Work Text:
After the incident with Steve, Howard spent the next few weeks in his workroom. Despite what did not happen, he was still a defense contractor, and he had a job to do. And if that job was to make sure the man he wanted to climb into bed with was safe, well, all the better.
He practically lived in his workshop, sleeping at odd hours, eating when he remembered. For the first time in a while, his worries slipped away.
The nature of his work was top-secret, which meant nothing when you were in close quarters. He was used to people coming in and watching him work. As long as they kept quiet and didn’t touch his things, he couldn’t care less.
That’s why he didn’t look to see who had come in. He didn’t pay any attention at all, until he felt the hand on the small of his back. Something very like electricity-- shocking and hot-- ran up his spine and he gasped. He knew who it was, even without looking. He desperately wished he hadn’t stripped down to his undershirt.
Steve looked over his shoulder and made a soft, curious sound in his ear. “Just thought I’d check your progress, Mr. Stark.”
Howard swallowed hard and forced himself to not react to the warm breath on the side of his face, or the clean smell of Steve’s skin. “I’ll be done by the end of the week.”
“Oh. Good.” Steve’s hand began to move in a small circle, fingers dipping under the waistband of Howard’s pants
He tensed, his breath catching in his throat. What the hell?! Suddenly, he was angry at the game Steve was playing. “May I *help* you, Rogers?”
Steve let out a bark of laughter and brought his mouth close, so that it brushed against Howard's temple. “You’re always so ready to be helpful.”
“What…” Then he flushed when he realized what Steve was talking about. All right, bad choice of words. “I’m really very busy. And might I remind you, that all this is for you.” Steve untucked his shirt and slowly ran a hand over the skin of his back; Howard shivered at that.
“But what about you? Who helps you, Mr. Stark?”
“I’m rich, if I need help, I hire it.” There. He made it perfectly clear that Steve should get lost.
Only, instead of getting lost, Steve slid both hands around him and rested them on his belt buckle. “I think that some things are better left to friends. Don’t you?”
If he said no, Steve would step back, maybe stammer an apology, and go pine after Carter. A good man, an unselfish man, would make sure that happened. “Yes.”
He was a terrible person and it didn’t matter because Steve was unbuckling his belt and fumbling with the fastenings of his pants. He turned his head slightly, to look at Steve, to see the slight flush on his cheeks and the crook of his mouth that said he was concentrating.
Howard was just about to ask if there was a problem when Steve ripped open the fabric and slid his hand in. He’d been hard since the very beginning, so when Steve touched his dick, he let out a curse and thrust.
Steve gave a soft cry of his own, his free hand splayed against Howard's belly, as he pulled him close. His hand was big on Howard’s dick, big and too tight. But Howard couldn’t complain because it was Steve. Steve was touching him, stroking him, rubbing his thumb against the wet head of his dick.
His breath was loud to his own ears and he was making these embarrassing sounds: low whines and desperate moans. And he kept rubbing his ass against Steve's erection, then pushing into his hand. He could have stayed like that forever, pleasure washing over him with every stroke of Steve's hand. It was better than fantasy because all his senses were engaged.
“Am I... Am I doing this right?” Steve asked, in a soft, breathless voice.
He would have laughed, but he was too busy moaning. “P-perfect. You’re perfect.”
“Should I do more? Maybe put my fingers inside of you?”
Howard was already on a hair-trigger and that image was enough to set him off. He cried out, hands clenching the worktable in front of him, his whole body alive with pleasure. He was sure he said some rather unfortunate things, but he wasn’t worried. Steve wasn’t the type to hold that against a person.
When Steve let him go and gave him some room, Howard slumped against the table, panting harshly. He needed a nap. And a bath. It took a few minutes before he could stand without his knees shaking. He turned to look at Steve; it was a gorgeous sight.
Steve was disheveled, his face still flushed and sweaty, his chest heaving, his erection tenting the front of his pants. It made Howard want to stride over and kiss him. So he did.
Or, he tried, but Steve turned his head at the last moment. Ah. Yes. He swallowed back the bitter taste of disappointment and smiled. “Now what can I do for you?”
Steve smiled back.”I’m fine.”
“Really? You don’t look fine. You look like you’re in distress.” He reached down and rubbed the heel of his hands against said distress, eliciting a moan from Steve. “Besides, I owe you a debt of gratitude. And my father taught me that a good businessman always pays off his debts.”
“No debt. It was just a friend helping a friend.” Steve pressed into his hand.
“All right then. So am I.“ He gave Steve his most charming smile. It might have worked, except a moment later the doorknob rattled and Phillips was shouting that he wanted to know why the door was locked and that Howard had better be working.
Steve fled as soon as he could.
It was frustrating, damn frustrating, but less so than a few hours ago. He had hope now, now that he knew that Steve wasn’t a lost cause. Howard was a very good businessman, and he was used to getting what he wanted. Steve didn’t have a chance.