[ He'll regret sending it in the morning, but only a little bit - mostly for the 'byes', since he never knows how to bookend a thought. He's got the beginning, he's got the middle, and he doesn't know how it ends because he doesn't want it to: he wants that feeling to stretch on and on like driving at night on an empty freeway.
He follows Tony's lead, reposed on his side, leg propped up against Tony's chest. He could lean over as far as he wants; Steve is flexible, and something about the angle at which he's reclining and the thin sheen of sweat forming on his skin puts his muscles in sharp relief, each inhale carving out more of his abdomen than should be legal.
And when Tony sinks into him, he feels like he can't breathe, his brows knit tightly, his nerves alight. He doesn't feel any pain, but there's so much pressure from how Tony fills him up, he can hardly place a coherent thought in his head besides "Tony," and that's what he says, over and over again, losing a little breath each time. ]
Move.
[ Finally, another thought. He shifts his hips and feels shivers across his whole body. ]
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He follows Tony's lead, reposed on his side, leg propped up against Tony's chest. He could lean over as far as he wants; Steve is flexible, and something about the angle at which he's reclining and the thin sheen of sweat forming on his skin puts his muscles in sharp relief, each inhale carving out more of his abdomen than should be legal.
And when Tony sinks into him, he feels like he can't breathe, his brows knit tightly, his nerves alight. He doesn't feel any pain, but there's so much pressure from how Tony fills him up, he can hardly place a coherent thought in his head besides "Tony," and that's what he says, over and over again, losing a little breath each time. ]
Move.
[ Finally, another thought. He shifts his hips and feels shivers across his whole body. ]
Please move.