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Even though he's dirty and tired and his uniform is ripped, Steve hustles from the jet through the hallway and into the vast space where Tony stores his suit. Tony has beat them back to the Trisk, but it always takes his team of technicians a little while to get him out of the armour, and thankfully, he's not free yet. 

Steve stays back, leaning against the wall by the door and watches as one of Tony's mechanics uses a proprietary, electric wrench to crank apart the chest pieces. A few minutes of loud noises later, Tony stumbles out of the armour in nothing but his flight suit, dripping with the slippery, green cushioning gel that lines the inside. Another technician starts hosing the whole thing down, but Tony's eyes cut right to where Steve is still leaning.

Steve holds his gaze for a moment, and Tony stares, grinning, then Steve nods - just a slight tip of his head to the side - and Tony starts to make his way over. There's a bounce in his step, and his eyes are glowing, and he can't stop chewing his lip; Steve knows that look, knows what it's begging for. What Tony needs.

"Babe, did you see that?" Tony asks, as soon as he's in shouting range. 

Steve waits to respond until Tony is close enough to touch. "You were great. The whole team was great."

Tony buzzes next to him. "I don't think great begins to describe it. Fucking giant hornets, Steve. And we kicked ass. That thing with the in-air twist, and Jan with the - oh." 

Steve curls his fingers around the back of Tony's neck and squeezes, cutting off his manic ramble. A soft groan leaks out, and Steve's lips threaten to twist up into a smile. He leans forward and touches his lips to Tony's ear. "Let's take a shower."

"Mmm," Tony hums, eyes already going hazy. "Yes, sir."

Steve drives Tony ahead of him with the hand on his neck, and Tony's weight sinks into his touch. He's still vibrating with excess energy, but it's lost the edge of turbulence that Tony gets when he doesn't know how to direct himself. He knows Steve has him, no matter what happens, and the ease with which Tony gives into that will never stop making Steve's heart skip a beat. The trust is world shattering. 

Steve leads them to the block of showers on the lower floor of the Trisk. No one will bother them down here, but he flicks the lock down as they step inside anyway. 

When his hand drops away, Tony spins on his heels and flicks his eyes up and down Steve's body. "What do you want babe? Want me to suck you off? Go to my knees right here? Fuck, you're so hot out there, fighting, all muscles and the shield, and unf -" Tony crumples against Steve's chest and nibbles at the edge of his jaw. His hips wiggle, grinding forward in a needy, uncontrolled way. He whimpers again.

"Tony," Steve says firmly, sharpening the edge of his words until they're honed enough to cut through Tony's spiralling thoughts. "Be still."

Tony curses impressively, but steps backwards and stills. He starts pulling deep, long breaths in through his nose, but Steve can see how much effort it takes for him to even think about relaxing. His leg is still shaking, but he's not shifting his feet anymore.

Steve breathes in as slowly as he can and lets it out through his mouth. Tony likes a pattern he can model, and Steve gets a thrill from watching Tony start to echo him, like he's an extended piece of him, a part of one. 

They weren't always this in sync. It took a long time for Steve to figure out what Tony needs when he's like this. At first, Steve had followed him into the feeling, and while sometimes it led to earth-shattering orgasms, more than half the time it led to fights, instead. Vicious, cacophonous screaming matches that made them break all the rules about not going to bed angry. 

But bit by bit, painfully slowly, they've evolved. They've pushed, tested, refined, and now Steve feels at peace when Tony gets wound up like this, because he knows what he needs, and as chance would have it, it's exactly what he needs too.

Steve steps around Tony, leaves him to his breathing, to pick a shower stall and click the water on. It comes out ice cold at first, but he knows it'll be piping hot in only a few seconds. Any place where Tony Stark spends a significant portion of his time miraculously finds itself in possession of three things: excellent water pressure, a big screen TV, and a wet bar in as many rooms as he can get away with.

He also makes space for Steve, everywhere he goes. It's one of the quiet ways that Tony loves. There's always an empty drawer, a hook for his shield bag, and the picture of the two of them at the beach together propped up somewhere. Tony is big and loud and wild for everyone else, but for Steve, he can be quiet, he can be still. He can let go.

"Good job, sweetheart," Steve murmurs as he circles back around in front of Tony. The steam from the shower is already filling the space. 

Tony melts under the praise and a soft whimper slides out. "Steve," he whines, barely more than a whisper.

"I know. I've got you." Steve cups both sides of Tony's face and kisses him. It's firm, but undemanding, and he's pleased by how easily Tony gives to the pressure. Tony's lips part with a sigh, and he just lets Steve take.

Steve lost interest in taking a long time ago, though. His goal now is to keep. 

