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Title: Negotiating Terms
Author: jazzypom
Rated: R (Hard) for adult concepts.
Beta read: One day, I'll say yes. But today? No.
Universe: Ultimates
Summary: Tony and Steve negotiate terms
Disclaimer: Characters and situations are the property of Stan Lee and Marvel Comics. No profit is being made off this fan-written work.
Notes:[profile] mercyacross's prompt for iron kink. Because I hate leaving stuff (relatively) unpolished, I've fixed it up, and now am posting it here. Prompt Ultimates!verse: Tony being a whore in the face of death by brain tumor [sic], begrudging/angry sex with Steve ensues.
Warnings: JSYK - this isn't pretty, not my usual fare. There might be consent issues. On both sides. Please do not read if uncomfortable with said issues. Cheers.
Approx 2000 words. Go, me.



There's something untoward in this, Tony thinks.

Death was upon him, not the noble kind that Spartan mothers wished for their sons, to be brought home with sword in front, or bodies on shields.

No, not the anticipation of death that accompanies the rhythmic beat of drums, gearing up for war. This is death that comes in inglorious stages: fading eyesight, shedding hair, the loss of muscular control. With this death, his little body breaking down, bit by bit.

Not even the haze of drink softened the reality. Tony Stark was circling the drain.

It was only natural for Tony to look at death, to spit at it in the eye, with the only way he knew how. Wheeling and dealing in that dark corner of his room by the fireplace, as he delivered his terms.

"I don't think so, Stark." Steve's voice was a growl in his ear, his breath hot and close.

"You can think?" Tony could not help the smile or the snark, especially when he got shoved against the wall for his efforts, feeling the tiny razor grit of brick and mortar through his robe, pressing their edges into pads of shoulders, along the spine.

To his front was Steve, his hair a scruff of gold in the dark; his fingers thick, broad hooks on the elasticated edge of Tony's boxers. A sharp tug, the shift of muscle at Steve's tricep - Jesus the shock of cold air against his cock and upper thighs.

Reflexively, Tony arched his lips forward, his breath a choked motion in his throat as Steve cupped him with his hot, broad hand and clumsy fingers. Before he could shift, getting off to the gravel notes of Steve's voice by his ear, the press of his chest against his, Steve leaned back, taking away his heat.

Despite his shiver at the thought of Steve on (in) him, Tony had to admire the bastard's cunning. Give 'em a taste, reel 'em in and then bargain.

Well done, Captain Flagg.

"This is what you want?"

"Yes."

"And you'll leave Gail alone?"

"Oh, but she's so lonely, what with Barnes' cancer and - ah." Tony gasped as Steve suddenly tightened his fingers on his cock. The jump of pain so keen, so dizzying, his legs might have given out, if Steve hadn't been holding his shoulder against the wall.

"I let you have Jan, I respected that. Her choice," Steve's voice was low and rough, his eyes as shadowed as their surroundings. "But not Gail. Never Gail. If I do this - if we do this- never Gail."

A slight release of fingers, a shift. A tad too clumsy, and the friction and tug on stray pubic hairs caused another layer of ache. Short, sharp pricks that caused Tony to swallow a sob of pain, as he felt his eyes swim with tears. An abstract thought of small cells mutating like crazy to form a cancer, a clump of tiny hairs being pulled on, becoming his entire focus. It was always the little things that were monumental. The simple thing like a -

"Yes," Tony rasped, his throat dry. He had never accepted a bargain as quickly as this one. "This, and I'll never look in her direction again. Won't even a crack a joke."

The men exchanged a look then, and as one, their eyes lowered to where they were joined. Tony's cock was hard, its head wet, and purpling. Steve's fingers moved again, and he tentatively swiped the head of it with his thumb, his head snapping up at Tony's moan.

Silence. Who knew that silence could stretch to breaking.

Tony could have sworn he heard things in that span of quiet: the surge of blood in his veins as Steve pumped him once, Steve's own breath as he shifted the other hand from Tony's shoulder to hip. The last click as Steve Rogers accepted what he had to do, what was going to happen.

Before he leaned in again, to press against Tony, the hard knot in his trousers indicating his acquiescence before his nod did.

Tony's hands were nimble as they quickly unbuttoned fly, and he felt the entire length of Steve (note: must send a note of thanks to Nick Fury for joining this wretched team), and his hair roughed balls. The shock of first touch as Tony held their cocks against each other, feeling Steve's dark shudder as they moved once. There was the frenetic groping of the other hand as it searched Steve's pockets for - ah.

"A boy scout," Tony murmured as he found the container, and palmed it in his hands He never thought - and focused on Steve's face. Hot eyes, lips opened a fraction.

Before Tony could say anything else however, Steve angled his face, tilted his head and leaned in for the kill.

Tony's lips opened under Steve's, feeling the slide of spit and tongue. The jounce of teeth. Then tongue again. Tony's fingers were suddenly nerveless as he squeezed the bottle, the liquid running over his fingers, then letting the bottle go. He moved his hand to clutch at Steve's shoulder, to draw him close. Jesus. Steve might have tasted like the wine the team had with their meal tonight; the dark, smoky taste on the edges of his tongue might have been ill temper, or distaste.

Again, Tony did not care, because other matters were more pressing. And pleasurable.

The weight of Steve's cock against his fingers for instance.

Steve breaking a way a fraction to hiss, "Fuck, you're stepping on my foot, Stark."

