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“I can’t,” Tony breathes, voice cracking over the vowel and ending in an aborted sob.
“Shh, you can,” Steve says, raking a hand back through Tony’s hair. It’s sweaty, tangling into knots against his fingers. Tony whimpers at the tug of it; Steve’s beatific smile sharpens, and he tightens his grip into a fist.
Tony’s whole body shudders within the confines of his binding, muscles going taut against a beautiful roped latticework of knots and crossovers.
It is Steve’s turn to shudder at the sight, though he suppresses it, takes a breath and maintains stillness. Tony is the one who’ll fall apart; he is here to be the rock against which Tony breaks.
“I can’t, please, I’m gonna come,” Tony pleads, voice strung tight with cresting tension.
Steve dips down slowly, eyes locked to Tony’s, and kisses him until he’s gasping right into Steve’s mouth. The angle of Tony’s jawline fits nicely into Steve’s cupped palm, and the way his stubble scrapes over Steve’s thumb as he strokes it in a gentle arc over Tony’s cheek makes arousal spark hot as a live wire through Steve’s groin.
“You’re not, because I haven’t told you to,” Steve murmurs, breathing the words against the side of Tony’s throat as he mouths down the column of it. He pushes the flat of his palm all the way down Tony’s stomach and over the jut of his hipbone, then wraps his fingers in a loose, lazy circle around Tony’s straining cock and strokes once. “You can wait. You can be good for me. You always are, aren’t you?“
Tony nods furiously, gasps something broken that might be yes.
Excellent.
The plug has been vibrating inside Tony now for what seems an interminable stretch of time. Steve tsks sympathetically, then sucks Tony’s earlobe through his teeth and worries at it as he slides his fist slow as can be over Tony’s cock again, spiraling up and sweeping his palm over the head of it. Tony’s hips stutter violently, and another thick spurt of precome moistens Steve’s fingers.
When he pulls back to kiss the creases at the corners of Tony’s eyes, his lips come away wet.
"Ah, god, that’s perfect,” he sighs, nuzzling at Tony’s temple as Tony’s breathing kicks up into a rapid, shallow pant. “Look at you. Just gorgeous. All trussed up and dying to come undone, aren’t you.”
Again, Tony nods, but this time, he’s too bold, trying intentionally to buck up into Steve’s fist.
Steve takes his hand away, shooting Tony a nonplussed look as he shifts, still fully clothed in the tux he’d worn to the gala, down further on the mattress. “You know better than that, don’t you? Didn’t I ask you to be still?”
“Sorry, I’m sorry, Steve, please, please, I didn’t–”
“I think I’ll have a taste of you, since you’re dripping everywhere anyway. Such a mess.”
Tony absolutely keens, cock jerking hard through the wet smear he’s made across his belly already, and Steve’s gaze goes dark as his lips part in anticipation.
“Be. Still.”
Tony actually sobs in earnest this time, shoulders hitching up and face contorting in a heady mix of arousal and frustration and a desperate desire to please him. It’s a hell of a thing, watching him struggle to overcome his body’s demands and find the will to settle into motionlessness (trembling doesn’t count; Steve gives it a pass), but he does it, and the thrill of pride that suffuses through Steve is worth every bit of restraint he himself is exerting at the moment.
He takes Tony’s face in both his hands and bends to kiss him sweet and slow. “God, I love you,” he whispers, feeling Tony’s shaky smile curling against his lips. “Soon as I get my mouth on you, you’re free to come.”
It’s a near thing, but Tony, stubborn and tenacious and determined as he is, actually manages to wait until Steve’s got him swallowed all the way down to the root to lose the battle, and Steve moans around him appraisingly for the duration.