting as cum paints Tony’s stomach.
Tony’s hands, slippery with sweat, come to grip at his thighs, pressing against the already healing scratches, some deep enough that they sting with the pressure, and then he’s pushing himself up to slot their mouths together again. Steve reciprocates as best he can, still desperately juddering his hips forward, chasing his own release, so close and yet so far, and then, out of the blue, Tony bites down on his bottom lip, hard. Steve groans so loud it’s practically a shout, and his vision whites out as he comes, stars bursting like fireworks behind his eyelids as a wave of ecstasy rolls over him. He can feel his cock still pulsing inside of Tony as the other man licks along the bite marks he left on his lip, soft and soothing like an apology for something he knows doesn’t need it.
Steve pulls out, panting a little as he tries to regain his bearings, shifting to lie on his side next to the other man. His brain feels like it’s stuffed full of newspaper.
“What are you, a zombie?” He huffs out, eyeing Tony where the other man has shifted onto his side too. His hand reaches out almost unconsciously, and Tony’s own finds it without the man so much as looking down, fingers tangling together.
Tony rolls his eyes. “Alright, big bad wolf. Don’t talk to me until you can do it without blowing the goddamn house down.”
“Maybe I didn’t fuck you hard enough if you’re this coherent already.”
“Is that an offer?” Tony asks, eyes lighting up.
Steve raises an unimpressed eyebrow, fails to conceal his grin. “You’re an incorrigible letch, you know that? Some of us have stuff to do today.”
“Okay, but do you really?” Tony challenges.
Steve makes a show of thinking it over, audibly hemming and hawing in an obnoxious way that he knows Tony hates, eyes on the ceiling. Soon enough, Tony boxes him in the stomach, hard enough that it would probably wind a normal person, and soft enough that it really just feels like a cat swatting at him.
“Alright, alright, you’ve won me over,” Steve says earnestly, “I guess we can stay in bed a little longer, but only if we can find something to occupy ourselves with.”
Tony’s triumphant grin is so bright and beatific it’s almost blinding. Steve can’t help the way he’s drawn in by it, helpless to do anything but stare at his boyfriend, a sunflower facing the sun. Tony untangles his fingers from Steve’s, and he pushes at Steve’s hip until he gets the memo and rolls onto his back. He wastes no time climbing on top of Steve and settling into his lap.
Tony nods, and his voice is serious when he says, “Well, I’m sure that if we think really, really hard, we should be able to come up with something.”