Submission Hold



It's not really a question, when they're sparring, of whether Tony is going to win--more one of how long he's going to hold out. He's gone a good two minutes now, circling and backpedalling, keeping Steve at arm's length, because there, at least, he has some chance of holding him at bay when he doesn't resort to painful force. But then Steve pounces and brings him down to grappling, and it's all muscle and grip, and Tony doesn't stand a damn chance.

Steve guesses it's maybe fifteen seconds until he's got him locked down. Arms chickenwinged back, no leverage to use his legs, and Tony gives his usual two point five jerks, gulps air, and Steve expects to hear him give.

Instead there's a long, long moment when he just goes a little limp.

"Tony?" Steve asks quietly. He's very still, holding him where he is--not letting go, because he hasn't called and that's the way of it, not pulling up and forcing a submission hold, because that's just unnecessary pain. He could hold Tony's weight like this for, well, maybe not hours, but a good while.

Tony's hands spread and clench in thin air behind him, and he lets out a shaky breath. "Give," he murmurs.

Steve eases up instantly, rolls him over and down to rest on the mat. Cradles his head until he's lying down full length, because he's still a little limp.

"Tony, you okay?" he asks, crouching next to him.

"Uh." There's a flush to his cheeks, bit of sweat. Steve doesn't break a sweat when they're doing this, but he's not the one getting a workout. "Sure."

Then Steve gets a bit of what Tony likes to call cognitive dissonance, because he's glancing him over quickly, checking to make sure nothing looks pained, and there's a tent in his pants.

"I guess you are, then," he says. "Are you letting yourself get distracted?"

"Only a little," says Tony, slightly indignant, and rolls up to sitting. "You're hot," he adds, in response to Steve's unwavering stare.

Steve's not used to hearing it quite that bluntly. "And you're paying attention to that instead of this?" He pounces. Tony doesn't see it coming in time to stop it--distracted--and they roll, come out with Tony on his back with Steve on top of him, both arms pinned up between Steve's elbows and chest. Not particularly tightly, but effective, given relative strength. Tony breathes, lets his head fall back against the mat, and then Steve feels his cock hot underneath him and puts two and two together.

Tony closes his eyes, keeps breathing deep and steadying, and his tongue darts out over his lips for a moment, and Steve lets his arms go and feels himself frowning slightly, more in bewilderment than anything else.

"Tony," he says, somewhat gently. "So you're saying, what, that you like it when I hold you down?"

"I didn't say anything of the sort," says Tony. Steve just looks at him. "Okay, fine, so my dick said it for me."

Steve chuckles and shakes his head. "I know you attribute great powers to it, but it doesn't talk."

"No, but I think I could do Morse code." He pumps his hips lightly, grinding against Steve, and because Steve's old-school army and could decipher Morse code in his sleep, he catches f, then u, and then rolls off of Tony and rubs knuckles to his head.

"You're horrible."

"So horrible I can't resist being helpless in your arms," Tony says, not sounding the least bit sweet or sappy, but it still warms something rather incongruous in him.

Steve shakes his head, hides a smile, and gets to his feet. "Are you going to be too distracted to make the most of our gym time?"

Tony looks up at him; he's still sitting, and looks perfectly happy there at crotch height. "Only if we skip the sparring and go straight to the holding me down part." Steve sticks out his hand, tugs him to his feet when he takes it. "Can we?"

"Is this," says Steve after a moment, "like that thing where you liked it when I hurt you?"

Tony's hand goes to his neck, the very base of it, where the tugged-askew collar of his t-shirt shows the fading bruise from Steve's teeth, strategically low so it doesn't show in a collared shirt. The motion looks almost involuntary. "Yeah," he says. "I suppose it is."

"I'm not sure I'll ever make sense of that."

Tony looks at him evenly. "I--well, I'm not sure I can explain."

"I'm beginning to think you have ulterior motives for the heroing business, at the rate you're going."

Tony laughs and shakes his head. "Context, Steve. And you. I need to be at least a little safe before this sort of thing turns me on. And..." He trails his fingers up the muscles in Steve's arm. His sudden, quiet frankness is almost startling. "You. You don't even realize the effect you have on me, do you? How damn hot you are?"

That tugs at something deep, deep in Steve's gut. "So," he says, quiet and a little hoarse, and puts his hands on Tony's shoulders and starts backing him up, heading for the wall, "you're saying that if I did this--"

Tony's back hits the wall. Steve goes for his wrists, presses them unyielding to the wall, just about smells the wave of arousal that hits him, and kisses him. Tony kisses back, hungrily, little groan in the back of his throat; Steve tucks his thigh up between his legs and lets Tony grind against him. He's straining, tugging at the hands pinning his wrists, but Tony doesn't have the strength to throw him off like that, plain and simple, and Steve breaks the kiss, ducks his head, and suckles on Tony's bare throat. Gently, at first, gently, until he's down to the base of it and can use teeth, a little, just what he's found he likes.

"Ohfuck," Tony breathes, arches against him, and he's really very hard against Steve's leg.