He starts to drive Tony backwards, and there's no resistance. Steve keeps his lips pressed to Tony's, not exactly kissing him, but sharing his air, setting a rhythm, a pace that's slow and steady and easy for Tony to float into. 

Tony hisses when the hot water hits his back, but the next breath he draws in comes back out on a sigh, instead. 

"That's it," Steve murmurs, shuffling Tony even further until he's under the spray. "Good boy."

Another knot of tension in Tony releases, and he tips his head to the side. The green goo has had time to dry a bit, but the water loosens it again and starts to sluice it off. Steve takes hold of Tony's zipper and slides it down his chest, letting his eyes drink in every inch of wet skin it reveals. He doesn't look up to see Tony's cheeks flushing, but he knows that being slowly put on display is getting him worked up. Sure enough, when Steve hits the bottom of the zipper, his knuckles brush the bulge of Tony's erection pressing against the skin-tight fabric of his flight suit.  

Tony's moan makes Steve grin, and he traces the path of a water droplet with one finger, taking a small detour to flick over Tony's nipple. He goes back up Tony's chest with both palms flat and slides his hands under the edges of the flight suit. He pushes, Tony rolling his shoulders forward then back to slip out of it. It hangs loose around Tony's waist, just enough teasing hair along the bottom edge to make Steve's mouth flood with saliva and a southward throb of blood pump through him.

Tony is beautiful, and he only gets more beautiful every day they're together. Steve leans forward and presses a kiss over Tony's heart, working his way up to his neck. The water cascades over Tony's skin, soaking Steve's uniform and making it cling to him unpleasantly. But he can ignore the discomfort as long as he needs to, so he can worship Tony like he deserves.

Steve works the flight suit over Tony's hips and crouches down to ease each foot free of the clinging fabric. Tony's half-hard and Steve takes a moment to enjoy the view from his knees. Tony has stopped bouncing, stopped shaking, and his hands are hanging loosely at his sides. Steve stands then strokes down over both arms and lifts Tony's hands up. He guides Tony around so he can take each one and hold it under the strongest part of the spray. He picks up a soft scrub brush that hangs by the stall and rubs the green slime off each finger, working around each nail bed. He works his way up Tony's left arm and then his right.  

He tilts Tony under the spray, cleaning his shoulders and rinsing his chest, hips, and legs. Tony's hair is still a goopy mess of green and even the water hasn't helped much, so Steve sets the brush down and finds a bottle of shampoo. He squirts some in his hand and combs his fingers through Tony's hair, digging in and massaging his scalp. Tony groans, erotic satisfaction rumbling through his throat until Steve can feel it through his fingers. As gorgeous as Tony is, it might be his mouth, his tongue, his throat that gets Steve, at the end of the day. He knows him in the dark, by touch and by the sounds that always surround him like a cloud. But it's the sounds Steve eases out of him that pound his heart and heat his blood.

"That's it, sweetheart," he soothes, just to hear Tony moan again. Music. 

Steve tips Tony's head back under the spray and when the shampoo is all rinsed out, he can't help but press his lips to the jut of Tony's throat. Tony swallows, bobbing his Adam's apple against Steve's lips, but he doesn't move away. Steve takes his time with the conditioner next, working each knot smooth until he can stroke back through Tony's hair without any resistance. 

The water stops running green and starts running clear, so Steve sets everything aside. He curls his fingers around Tony's chin and waits until Tony's hazy eyes blink into focus, settled on him. "You ready to be good for me, sweetheart?"

Tony nods, lips splitting into a soft smile. "Can I suck you off? Please?"

"Not yet." Steve's words still have edge, and Tony bends easily under their strength. 

"Yes, sirrr," he slurs, tongue heavy. Steve presses in and finds that tongue with his own, teases it back to life until it's begging for more attention. 

"Oh your knees, Tony." Steve helps Tony down and watches while he folds his hands in his lap. The water has plastered his clean hair to his head, and he blinks heavily, droplets catching in his eyelashes. 

Steve takes a step back and sees to his own clothes, working the clasps and snaps open and shedding pieces onto the floor just outside the shower. He cleans himself more perfunctorily, focusing on efficiency. He scrubs the shampoo through his hair, rinses off the dirt and blood, and gives himself a quick check for any injuries. Tony watches, at his feet, knowing not to touch with his hands, but sneaking several opportunities to rub his cheek against Steve's thigh - stubble rough and scratchy - or lean his weight to the side so his knee is tight to Steve's calf. 

When Steve is clean, he shifts away and watches the water pour over Tony for a moment. He's pink and flushed from the heat, mouth open, tongue peeking out, and he's rock hard now. "Hands behind your back." 

Tony obeys. Steve shuffles closer. He lifts his toes up, bracing his heel on the tile, and presses the sole of his foot to the length of Tony's cock. 

