Work Text:
The toy, slathered in their preferred brand of boutique, non-drying lube, is thicker than the widest part of the bottle of beer Tony worked up his ass last week, but smaller than the diameter of all Tony’s knuckles.
(It’s much less wide then when Tony decides he wants to make a fist, but that’s a story for another day.)
The toy is much longer than anything Steve’s ever seen before, and he’s seen Thor in the showers, lathering up his God-of-fertility body in coconut blossom body wash, somehow both a grower and a shower, winking as he catches Steve’s eye from across the room where seconds ago Steve was watching it slap wetly against his thigh.
(And Tony had caught him looking, but that was all part of the fun, because at the end of the day it was Tony took his favorite vibrator and slipped it in Steve’s body, Tony who pushed his cock in next to it while it was on high, Tony who had fucking laughed when Steve begged him to let him come, and Tony who had slowly, almost leisurely, fucked him as Steve lost the ability to tell the difference between pleasure and pain.)
The toy’s probably not actually poking Steve’s navel, but he likes to think that it is, likes to imagine that obscene stretch around his asshole extends all the way inside him until it reaches his belly button, making room where there is no room, shifting things around and expanding him much, much too wide.
It’s probably arched slightly from the curve that Steve’s back has to maintain in order to keep his mouth level with Tony’s lap, the position made much more difficult with the way his wrists are bound together behind his back using Tony’s homemade bondage tape, strengthened by the sticky fluid he helped develop for his protégé.
The tape is hot-rod red, matching the blindfold wrapped twice around Steve’s eyes, matching the thick leather straps that wrap around his knees and ankles, attached with magnets to the metal bars underneath Tony’s desk that Tony built slightly too wide for Steve to be comfortable.
And, Steve thinks, how considerate must Tony truly be that he built this desk for Steve, made of a thick glass that’s mirrored on the outside (“but only when the lights are on,” Tony likes to remind him), with curved metal bars to serve as reinforcements and anchor points for whatever position Tony decides to put him in that day, making him feel like he’s a piece at a museum being observed by Tony’s constant stream of visitors, makes him imagine a sign in front of his exhibit reading: please don’t touch the art.
Steve finds it fitting that he’s on his knees in, essentially, a position of prayer—if Pastor John could see him now— except his legs and ass are spread are much, much wider than anyone would consider decent and his bowed head is positioned perfectly for Tony’s cock to nestle down his throat, leaning, almost tauntingly, against Steve’s sleeping gag reflex.
(Steve had learned to suppress it for the anniversary of their first scene, and Tony had spent the whole day showering him with praise and rewards, celebrating the months of work Steve put in drooling around dildos and coughing on his own fingers until he could confidently swallow Tony whole and massage him with his throat without gagging or losing a drop of cum on his expensive black slacks.)
Tony’s half hard, and Steve thinks that’s the punishment of it all, because all Steve wants to do is suck him to completion, to give himself to him, and Tony isn’t letting him give; Steve is unable to even shift his jaw forwards, the way his nose is already pressed to Tony’s shaved pelvis, and he doesn’t dare to think of shifting backwards, not daring to defy Tony’s rules again, not after what got him here in the first place.
It was a simple command that had done Steve in, two days ago, Tony saying “don’t move, sweetheart, I’ll be back,” before leaving Steve face down in the bedspread, hard as a rock, dildo mark 10 vibrating away in his ass.
Steve should have known better then try to gain some friction on the mattress, thinking Tony wouldn’t know, but he’s unfortunately the kind of man that likes to test his boundaries every once in a while.
And so Steve had come, entirely on accident, in a puddle underneath himself, and foolishly tried to hide it from Tony, not realizing Tony had seen the whole thing from a camera he keeps to monitor Steve for safety.
Luckily, Steve knew better than to lie about it, but Tony was still upset, gently undoing the scene he had planned and rocking Steve in his arms until the serotonin trickled its way back in, dressing him silently and laying down next to him in bed in empty, dissatisfying silence.