"If I did this," Steve finishes, at a whisper, "you'd like it?"

Tony catches his breath as Steve pulls back, lets him shift both his wrists to one hand, and gasps and grinds as Steve palms his crotch.

"Bedroom," Tony whispers. Then he gives a small, crooked, utterly salacious grin. "You want to do this right, you could carry me there."

Steve honestly considers it for a moment. He could pretty much carry Tony under one elbow--not because Tony's that small, just because he knows how to carry just about anyone under one elbow--and he won't deny the fact that having the weight and warmth of his body in his arms is--yes.

"And then Peter sees us and never lets us forget it," he says.

"Oh, fine. That guy's like ten tabloids in one, with the influence he has on my sex life."

So they just walk to the elevator. Tony grabs a drink of water, Steve feels like a kid sneaking off into the shrubbery--he's never quite shaken that, no matter how much Tony assures him that the bedroom's soundproofed damn well enough and Peter's just shooting the shit.

The upstairs hall, though, Steve notices, is empty.

He looks back and forth for a moment, then, no warning, scoops Tony up over his shoulder. The indignant yelp is priceless; so is the purr as he subsides with Steve's hand splayed over his ass to steady him, fists his hands in the back of Steve's shirt and nuzzles him. Mumbles something gleeful about being carried off and ravished.

Steve has to admit that he'd never quite considered how carrying a man this way could press his hard cock into his shoulder. He makes the distance to Tony's door, opens it, crosses the room in a few quick strides, and tumbles him into the bed. Tony lands on ass and elbows, legs spread wide, and smolders at him.

"C'mere, you."

Steve busies himself pulling off his shirt.


He pauses, tosses it into the corner, and looks at Tony. "I think..."


"I think you should be naked."

Tony grins and pulls off his own shirt. "You don't have to be so polite about it, y'know. Just a simple strip would do."

"But that would be crude," Steve protests. He hasn't bothered with his pants yet, just watches Tony shimmy out of his.

"And I'm not crude how, exactly?" Tony shucks his boxers, sending a dark and generous erection bouncing slightly, and grins up at him buck naked.

"You are, sure. But I try not to be." Steve comes over, puts an arm round his shoulders, and picks him up again, just scoops him up and lays him out with his other arm behind his knees, and Tony loops an arm up around him and relaxes, lets Steve heft and balance his weight.

"Mmm. Of course not. You only bark orders on the battlefield."

Steve pauses with his face inches from Tony's. It takes a bit of a balancing act, sure, to kiss somebody in his arms, but he used to do it with Sharon, when he wanted to make her giggle about being swept off her feet, Tony's extra weight doesn't make it that much harder--

"What," he murmurs, "you want me to order you around, too?"

Tony blinks up at him, a strange hunger in his eyes. "I admit there's a certain appeal to a big, handsome fellow ordering me around or pinning me down because he wants me. So much. He can't bear to let me go."

That tugs at Steve's cock because it's pretty much true. He tightens his hand on Tony's shoulder. "I'm not letting you go," he breathes. "You know that."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, kiss me," Tony murmurs.

"Now who's giving orders?" But, of course, he does. Rocks Tony bodily in his arms and kisses him like they're in an old pulp, with Tony's fingers digging into his arm and Tony's mouth all lips and tongue and hunger. Lays him back out on the bed and gets atop him this time, straddles his waist, just lets his weight pin him down.


"Mmm." Tony's twined his fingers into his; his eyes are closed and he's breathing a little hard.

"Tony. How much of my weight can you take?"

He opens his eyes, looks up at him. "Just don't collapse on me, I should be fine."

Steve bears Tony's hand back down to the bed, then pins the other, too, thumb rubbing absent circles in his palm. Doesn't even have to push down, just holds him there as he strains and wriggles, lets his head fall back panting, because Steve's got fifty pounds of solid muscle and years' worth of training on him, and he's pretty much helpless.

Steve gives that a long, slow moment of thought. Helpless; Tony couldn't throw him off if he wanted to. It's more than a little frightening. But right now--he's pretty much completely sure Tony wants this.

"That," he says after a moment, "doesn't explain the pain."


"I can't bear to let you go." He doesn't tighten his grip, but tugs it up a bit, watches the arch in Tony's shoulders. "But that doesn't explain the hurting you bit."

"Ahh. Well--" Tony's breath comes ragged as Steve bends over him, nuzzles his throat. "It's an--it's an intensity thing. It--" His voice trails off in a shaky groan as Steve nips at him--the other side from before, so Tony's coming out of this with a matched set. "Oh, fuck yes. That."

Steve chuckles. "I'll just have to take your word for it, then."

"Oh, stop laughing at me and fuck me."

Steve looks down at the two of them, Tony pinned at the wrists with him straddling his waist. "I don't think that would quite work right now."

Tony just licks his lips and gives him a smoldering, slatey-blue stare from under his mussed bangs.

