Not that it really could have been offsetting enough the first time you met. (Getting fried aliens dropped on you while you're trying to protect your neighborhood in some sort of overwhelming invasion by a man made of metal whom you never knew existed before is not the most favorable way to learn about Tony Stark.) Plus, he's just not your type. You know there's good in him, but. You know. There's also a lot of other stuff.

And Steve, Steve is a totally different story. Steve is something that makes you a little uncomfortable for all the wrong-right-don't-ask-don't-tell reasons. Tony's not that bad either. He just knows how to say exactly the wrong thing at exactly the right time.

Point left standing, as much as Tony insists you must be, you're not running into them on purpose. You didn't even mind the first time or two. Went as far as to appreciate it. Sometimes it was hard going to school looking like you'd walked through a food processor; it was nice to have a clear face for a week or so; sort of nice to have some help in the heavy fights. Those first couple times were pleasant. Wham-bam-thank you, ma'ams in the most diplomatic sense the city of New York would ever host.

And then Iron Man tries to get your mask off.

"Just leave it," you say, swatting his hand away and bruising your knuckles. His mask shoots up into his helmet and his smile is…offsetting. The man is offsetting. Everything about him from the time you met him to now, no matter what was in-between, has suddenly become offsetting.

"Tony," Steve might be trying to huff in the background, but it's not doing anything so to you it doesn't exist. Captain America is not doing anything and Tony Offsetting Stark is in your personal space. Your spandex is heating up; you're blushing down to your nipples and you're this close to webbing him in the face. Right where his mask should be. Doesn't this man care about identity? Doesn't he care at all?

"Oh, come on. I care about your face. I'll even show you mine," he laughs, trying to be classy and coming off as something else. Not flirty. Too far. Steve is by his side, approaching the situation and finally becoming something real to you. Finally doing something about it.


And now he disappears again.

"What's your name?" The playboy reaches out with a mechanized hand, fingers grazing your shoulder as you duck out from under him. His arm drops and he shrugs. "I'll have you know, I like winning games like these."

You're away from him, on top of the building before he can finish his sentence. He could follow you if he wanted. He could follow you to the ends of the world if he wanted to. You're certain he has enough private jets to do it. But rather, he stays (you hear his mask falling into place with a heavy, metal resound). Steve's boots echo dully across the ally and you remember that your petty thief is down there still, unconscious probably and off in a corner where forgetting about him is an excusable offense.

Steve's disapproval is thick. "Think you were obvious enough?"

Not that you run into them on purpose from now on. You just listen to the news and police scanners a lot more. Or, you know. The ones that overlap with some Avengers' frequencies. Not all of them, of course. God forbid they all stay in one city. But. Mostly the ones that. You know. Have a certain New York around them, and maybe. Just maybe. A certain Captain on them.

And then, by default, Tony Stark, who finds new ways to put his hands on you every time you see him. Which manages to get Steve a little more flustered with him every time you leave. It's a pretty familiar situation somehow; probably just because you've done it plenty of times. Ruffled both of their feathers; not entirely on purpose, but.

It's familiar. Like Uncle Ben and Aunt May familiar. Like. Oh. Yeah. Exactly like that, actually. Except neither Aunt May nor Uncle Ben ever, to your knowledge, went on flirting, overtly flirting, with some teenage superhero right in front of the other. To your awareness. You concede that you may be wrong, but this is a rather unique situation to you. You assess the papers and the radios a little harder knowing that one of these days, you're going to swing in on a Captain America solo-round.

Not that this was what you had in mind when you figured you'd drop in, help mop floors and have a heart-to-heart. You've never been good at multi-tasking, or double-dutch for that matter, so why jumping into a fight and trying to explain yourself at the same time was ever a good idea, you're not quite sure. But here you are on a very nice couch in a very tall tower with very wide windows, and hey, is that your house from here? "So," Steve begins politely, lips pursed a little like he doesn't know whether or not he's going to like where you're taking this.