(They talked, of course, the next morning, and scheduled Steve’s punishment like they were scheduling a dinner, and Tony told him he loved him and gave him a kiss on the forehead before heading off to meetings, leaving Steve to work on a new infiltration tactic for the team.)
Two days later, Tony had unveiled the new desk, and Steve had so many feelings he couldn’t parse them all.
And then Tony had unveiled dildo Mark 17, and all of those feelings became unadulterated lust.
Steve thinks he could learn to like this desk a lot, though he went through a lot of emotions when he was first trussed up on the floor at Tony’s feet, starting with sadness, tears wetting the blindfold, then determination, then boredom, and then stillness, which wasn’t boredom at all, but a nice fuzzy state of mind, a gentler level of subspace than he’s used to.
When people enter Tony’s office, though Steve can pick up clearly on what they are saying, he wishes he could watch their shadows play across the walls behind them, watch Tony as he interacts with them, his cock stiffening in Steve’s mouth as the depravity of their actions hits him, watch the way they slide their chairs close and comment on the new desk and crowd around it, just inches from this perverted display.
And it makes Steve wonder how he must look from the back, speared open by this massive, unyielding, silicone monster, burning a searing line of pleasure into Steve’s body, his fingers just able to touch the flared end of the also hot-rod red toy sitting flush against Steve’s taunt ass, the thinness of his waist enunciating the curve in a purely sinful matter.
(Tony hadn’t realized how much Steve liked being displayed until he purchased a lace thong for him—two guesses as to the color—and Steve had spent half an hour modelling it for Tony’s camera, dick pointing out the side, excessive pre-come ruining the fabric, eventually leading to Tony fucking him in front of a mirror so he can watch himself come to pieces, Tony muttering under his breath about how much he loves his pretty, pretty boy.)
This game is a powerplay for Tony too: Tony keeping himself calm and focused during his various meetings throughout the day, sighting an injury for the reason he can’t stand up yet still closing massive deals and pushing things along in his company and more or less doing thousands and thousands of dollars of work while his boy warms his cock, and that is the hottest part of it all, the measure of sheer control Tony is displaying right now.
And in his stillness, Steve feels like an art piece with two purposes: to look pretty, and to keep warm.
Tony taps twice on the floor below him, startling Steve slightly, bringing him back to awareness enough to realize the room is empty.
“Get me hard and get me off, then you’re done, sweetheart. Mouth only.”
Steve starts, neck cracking from movement, to steadily bob his head.
The break from homeostasis causes his body to turn back online, and suddenly Steve can feel everything: the restraints holding him in place, the strain on every muscle of his body, the thick, searing feeling of the dildo up his ass, hurting just right, every nerve in Steve’s body alive in sensation, and he suddenly realizes that he desperately, desperately, wants to come.
“Have you learned your lesson?” Tony asks, and he does this, rhetorical questions when Steve’s mouth is occupied, completely on purpose, because Tony rarely wants Steve to speak when they’re like this.
“Good boys do as their told,” Tony continues, as he reaches down to undo the blindfold across Steve’s eyes. “Good boys stay still, and good boys don’t come without permission,” he continues sternly, and Steve blinks up at him his eyes adjust to the brightness.
“Dim the lights,” Tony says to the room.
The desk becomes completely transparent, and as Steve looks up at Tony, Tony looks down at him, at all of him, likely noticing the way his legs are beginning to tremble and the tightness of his shoulders, and the rippling of his back muscles as he worked himself over Tony’s cock.
Steve preens, arching his back to emphasize that beautiful curve at the small of his back, and Tony chuckles, knowing exactly how much Steve loves to be seen, and exactly how much it was killing him to have his vision cut off.
“I changed my mind,” Tony says, and Steve hears a slight, electrical noise, and the magnets on his legs disengage from the bars on the desk.
Steve stays still, wondering if this was still a test, and it must be because Tony pets his hair affectionately and says, “stand up, if you can, sweetheart, take your time,” pulling his cock out of Steve’s mouth.
