He meant it metaphorically, in the most positive way possible. Although, in an awful, dark, sad way, Steve does associate dying with not-alone. What he started to tell Tony earlier, and never got the words out, was how light it felt, dancing on the edge of darkness with the Winter Soldier seconds away from cracking his skull. Light, and safe; Bucky was there, so it was going to be all right, no matter what happened...
In a way, this is an echo of that, without the violence. They have nothing left to lose, nothing to return to whether they succeed or fail. But Tony's here.
Maybe it can still be all right, no matter what happens.
He doesn't want to let go. Emotional pain starts to dissolve and blur into the physical pleasure, and Steve feels lightheaded, shaky fingertips kneading Tony's skin as he kisses and licks his neck and shoulders because that's all of him he can reach without changing positions. Tony is all around him, squeezing his cock, pressed into his chest, holding his hand, claiming and being claimed all at once.
In light of the encouragement, he's able to tune out the equations, but if Tony's being talkative, so is Steve, if somewhat more quietly, gasping out endearments he normally wouldn't utter aloud, especially to Tony Stark: 'sweetheart' and 'baby' and 'angel'. He's semi-delirious, it's so good, and the noises Tony makes break his heart wide open. It's wonder he's not bleeding out right here, joy and need staining the Egyptian cotton sheets beneath them.
He has enough sense to guess that Tony will need his hand to get to climax, but that presents a minor dilemma, because he doesn't want to loosen his grip on him in any way. At last he relents, though, sliding his hand down his belly, stroking fingertips through curls of hair before wrapping them around his cock.
Then it's Steve that's whimpering, tiny desperate noises against Tony's skin. "Sshh, shh, I've got you, it's okay, I'm here, Tony, please, please let me--"
When he comes, he makes sounds that aren't even sounds at all, just gasps and wheezes, like the air has been punched out of him, shuddering like it's too much pleasure for his body to handle.
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In a way, this is an echo of that, without the violence. They have nothing left to lose, nothing to return to whether they succeed or fail. But Tony's here.
Maybe it can still be all right, no matter what happens.
He doesn't want to let go. Emotional pain starts to dissolve and blur into the physical pleasure, and Steve feels lightheaded, shaky fingertips kneading Tony's skin as he kisses and licks his neck and shoulders because that's all of him he can reach without changing positions. Tony is all around him, squeezing his cock, pressed into his chest, holding his hand, claiming and being claimed all at once.
In light of the encouragement, he's able to tune out the equations, but if Tony's being talkative, so is Steve, if somewhat more quietly, gasping out endearments he normally wouldn't utter aloud, especially to Tony Stark: 'sweetheart' and 'baby' and 'angel'. He's semi-delirious, it's so good, and the noises Tony makes break his heart wide open. It's wonder he's not bleeding out right here, joy and need staining the Egyptian cotton sheets beneath them.
He has enough sense to guess that Tony will need his hand to get to climax, but that presents a minor dilemma, because he doesn't want to loosen his grip on him in any way. At last he relents, though, sliding his hand down his belly, stroking fingertips through curls of hair before wrapping them around his cock.
Then it's Steve that's whimpering, tiny desperate noises against Tony's skin. "Sshh, shh, I've got you, it's okay, I'm here, Tony, please, please let me--"
When he comes, he makes sounds that aren't even sounds at all, just gasps and wheezes, like the air has been punched out of him, shuddering like it's too much pleasure for his body to handle.