You dip your fingers up into your mask, trying to get some air onto the skin of your neck. You're uncomfortable. You want a way in. An elevator door sets off a tone and you turn your head, seeing the man behind the "iron mask" like you've never seen him before. Something about the mannerisms less weighted by tons of suit and the fact that the pictures in the magazines can't really move or hell. It could just be that you never knew a scientist of any nature could look like that.

You want. Or at least, there's gotta be. A way in.

And Tony is the one you know is gonna give it to you. Which was why you came home with Steve who had been so worried about the concussion he's certain you have despite the numerous concussions in your life you should have had that you haven't, so you're just here trying to tell him about how you're totally up for it now that you know about them. Never mind that you don't totally know if he is.

"What a pleasant surprise. Drink?"

"No alcohol," Steve firmly instructs, rising from his seat and meandering over to the bar. "I'm afraid he might be hurt."


"Concussed," you clarify.

"Oh," Tony accepts with a wink and the trickle of whiskey into a glass over two ice cubes. Only one glass. At least the Mighty Iron Man listens to somebody. You sink into your seat on the couch, trying to feel comfortable despite your messy suit, your mask getting tighter with every resounding second and both pairs of eyes on you.

You tell them very quickly why you're here. You expect to tell them and leave. You have school tomorrow, probably. You ask them what day it is. Well, then. Tomorrow, you should probably go with Aunt May to church or something. There has to be something going on that you'll miss if you stay.

Not that you wanted it off tonight.

Steve's eyes dropped the moment he saw your face, and now his hand is over his mouth thoughtfully and he's staring down the floor. Tony hasn't stopped touching you since he pulled it off and threw it across the room. Mostly, his hand has been on your jaw, making sure you're always looking exactly where he wants you to be looking. Mostly at him. But for good portions of time, also at Steve.

What time is it? They tell you in unison. Two forty-eight in the morning. You really need to be going. You have to take your aunt to church tomorrow.

"Or you could stay with us." You both look at Tony when he says it. Sort of like I said what you were all thinking and you're probably scowling; perhaps pouting. You pull at the spandex on your fingers anxiously. You wanted to get home and get out of this grimy suit hours ago. You were just going to talk to Steve and not manage to fall for the Stark charm. You were going to find a way into this that didn't involve instant gratification for any parties involved, but here you are with two fingers on your lips and they aren't Tony's.

You open your mouth to them immediately and Steve's eyes narrow.

You might not be making it home tonight.

Not that you liked that particular suit, anyways. It only took you that long to make it and keep it maintained. But it's pretty tattered, and not just from the fight, and there you are on the edge of a bed, your lips kiss-bruised and cock stiff and swollen against your stomach, having a very serious conversation about whether or not you want to do this tonight. You're looking between the two Avengers like they're made of answers written in Spanish, and the English translation setting is turned off.

Steve was never insistent. Tony has ceased to be Tony and is, well. Honestly, he's taking something seriously for once. You're a little bit shocked by it, but you'd rather this than the oversexed rutting you three had been doing just minutes prior.

"We're very sorry. We didn't know you were a virgin."

And Tony breaks then and there, smiling and making a wry comment about your age and connecting it to how much they should have guessed. You gather up the pieces of your suit, grab your backpack and leave barefoot. You don't even want to walk all the way to where you took your shoes off and left them. You find a window, shove through it and take off through the night.

Not that you were planning on never coming back, but the shock on their faces is fitting. You're waiting for someone to let you in, but you don't know how they're going to do this. They probably won't break a window like you did leaving, since it looks like said window was just recently repaired. Tony motions idly with a finger towards a certain direction, and upon straddling the building far enough over, you find a balcony. Tony followed by Steve meet you there moments after your arrival.

"Feeling better?"

"Tony." Steve's voice is firm, something that tells you he wants you here. You look at Tony. He wants you here, too. You finger the edges of your cowl, promising to be more gentle with your newly repaired suit.

"I'm feeling a lot better."