Steve does that very slowly, muscles and asshole screaming in protest as he knee walks his way out from underneath the desk, and it takes Tony, hoisting Steve up with his arms underneath his armpits before he can stand, feet awkwardly wide, his legs feeling like gelatin.
Tony gently turns him and bends him over the desk, and something inside Steve shifts in a wrong way, shifts in a right way, and lets out a cracked, toneless, whimper.
“I wish you can see the way you like right now,” Tony says lowly, “the way you’re spread out so pretty on my desk… I bet if I took this thing out of you, I could slip right in, couldn’t I?”
Steve moans into the desk, face heating with arousal.
Steve feels Tony press the base of the toy and he can’t help the shout that escapes him, can’t help the string of wrecked noises that come from the back of his throat as Tony jostles his prostate, his cock twitching against the glass, smearing pre-come over the glass.
“You need to come, pretty boy?” Tony asks.
“Please, Tony.” Steve’s voice is shattered.
“Hmm…” Tony says, considering, and then Steve feels his fingertips grip the edge of the toy, “maybe… after I’m done.”
And then he starts to pull.
It felt like it takes hours to get the toy out of his ass, and Steve spends most of it drooling into the desk, sobbing and moaning in an almost constant stream as he feels his body push out the intrusion.
Minutes later and Steve feels empty, and he feels lube dripping down his thighs, and he feels guilty, because he know how much Tony likes for him to keep clean.
“So messy,” Tony says, but he sounds fond more than upset, so Steve lets himself relax.
“God boy, look at you…” Tony’s voice trails off, and Steve he hears moving around behind him.
He knows better than to try to move.
Steve’s basking in his depravity when he suddenly sees a flash, suddenly hears the sound of a camera shutter, and he moans out loud at the thought that his depravity is being documented, and he imagines, for a wild moment that Tony would print that picture and send it to everyone Steve knew, to throw it from the rooftops and sprinkle all over the city, so that everyone knew what a slutty boy he really was.
Seconds later, Steve feels a barely there pressure on his hole, and realizes belatedly that it’s Tony’s cock, pushing his way into the cavern of Steve’s ass like a finger would a pussy.
Tony takes his time fucking Steve’s ass, and Steve—Steve can barely feel it, and that thought makes him moan again, that he’s stretched out so wide that Tony could probably fit another dick inside of him next to it, could probably slip his hand inside too, wrap it around his own cock and jack himself off.
“You were such a good boy, keeping my cock warm for me while I dealt with some work.” Tony says, and Steve whines into the glass.
“God, your ass is so nice and wet for me sweetheart…” Tony says, humming, “so deliciously loose. Of course you’re just going to tighten back up in a few, but right now? This how I like you, pressed so far open you could probably see to the other side, your hole so stretched it could probably take two of me. You’d like that, pretty boy?”
“Yes.” Steve croaks, and Tony rewards him with a slide across his prostate, pushing out a worn-out noise from the back of this throat.
“I’m just going to use it, pretty boy. I’m going to take my time with it. I’m going to feel it try, and fail, to clench around me, and I’m going to cum inside of it and watch it trickle out. After that, after all that, then you’ll get to come, and you’ll thank me like a good boy does. You think you can handle that?”
“Yes, Tony, yes.” Steve breathes.
At first it seems like Steve’s torture is nearly over: Tony almost immediately picks up his pace, and his breath is coming out in stutters, and each moan has that whine in it that implies he’s so, so close—
And then the phone starts to ring.
Tony pauses in Steve, pelvis to ruined pelvis.
It rings again.
Tony sighs and gathers Steve in his arms, then leans back and bends his knees, sinking into the chair with Steve sitting in his lap, wrists still tied, legs spread wide, cock as red as the leather straps on his ankles, weeping with pre-come.
Another ring.
“Work never ends, does it sweetheart?” Tony says ruefully and he goes to pick up the phone, completely ignoring Steve, once again.
And Steve, Tony’s pretty boy, who just found out he’s exchanged his mouth for his ass, nearly starts to cry.