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Tony’s hands are hot against his skin.
Steve was so used to being cold all the time in his keep, even with the largest hearth in the entire keep and heaviest wools and plushest furs to sit on his thin shoulders. Even in the summer months when the sun burned hottest, he could be seen in his long sleeved cottons, rubbing his hands together to keep warmth in his winter bones. In the cold months, as they are in now, he could sometimes hardly stand to breathe with the weight of the quilts and pelts he’d needed to sleep under to keep warm.
Here, within Tony’s den, on the finest sheets money could ever buy, with not a stitch to cover his skin, he is warm. He is warm and Tony’s heat over him makes him burn with need and passion. It’s something he’s never felt before in all of his life, the desire as he feels right now.
He never would have guessed before. When Tony first came to Brooklyn’s keep, everyone had known what was to happen and Steve had trembled at his mother’s side. Trembled with anger. He had never liked the dragon-kin. Monsters of the Mountains. With their wealth and arrogant behavior, they were insufferable, but then the fact that every so often, one would leave their ornate cave and demand a prince or princess as a companion in exchange for their benevolence, left a fowl taste in Steve’s mouth.
Dragon-kin were no more than bullies.
And when the large, but sleek dragon with scale of crimson and gold landed in the fields beyond the wall, Steve was torn between begging his mother to refuse the dragon a place at their table and running to his best friend and telling the knight that they were to leave immediately and ride towards the northern woods until the dragon got it in his head that Steve wanted no part in this. One look at his people, the lords and ladies of the lands, all of them looking to him and his mother, worried and scared, and he’d known he could never do either. It would be unfair to them.
To say nothing of the fact that as sickly as he was, the dragon would likely seek his prize elsewhere.
But they’d gone to meet and extend their welcome to him as the gates were raised to admit the dragon in his human skin.
Anthony of the Stark Mountains, the tallest and most enchanted range in all the kingdoms. He’d smiled at them all and bowed graciously to Steve and his mother. He was a menace and he’d been dead set on taking Steve to his den, as a consort he’d made sure to clarify, not a companion. Not even when Steve had fallen ill with flu could he be dissuaded. In fact, Tony had merely sent for the strongest elixirs to battle his sickness.
Tony had won him over somewhat before they left, but Steve still considered the possibility that it was little more than a ruse and it had been with a heavy heart that he dressed in all his furs, packed his most prized possessions, and hugged his mother and Bucky goodbye. He’d been sad to leave Brooklyn, his home for so long and he would miss everyone within the walls.
And he does miss them, but he now realizes that such goodbyes are not forever as his dragon is more than willing to tote them back and forth across the open plains so that Steve may see his home and, though it had been more begrudgingly agreed to, he has agreed to let visitors inside his den. Tony will keep him comfortable and happy because Tony is a product of an unhappy union between dragon-kin and consort. Tony is devoted and funny, and he works hard with the fires of the earth to forge finest metal works for the creatures of the Stark Mountains and beyond.
And Tony keeps him sated in ways he never could have imagined. The scrape of his facial hair against the small of his back, his scorching breath heating his skin, and his hands…Oh, his hands. Steve could write entire sonnets just about his hand, calloused, dexterous, gentle. Steve loves them, love how they hold him close and hold him down, how the grip tight to him when he is sad and trace softly when he first wakes.
He’s melting inside. He melts and there are blizzards beyond the cave walls. It’s such a strange turn of events and he can’t help moaning as Tony’s hands expose his hole to him. He shivers as his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin, pressing his face into the soft, cool silk of the bed sheets. The sheets do nothing to quiet his cries of pleasure when his dragon drags his tongue over the puckered skin, hands massaging his cheeks. Steve is easily lost every time Tony does this, engulfed in the heat his lover exudes.
Steve’d been a virgin when Tony had come for him and it had only been a few short months ago that Tony had open his eyes and body to the carnal delights of being a consort to dragon-kin. He’s yet to regret it.
He’s hard between thighs, aching with want. His dragon has had him in a state of arousal ever since supper. He’d been showing off everything he’d done that afternoon in his forge, the delicate nature of the tools he had made for healers, the fine metal ropes that could steady ships at the harbors in the strongest of storms, and the smallest gears for the smallest machines Steve couldn’t even begin to imagine. The show of brilliance always has Steve squirming in his chair and, worse, Tony is more than aware of that fact.
“Oh!” Steve can’t help the delighted little noise, pushing back against Tony’s strong hands trying to get more as his dragon points his very talented tongue and teases into his body. To his dismay, Tony holds him still as he has every time Steve has become impatient with need. He swears, violently, and very unbefitting for a prince of Brooklyn, but it’s only his dragon here to hear and he feels more than hears him chuckling, the vibrations of it dancing up his spine as Tony works him open with his tongue.