Their open arms try to lead you inside, but you just push your mask halfway up your face and capture the lips closest to your own. Tony almost says something; tastes like expensive alcohol and exhaust fumes. Slight hint of new car. He pushes the mask off completely and tangles his fingers in your hair, pulls you close with his entire arm, whispers into your opening mouth how glad he is you came back. It ceases to be sexy when he starts to make conversation about how the streets have been so void of meeting opportunities, and Steve steps in to shut him up.

Effectively, of course.

It almost seems as though they've had years of practice, but from the articles you've read compulsively about them, they've only known each other for a few months. Such dynamics you're trying to insert yourself into. A moment of doubt overcomes you. You step back, out of the grip Tony still has around your waist. Close to the edge. You could always watch.

They lead you inside. Take your suit off gently. Offer you a drink; Steve declines to give you alcohol, now that he's seen your age. You meander to where you know a bedroom is while Tony and Steve discuss in lowered voices. Something about being relaxed and biochemical bodily reactions to ethanol. You smile at them when they finally join you on the bed. You're kissed by someone.

"You guys gotta promise to be gentle."

You've never sounded like this before. You don't entirely like it. But you can't help it, so when they match gazes and smile like you're a four-year-old testing out your first swear word, you're almost insulted. Fortunately, someone has the right timing to lay you down onto he bed and love your lips in a tango of a kiss. Tango being an unapt term for what it is because you're never quite sure who you're kissing, the way they're handing you off as a baton in a footrace.

One has his lips on your throat and the other has his lips between your legs, below your balls, trying to get you to keep trembling. If the facial hair is anything to go by, you're certain that's Tony. One of them pushes himself up and you stare into the darkness until you can tell that you're looking Captain America in the eyes. You reach up, awkwardly, and you suddenly don't have anything to do with your hand; it lands on his shoulder.

He kisses you, hard, and you slide your hand down his back so you're pulling him closer, and he's sort of against you, sort of across you while Tony's mouthing the base of your cock, and you can't help the whining moan that escapes your open throat. It may be conspiracy, but Steve probably tongued your tonsils right at that exact moment on purpose.

They tag-team you into next week. One comes up and one goes down and sometimes, when they really feel like testing the sound barrier, they get real close together and start teasing the same spot. Like your thighs. Steve found out that your thighs are sensitive and Tony couldn't wait to play with you for himself, so where before he was just whispering sexy nothings into your ear, he was then tonguing you right where it counted and neither of them seemed content to stop and let you breathe.

All in all, you're wound up. They've kissed you everywhere; they've touched you twice over and you're dying to get this on with. The anticipation is murder. You say so. They share a glance. You sit up on your elbows and think for a minute, and then realize that what they're silently communicating about is pretty obvious.

But Steve says it before you do. "How is this gonna work?"

Tony smiles. You can feel it in the air. "Lay down." Steve hesitates before obeying, and you probably know where it's going from here. Porn, though not the best teacher, seems an adequate preparation for a Tony Stark and Steve Rogers romp, so you might as well have been training your whole life to be here right now. You could be an Olympian, climbing up the Captain's body like this, lips bitten under your own teeth as you anxiously make your way up to his waiting kiss. Tony's hands smooth up and down your back. He fits himself against you, lowering you down onto Steve's chest. They're both so thick around you; you feel them everywhere.

"This is how we're gonna do this," Tony breathes as he mouths at the shell of your ear.

Steve sits up, pushing you all against one another, and while he reaches across the bed and into the bedside table, you back yourself into Tony and he folds himself around you. You can feel him right up the line of you, rubbing abrasively. In the distance, Steve is moaning.

"Just…hold on, guys. Give me a second." Tony is not any form of comfort behind you. You're actually a little bit scared. His hands are always moving and you're mostly focused on Steve's fingers stilled deep inside of you, but Tony is not giving you an opportunity to just settle in.

