Marvel Cinematic, "Out of His Head" (Tony/Bruce) - NSFW
Tony can get just about anything that he wants if he puts his mind and any effort into it. Bruce is just going to have to learn to remember that.
Contains Tony/Bruce, of a porny nature. Canon mentioned in The Incredible Hulk is used. Written for Porn Battle, to the prompts: control, other guy, pulse, experimental, rage.
.out of his head.
Tony was something of a miracle worker. Bruce knew that, because Tony had managed to talk him into sex, when Bruce was so sure that it was a terrible idea. Every time he'd tried before, his body had responded, heartrate skyrocketing and blood pumping and brain flush with chemicals, and then it had begun to twist under his skin and he had had to stop, because whatever cruel uncaring God was out there forbid that he should slip and kill someone whose only crime was wanting to give him pleasure.
But Tony had talked very fast, and rattled off a lot of explanations and theories and reassurances, and now here was Bruce, flat on his back in Tony's excessively big, excessively comfortable bed, with Tony's lips trailing over his collarbone.
So if Tony was a miracle worker who could talk him into sex, maybe Tony was a miracle worker who could have sex with him without triggering the other guy.
He just had to stay even, Bruce reminded himself, staring up at the ceiling. Level. Comfortable. As long as he didn't let the chemicals get the best of him, let his thoughts wander and his mind start to focus on the emotions roiling under the surface that he had spent decades ignoring, there was no reason he couldn't do this.
Tony bit his nipple and he jerked a little, letting out his caught breath in a huff. "Are you even getting anything out of this?" Tony asked him pointedly. "You're wound like a spring. I feel like you might suddenly go rebounding across the room. Should I put away the breakables?"
Bruce felt his lips quirk up, and he said, "No, no. It feels -- good." He ran his tongue over his lips. It felt very good. His skin was charged, his cock already hot and eager, his senses very much on board with the idea of being completely physically intimate with the most ridiculously attractive and intelligent and good-hearted man he had ever met.
"Just relax." Tony's hand skimmed over his hip, stroking down his thigh, and Bruce had to shudder, fighting a very unrelaxed urge to curl up. "Who can you trust if not the guy who ruins everything he touches, right?"
Then Bruce had to correct gently, "You're not going to ruin anything. You're too hard on yourself." That was a different man.
The danger wasn't that Tony would do something wrong. It was that Bruce wouldn't be able to handle it. It was that even now, when everything was perfect and he was warm and comfortable and Tony was crouched between his legs, there was a part of him thinking, The fault lies in the ones who let you become that way, who didn't see what you were doing and set you on the right track, the ones who wanted you to be that way because if you didn't care about anything you wouldn't ask questions and you wouldn't see what they were doing while you were off partying and killing yourself, the ones who paid you back for trying to become a better person by trying to destroy everything good left in you, what is wrong with everyone, with this whole distorted world, how did we become like this, money-hungry war-loving earth-killing callous monsters who beat and rape and stand by while others are beaten and raped--
And then he did curl up, making a highly undignified noise in his throat that dissolved into a choked laugh, and yanked his feet away from Tony's teasing fingers. Bruce demanded, "What are you doing?!"
"Just ruining the moment," Tony said nonchalantly. He moved to tickle Bruce's feet again, and Bruce rolled away. In response, Tony smacked his ass.
"Ow," Bruce snorted, mostly laughing. "See, you're -- doing a good job of that."
When Tony dove in to kiss him, fingers wrapping around his shaft, Bruce wrapped back around him, and did not even notice that the anger was gone, as if it had never been.
Contains Tony/Bruce, of a porny nature. Canon mentioned in The Incredible Hulk is used. Written for Porn Battle, to the prompts: control, other guy, pulse, experimental, rage.
.out of his head.
Tony was something of a miracle worker. Bruce knew that, because Tony had managed to talk him into sex, when Bruce was so sure that it was a terrible idea. Every time he'd tried before, his body had responded, heartrate skyrocketing and blood pumping and brain flush with chemicals, and then it had begun to twist under his skin and he had had to stop, because whatever cruel uncaring God was out there forbid that he should slip and kill someone whose only crime was wanting to give him pleasure.
But Tony had talked very fast, and rattled off a lot of explanations and theories and reassurances, and now here was Bruce, flat on his back in Tony's excessively big, excessively comfortable bed, with Tony's lips trailing over his collarbone.
So if Tony was a miracle worker who could talk him into sex, maybe Tony was a miracle worker who could have sex with him without triggering the other guy.
He just had to stay even, Bruce reminded himself, staring up at the ceiling. Level. Comfortable. As long as he didn't let the chemicals get the best of him, let his thoughts wander and his mind start to focus on the emotions roiling under the surface that he had spent decades ignoring, there was no reason he couldn't do this.
Tony bit his nipple and he jerked a little, letting out his caught breath in a huff. "Are you even getting anything out of this?" Tony asked him pointedly. "You're wound like a spring. I feel like you might suddenly go rebounding across the room. Should I put away the breakables?"
Bruce felt his lips quirk up, and he said, "No, no. It feels -- good." He ran his tongue over his lips. It felt very good. His skin was charged, his cock already hot and eager, his senses very much on board with the idea of being completely physically intimate with the most ridiculously attractive and intelligent and good-hearted man he had ever met.
"Just relax." Tony's hand skimmed over his hip, stroking down his thigh, and Bruce had to shudder, fighting a very unrelaxed urge to curl up. "Who can you trust if not the guy who ruins everything he touches, right?"
Then Bruce had to correct gently, "You're not going to ruin anything. You're too hard on yourself." That was a different man.
The danger wasn't that Tony would do something wrong. It was that Bruce wouldn't be able to handle it. It was that even now, when everything was perfect and he was warm and comfortable and Tony was crouched between his legs, there was a part of him thinking, The fault lies in the ones who let you become that way, who didn't see what you were doing and set you on the right track, the ones who wanted you to be that way because if you didn't care about anything you wouldn't ask questions and you wouldn't see what they were doing while you were off partying and killing yourself, the ones who paid you back for trying to become a better person by trying to destroy everything good left in you, what is wrong with everyone, with this whole distorted world, how did we become like this, money-hungry war-loving earth-killing callous monsters who beat and rape and stand by while others are beaten and raped--
And then he did curl up, making a highly undignified noise in his throat that dissolved into a choked laugh, and yanked his feet away from Tony's teasing fingers. Bruce demanded, "What are you doing?!"
"Just ruining the moment," Tony said nonchalantly. He moved to tickle Bruce's feet again, and Bruce rolled away. In response, Tony smacked his ass.
"Ow," Bruce snorted, mostly laughing. "See, you're -- doing a good job of that."
When Tony dove in to kiss him, fingers wrapping around his shaft, Bruce wrapped back around him, and did not even notice that the anger was gone, as if it had never been.