Tony gasps, eyes falling shut. "Thank you," he whispers. He starts to rock his hips, rubbing himself off against Steve's foot. Steve knows it won't take long; Tony was definitely sixty percent there already just from flying the suit, from the rush of a battle well won, and when he's soft and needy like this, any attention from Steve is enough to shove him over the edge. 

Tony rocks and thrusts, humping Steve's foot in a desperate, helpless way that is too good. He's too good. Steve used to think Tony was challenging, confusing, like he was always seeing him through funhouse mirrors, distorted and off-kilter and not getting the whole picture. But he's sewn the picture together over the years and now he knows exactly how to get him panting in a heartbeat. It's better than the rush from drugs or alcohol - heady, visceral, exhilarating.

Those precious, little sounds keep falling from Tony's lips, shifting into mewls and pleas, and finally breaking into a keen as he stutters in his movements and comes. He pulses over Steve's toes, the hot water washing the evidence away almost immediately. He's shaking again, but this is the good kind of shaking, the kind that makes Steve's cock twitch up in attention. There's nothing more beautiful than Tony shuddering his way back down from an orgasm, all for Steve, all because of Steve.

"You're mine, aren't you?" Steve asks, firm. It sounds like a question but it's not, not really.

But Tony answers anyway. "Always," he breathes.

"Then come here and show me."

Tony straightens up on his knees and shuffles on the tiles until he's close enough to nuzzle his face into the crease of Steve's hip. Steve hooks the back of Tony's head and holds him close. The hot water pounds against his back and one breath in and out releases the last bit of soreness he was harbouring from the battle. Steve feeds Tony his cock, his thumb pulling Tony's bottom lip down and staying there as he slides in. "Oh, Tony, you feel so good. Such a good little cocksucker."

Tony whimpers, eyes fluttering open then snapping shut again as the water sprays in his face. Steve brushes one hand over his forehead, smoothing his hair back, then takes hold of him again, one hand wound through the back of his hair and one hand cupping his chin. He slides his cock in down to the base and stays there until Tony twitches, running low on oxygen, then rocks back again, catching the tip of his cock on Tony's lip. Tony's tongue darts out, laps the bead of precome that's about the drip free. 

Steve holds Tony still, big hands locked around his head, and fucks his throat. He's brisk, methodical - not rough, but not forgiving either - and he watches Tony slowly lose himself in the regular movement of Steve's hips. It's that loss of Tony's final armour that sends Steve spiralling into pleasure. Being the key that unlocks this man at his feet will never get old, never sour or stale. 

Steve increases his pace, thrusting deeper, harder. The water is hot, but it's nowhere near as hot as Tony's mouth; the water's wet, but it's nowhere near as slick as the press of Tony's tongue. Steve pushes deeper, needing to hold back the peak of his strength so as not to hurt Tony. He fucks into Tony's mouth once more then stills, barking out a rough grunt when his orgasm surges up and takes over him. He fills Tony up, throbbing wave after wave of come over his tongue until it starts to leak out of the corners of his lips. Tony's eyes are still closed but his face is turned up - spray be damned - like a sunflower finding the sun. 

Steve will never stop being in awe of being Tony's sun. 

When the last tingles of orgasm have faded, Steve massages Tony's jaw until it's able to release and he can ease his cock back and out. Tony's mouth hangs open for a moment, and Steve can see how he's coated his tongue, the inside of his cheeks. Stunning.

"You're a masterpiece."

Tony smiles, swallowing with a hum. Steve's inside of him, left his mark. Not just in the dark bruise on Tony's neck or the come he's lined his throat with, but in the way Tony looks for him when they're out of each other's sight too long, in Steve's book on Tony's side of the bed because Tony likes to sleep sprawled out on Steve's chest, in breakfast together, in dinner together, in fingers wound into one on a shared couch with a movie playing in the background. 

For all that he can bring Tony back down from his manic edges, Steve has come to accept this is as much for him as it is for Tony. He doesn't carry the battles out of the locker room with him anymore. He doesn't wake up in the night sweating, a decades-old scream dying deep in his chest. He doesn't snap into anger, lash out, lose his head anymore. He and Tony are each other's grounding points. A place to come back to.

Steve takes both of Tony's hands and hauls him up to his feet, wrapping one arm around his waist to keep him from sliding back down again. Tony grins at him, eyes soft and unfocused, his entire weight trusted in Steve's hold, and Steve kisses him, gentle and loving, and full of promise. "I love you, sweetheart."

"I love you too, baby." Tony nuzzles into his neck. He'll be a kitten all night, now, not wanting to leave the safety of Steve's arms for anything. "Take me home?"

"Always."