And then it’s gone, so suddenly Steve feels a sob frustration pulled from his throat as he looks back over his shoulder so quickly, he almost cricks his neck. Glaring, he curses the other man, growling out, “Why did you stop?”
“Patience, my pet. It’s all about patience,” Tony all but purrs. His eyes practically glow, the fire inside him always brighter when they’re together like this. His hands still knead Steve’s flesh, holding him exposed but nothing more.
Steve whines, pressing his head back down to their sheets. “You are a bastard.”
“By your societal standards perhaps,” Tony retorts immediately, sliding one hand down his spine and sending goose bumps over Steve’s entire body. How he loves those hands. “By dragon standards, there are no such things. Offspring are offspring. One is not less than another because they are born outside a silly ceremony.”
Steve shakes his head, hands tight in silk sheets as he fights the urge to turn around and take care of Tony’s incessant need to speak at the most inopportune times. “No. No! No lessons of dragon sociology right now! Fucking now. Lessons later.”
His dragon laughs, breathing something in his father’s native language. Steve is still learning all the nuances of it, but he’s pretty sure he’s just been called a needful, little human. Either that or a dreadful, little pumpkin. Steve is not sure which is worse. It doesn’t really matter so long as he gets what he wants, and Tony has made sure that Steve gets all that his heart and body could desire, and sometimes more than Steve could ever hope to desire.
Warm oil drizzles over his entrance, sudden but relieving, and Steve relaxes into the sheets again as Tony’s fingers catch the trailing liquid and pick up where his tongue had left off, pressing into his body and working him open for more. Steve lets out a thankful moan, subconsciously spreading his knees further apart, unashamed of himself or the open way he wants Tony. Only his dragon has ever incited such a reaction from him, made him feel this alive, like there is fire inside him too, instead of only sickness and cold bones.
This time, Tony does not stop him from pushing back, from searching for more, and though he teases still, driving Steve further out of his mind with pleasure, he does not shy away from giving him what he needs. Two fingers inside him, glancing over that special place within him that always makes his breath leave him and his cock jerk. Three fingers stretching him just that little bit more, the ache of it thrumming within him and waking his voice again until he is pleading for Tony to take him.
And bless the monster he finally, finally does. Tony takes his fingers away and crawls over him, all his heat and passion wrapped around him and caging him in. There’s a small pause, during which time Steve barely holds himself still, but then finally, Steve feels the head of Tony’s cock against his hole, hot and wet with oils and other fluids that probably shouldn’t arouse Steve the way it does. And when he presses in, filling him up completely, Steve feels like the world holds still for one perfect moment.
Tony brings his hand up, nudging Steve’s fingers out of the sheets to wrap together, Steve’s on top to keep from crushing delicate bone. And he holds on tight to the anchor his dragon provides as Tony moves, steady and firm, building them up with patience Steve can hardly comprehend in times like these, especially with how kinetic his lover is at all other times. He holds on and gasps for breath, moans and curses escaping him as Tony fucks him deeper, strokes effortlessly against his sweet spot.
Steve meets him as well as he can, but he’s small and the way Tony has him across the bed makes it hard, keeps him at his mercy. It is always a surprisingly easy position to find himself in, to be under his dragon’s control. Tony has never abused the power and after so many months as Tony’s consort, he fully believes that he won’t.
Hot breath is at the back of his neck, like fire against his skin. He imagines he can smell the smoke and embers, the ease with which Tony could burn down everything in this large cave sending shivers through his body. He closes his eyes, squeezing his lover’s hand tight as everything within him coils up tensely inside him. Gritting his teeth, he tries to hold on, but Tony will have none of it. He grips Steve’s fingers hard, the sound of their skin together almost loud enough to drown out his dragon’s breathing and the whimpers Steve can’t hold back.
When he releases, it is like a wildfire inside him, burning hot under his skin and roaring in his ears. He cries out, and feels like the sheets might rip under his brittle, winter grip. He feels powerful and strong, more than his fragile body would have limit him to. He feels strong enough to be a dragon-kin’s consort.
He’s hardly begun recovering from such powerful sensations when his lover finds his own release inside him, hot seed marking him, claiming him. He belongs to Tony. He is Tony’s.
Steve stays still for long moments, eyes still closed, and breathing in the imagined smell of fire and smoke, letting it lull him, letting it calm everything inside him. Fire has always been comforting to him. It has always meant warmth and survival. Mender Erskine used to say that if it hadn’t been for the summer months, he would have been lost to sickness when he was born. He’d spent twenty years of his life with ice in his bones, and now finally, he feels like a summer child.
Like Dragon-Kin, some tired part of his mind whispers.