Tony not moving, he was close enough to count each fair lash along Steve's eyelids, to feel the scald of Steve's breath on his face. "You might want to sweep me off my feet and carry me to bed?"

A glare from Steve, just then. "No."

Then another kiss, just as brutal, teeth tugging and biting at lower lip, another bruising roll of hips. The choppy breaths as each man tried to get the better of the other.

The give of the mattress under his back, the scape of Steve's nails as he tugged his robe off, the heat that blazed off Steve's skin as Tony tugged his shirt off, then a neat inverted twist, and Steve was under him. His broad chest covered by hair the dim light turned into gilt. Keenly defined six pack, muscles a tight ridge under Tony's fingertips, the air humid with their shared lust.

The feel of Steve's choked surprise as Tony's mouth was on him. His entire body going rigid, as his back arched off the bed, the shattered moans as Tony hollowed his cheeks and sucked, tasting the salt, heat and musk of him.

"To - "

The world titled, and righted, as Tony found himself staring up at Steve's face. His own arms held at his sides, his inner forearms pinned to the mattress by Steve's knees, Steve's bare thighs on either side of his chest. Tony found himself eye level with Steve's erection. It cost him to let his body relax, to make his breathing go shallow due to Steve's weight on him, to make his eyes bored as he raised his gaze to Steve's, but Tony managed it.

"Are you going to poke my eye out with that thing Steve? Or are we still... negotiating terms?"

A shift, as Steve moved on Tony's chest, from sternum, his kneecaps pressing into Tony's shoulders, his hips angling close. Tony saw the flex of muscles, the engorged head of Steve's cock, its tip and length moist with precum and Tony's spit.

Absently, Tony's tongue darted to the corner of his lip, felt his throat tighten, and raised his eyes to Steve's again, awed at the lust there that echoed his own.

Another movement, Steve's knees came off Tony's shoulders, his cock moving to his face and mutely Tony opened his mouth to take Steve in.

The angle was awkward, Tony's focus on nothing but Steve's length in his mouth, the room quiet save Steve's groans, Tony's muffled moans. Tony tried to move his hands from his sides to Steve's thighs for a better time of it.

"No."

Tony accepted this, and kept his hands to his sides. But he was not without... means.

He ran his tongue along the head of Steve's shaft, focusing on nothing but the ruddiness and gilt of Steve's groin and thighs, trying to take him all in, breathing through his nose. Feeling the heft of Steve on his tongue, tasting all of him. There was the cramp as his neck protested its discomfort, the tears in his eyes as his own neglected member throbbed its own torment. The tug on his scalp from Steve's fingers in his hair, clumsily trying to guide Tony to his own pace. The tremor in Steve's thighs, the pause as Steve pulled out of Tony's mouth with a pop. The reflexive blink of eyes shut, as Tony felt the splash of Steve's warmth on his face, dripping off his features, clumping his eyelashes, settling into the creases of his mouth, his facial hair.

The sudden absence of weight on his chest, as Steve barely had the strength to move off him before falling to the side.

Then, under the cover of darkness, the warmth of Steve's hand on his cock, fingers heavy and dry. Steve's body beside Tony in the dark, the memory of Steve in his mouth, dripping on his face tipped him over the edge, his orgasm almost painful in its relief.

Another movement, as Steve shrugged into his trousers, dragged on his shirt and literally seared Tony with a look.

"It's done," Steve said shortly. "We're done."

Tony shrugged his shoulders, thoughtfully scratched his van dyke. He felt Steve move off the bed, and found himself the recipient of Steve's glare.

Waited to hear the verdict and was not disappointed. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

"Perhaps," Tony smiled, linking his fingers across his chest.

Steve only turned on his heel, stormed out of Tony's room, slamming the door behind him. Leaving Tony there, in the darkness, to reflect.

Truth be told, Tony might have had a smidgen of shame earlier on. Cutting a swath through various personnel at the Triskelion. Knowing that Steve would notice, would moralise.

Hoping that he might have done more than throw pointed comments in his direction.

When Steve did not respond, Tony tried harder.

He wooed Janet with science and charm. Swaggered into the team conference room the next morning, reeking of sex and the notes of Janet's chagrin like cheap cologne. He felt Steve's eyes on him then, saw the flex and clench of Steve's hands into fists, knowing that his team-mate would do nothing.

So Tony upped the ante.

Sending flowers to Gail, along with special dinners to the hospital when he knew Gail would be there. Knowing that Steve would quickly hear; put two and two together and come hunting for him.

"You can't have her," Steve had said. Both men were in the hospital corridor, the harsh light not hiding Steve's fatigue over his best friend's ill health, and his first love's distress. "She belongs to Bucky. She... was mine." A pause, as Steve looked at Tony steadily. "More so than Janet ever was."

"Well, she's not yours anymore, Steve."

"Nor yours, Stark." Then Steve folded his arms across his chest, and gave Tony an opening. "What will it take to leave her alone?"

Tony sipped at the liquid in his plastic cup, making the question hang in the air for the moment.

"I'll get back to you." Tony said, as he made to turn away. Only to feel the clamp of Steve's hand on his shoulder.

Tony looked at Steve's hand, the fingers making creases in his Tom Ford suit, and said nothing. Waited for the quiet to spin out, for Steve to say:

"Again, what do you want?"

His cunning trap sprung, Tony started to bargain to get what he wanted. Whom he wanted. It was not Gail, or Janet.

Nor anyone else, except Steve.

It had always been Steve.

Yes, Tony might have had some shame. If there was shame in getting what he wanted.

Fin.

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August 2009

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