"Take all the time you need," he says, arms around you as his hands move up and down the insides of you thighs. Steve slowly flexes, pushing a little further into you, and it feels pretty good. You shimmy down further onto his hand and try not to jump when Tony tweaks your nipple. If you thought he would pay attention to you, you'd shoot him a dirty look. (But you're not stupid; you learn a quick lesson, and the last time you turned to look at him, he kissed you until you'd forgotten what you had to say.)

"I think I'm ready for another one."

Steve gently and quietly slips one more finger in, and you wonder what you were thinking. He doesn't move, so someone in this room can take a hint, but it's still a little more than you thought you were asking for. You know, until he pushes them all the way in. And your body just…says yes. Something about it is perfect, and you open your clenched eyes to look at Steve and he just looks like he knows what he's doing. He asks something, you nod, you don't know what he's saying but he keeps going so you know you just got the answer right.

Tony starts sucking on your neck and you gasp for breath. You shrug him off and you pull yourself away from Steve's fingers, and both of them lean towards you. You fumble for purchase on Steve's moving shoulders and when you have it, you reach down and grasp his arousal in a tight fist. He gapes, stops and nods, hands scrambling for the lube. You rest your head in the crook of his neck.

It's not as bad as you thought it would be. Yeah, it sucks, and it's nothing like what you thought your first time would feel like, but the look on Steve's face and the gentleness with which Tony is finally handling you and the way it feels like it might get better. You feel like it probably will.

And it does. It does because you're being kissed everywhere; you're not losing your balance anymore; you feel like you want it to keep going. It's not very fast. In fact, it's not really your pace, but it's one that you agree with. The hands on your hips are making it just right for you. The hands on your waist are comfortable and it seems like this is exactly how it was supposed to work out. Until Tony shakes it up, of course.

Not like that isn't his job. You bite your lip and make a couple sounds you're not proud of, but that's a finger sliding along the already stretched rim of your entrance. Steve seems equally as affected and pushes in a little too hard his next thrust, and Tony doesn't take a hint. You're tense, now. It's a little overwhelming. You can't figure out how much you like it, but you're almost certain you do. You're definitely harder. You don't know how much of this you can stand, but all too soon, you don't have to.

Tony pushes the finger inside. You cry out, not gentle with your voice. What are you doing, you try to ask, but it's hard to speak. Steve is moving, but slower now, tentative, not looking at you but over your shoulder at his partner behind you. You're not comfortable anymore. You don't want this. Tony pushes another finger in and you shake your head.


"Just give it a second, kid, it'll feel a lot better–"

"No, stop–"


And you do. For a second. Steve stops completely. You hold onto his shoulders tight enough to make him wince. You let go a little. Tony is the only one moving, only one breathing in this room. You can feel his fingers moving inside of you alongside Steve, can feel the pulse beneath the very pads of his fingers. Everything is intense. "I don't know if I can do this," you admit.

"Just…c'mon, kid, just give it a try." He's not giving you an out and even Steve is starting to offer alternatives, but Tony quiets both of you by adding another finger.

When you think about it, it's kind of like when Steve was fingering you. Just succession. Tony's trying to get you to realize this. It's sort of working. "Alright. Okay," you mutter, nodding and beginning to sort of ride both of them, sort of until they both put their hands on you and still you until Tony can curl his fingers, move his hand and stretch you in ways you don't particularly like. Pull his hand out and send your heart scattering beats like BBs. You're not sure if you can do this again. Tony doesn't ask you for an opinion. He takes your ass in his hands, spreading the cheeks and whistling sweet and low. You shiver, feeling the head pressed in the junction of your entrance and Steve's shaft. It's uncomfortable.

It's in. Both of them are in. And it sucks. You're shaking your head probably, or maybe just shaking all over. You look over your shoulder, down your back to where your realize that it's not even as in as it feels, which might make it hurt a little bit more. You look up at Tony, who raises his eyebrows at you but at least doesn't kiss your open mouth (and you appreciate that). When you look down at Steve, his face is pinched. You place your trembling hand as close to his cheek as you feel comfortable and it lands on his neck. He pulls you down for a kiss that leaves your teeth numb.