The challenge, Steve thinks, is not so much holding him down as it is getting the lube and leaving himself a free hand. Once he starts thinking of it in terms of logistics, grip and angle and force, it's a satisfying sort of puzzle. Roll him around, toss him half off the bed so he's on his knees on the floor, and bear him down with his arms pinned behind his back, his legs locked down with one of his own legs hooked behind his thighs, and, yes, he can just barely reach the nightstand.

"That," Tony pants into the mattress with a grin, "was impressive." He's pressed down with his ass out in the air, struggling a little to no avail, and Steve feels a twinge in his gut which might be guilt, fear, or glee; he isn't quite sure which.

"I don't," he says with his own slight grin, "think this was quite the intended use for my skills."

Tony just arches his ass out and laughs. Steve smoothes his free hand over him, trails fingers down between his legs, and then stretches to the nightstand to pump some lube onto his fingers. Not that he hadn't thought it a bit obscene at first, Tony keeping the stuff in a big pump bottle right there, about as discrete as a bikini, but it had come in handy more than once.

"You ready?" he murmurs.

"What the hell do you think?" Tony bucks against the big hand pinning his arms and back with a satisfied grunt. "Fuck, you're amazing, this is so fucking hot..."

He trails off groaning and mumbling obscenities into the sheets as Steve slowly circles his ass, slowly presses a slick finger in. Slowly slides it deeper, slowly back out a bit, until he feels Tony straining against him, a little sweat-slick and pulse coming fast, because he's literally trying to back onto his finger. Steve chuckles to himself, shakes his head slightly, and carefully adds a second finger. Slow until Tony starts rambling incoherently, soft and throaty, sounding a lot like he's begging.

"You're shameless," he murmurs, a little in awe.

"Fuck yes. Jesus fucking Christ, come on." Steve is so not in control of this. Presses his fingers deeper, fucks him with a flick of his wrist, and Tony groans filth, and he must be doing something right, he thinks, he's not usually this-- "Oh fuck, Steve, I am insanely turned on by this, you realize this, right?"

"Yeah, I'm getting there," Steve says, adding a third finger. A little more force now; there's this beautiful man pinned under him, groaning encouragement, and he's tenting his own pants because it's all going to his head, dragging him rushing ahead--

"Ready, I'm ready, I'm ready..."

He yanks his hand out and wipes it on his pants. Stands to shuck them, and Tony whines in the back of his throat and lurches to his feet like he's going to make a bolt for it. Steve catches him easily, snatches him midstep with an arm round his ribs, tucks him under his elbow, and tosses him back on the bed. Rolls atop him, and they grapple, naked skin and groaning, for a few seconds until he gets a grip on him, pins him.

The look in Tony's eyes catches him, freezes him in place. They're pressed cock to cock. Tony's pupils are huge, drowning black, flushed, looking--ecstatic. Like he's rocketing down the freeway with wind in his hair. Bruises from Steve's teeth branding his throat.


He's about done with talking now. "Condom," he says, short and soft, and gets up, locking one of Tony's arms under his own. "Stay there."

Tony breathes, and he almost catches words in it. His hearing's fantastic, but even then, he's not entirely sure whether Tony's just said yes, Sir.

He rips it open with his teeth, fumbles it on, and shoves Tony back down on his back. Hooks his legs over his shoulders, running his palms up long wiry muscles as he strains for freedom. But he can't bear to let him go.

And then he's buried in him to the hilt. Pinning Tony by the wrists, and he growls and snaps and strains and groans "oh fuck yes, yes, don't you dare fucking stop," but he's not just done talking, he's done thinking. Invitation and permission and begging, Tony wants this, and Steve wants him. They kiss, deep and devouring; Steve digs teeth into Tony's shoulder as he shouts in blind pleasure; Steve catches both of Tony's wrists in one hand, awkward and tight, and spits on his palm and reaches down for Tony's cock because it's really not an option, not an option at all, whether Tony comes under him right now, because he wants it--

Tony comes with a jagged yell, trailing off into sharp groans on each stroke as Steve finishes himself off, rocking Tony's body back and forth, losing his grip on his wrists--

Steve's on all fours over him, sliding slowly out. Staring down at him as he tries to figure out whether it's time to think again yet.

Tony grabs his face with shaking hands and kisses him. Fierce at first, then trailing off long and slow and sweet. Their lips part softly, and Tony whispers, breath hot on his face, "That was so fucking fantastic."

Tony seems to think it's time to talk again. "Yeah," he manages.

"We should do that again. Lots. Fuck. You liked it? I mean--"

Steve eases back to sit on him, strokes a hand slowly through his sweaty hair, down the side of his face. The more he thinks about it, the more it scares him. How much he'd liked pinning him down and-- "Yeah."

Tony smiles, wriggles until he rolls off of him, lets him dispose of the condom, and curls around him like a purring cat. "So," he says with a sleepy chuckle, "that's what happens if you do that. Fuck."

Steve hugs him close, lets his head fall back on a pillow, and, well, he'll have to give it a lot more thought later; but, really, it's been a long, long time since he's let fear do anything to him. Right now, it's just Tony in his arms, shameless, twisted, wonderful Tony, and that's exactly what he wants.


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