Tony starts moving. He's still not totally in, but it's what you can handle so you don't say anything, because if there may have been a chance of this not happening before, it's certainly happening now.

And honestly, it's not as bad as it was at first. Like the whole being fucked idea. You push yourself up, off of Steve and give this thing a whole new angle and Tony grunts, bottoming out. You feel it. It's shocking. It doesn't hurt as much as it feels like that thing Steve did earlier with his fingers. With Tony all the way in you, Steve is pushing against that spot incessantly, and you somehow manage to convince them both to move. And everything is perfect.

You can't speak anymore. You can't breathe anymore. You can't move voluntarily, just tremble and writhe between the two heroes around you, inside of you, moving pistonlike back and forth, a rhythm perfected like you wouldn't expect it to be. One always pushing in while the other is pulling out. It's driving you crazy. You try to say something, an expletive that you feel being forced out of your throat, but it comes out as a whimper. You squeeze your eyes shut and pretend that nobody can hear the sounds you're making. Or feel the way you're writhing. Or see the face you know you're making.

"You like this?" Tony groans in your ear, shifting the rhythm a little bit and pushing a kiss into your temple. Steve adjusts accordingly and runs his hands up and down your thighs, your stomach. You tremble harder everywhere he touches. You're going crazy.


Under normal circumstances, like maybe a normal first time of some sort, you never would have answered that question. Then again.

"What do you want?"

"Harder," you gasp, head falling forward between your hunched shoulders. You lean down, giving both Steve and Tony a little more space to work with. They both fuck harder, and you know they would have even if you hadn't asked. They want you like this: trembling, moaning, incoherent. How long could it have taken you to realize that? You drop your head onto Steve's chest. He wraps an arm around you and holds you as hard as he knows he can. Tony does something with his hips that nobody else could and Steve just gives it to you hard and straight.

It's not driving you crazy anymore. It's driving you over the edge. Your fingers curl into their hips; one hand on Steve's, one hand on Tony's. They twist you to share kisses and pull at your limbs to find new ways to make you whine and beg. You reach to touch yourself, wanting the attention that's really going to carry you over. Tony laughs–outright laughs–and grabs you by the wrists. Steve, on cue, grabs a hold of your cock himself. It's perfect, like everything else.

You gasp, you tense, you release.

Somewhere in the background, Tony and Steve are right there with you.

"Feel free to come back by any time."

Not that you're sure whether or not you can actually leave. Handling your briefs is getting to be a problem, and you don't know if you'll ever be able to bend over far enough to pull your boots on again. Your suit is just as much a problem, and when Steve notices your trouble, he reaches forward and helps you pull. Tony returns to the room, barely clothed and holding a mug in one hand. He passes it to you, nodding at it like it doesn't matter what it is, you should just drink it anyway. Steve stands and begins searching for his own underwear.

You sip; it's hot but tastes like it might be hot chocolate. You blow on it, sip again. "Here." He hands you a couple painkillers, a small smile pulling at one corner of his lips. "Just to curb the, uh. 'Morning after' feeling."

It's a roll-your-eyes moment and you give it what it deserves, but you're also grateful. Steve, finally as barely dressed as Tony is, takes a seat beside you on the bed. "How're you feeling?"

"Fine," you admit. "Pretty good right now." You nod idly as you assess the state of your state. "That was fun."

Tony and Steve smile at each other. Walk you back out to the balcony where you're about to don the mask. Tony catches your hand and Steve, your lips. Your stomach bursts into a mess of quivering nerves. Tony kisses you next, arm smooth as mercury around your waist. "Don't forget to visit." You take off a little awkwardly, your swing just a little off as you catapult your body from line to line. You take one look back at Stark Tower before setting your eyes on the road to Queens. Turn on the Avengers' frequency when you get there. Sleep hard and wake up remembering exactly what happened last night.