((Warnings: This story involves people under the influence of alcohol in sexual situations, and are therefore unable to give reasoned consent. All parties involved in these situations are in committed relationships, and would likely be getting it on with or without the influence of alcohol, but please take care in relation to your own limits. ))
“Call,” Steve said, and his voice was unaccountably triumphant.
Tony tossed his cards out, and watched as Steve studied them, his face scrunched up in concentration. He looked at the cards in his hands, then back at Tony’s cards. Tony leaned back and let this play out. It was a nice view, since he’d managed to win most of Steve’s clothes off of him.
Of course, he was missing far more of his own clothes than he’d anticipated, because despite his drunken state, Steve was a damn good poker player. If he could concentrate on not discarding the wrong cards for more than a hand at a time, he’d be a force to reckon with.
As it was, he mostly naked and having a hard time sitting up.
“I win,” Steve burst out, head snapping up. He grinned at Tony, wide and bright.
“Not saying that you haven’t won,” Tony said carefully. “But I’m gonna need to see your cards to decide that.” Steve pointed. “No, baby, those are my cards. I need to see yours.” Laughing, Tony caught Steve’s wrist and pulled him in. “Steve.”
“Yes?” Steve said, nuzzling Tony’s temple with a happy mouth.
“You do not win.”
“I have a very good hand,” Steve told him, fumbling for Tony’s belt. “I want your pants.”
“You can’t have my pants, you didn’t WIN,” Tony pointed out again, laughing. “And you don’t have a very good hand, I don’t think you have a hand at all.”
“Yes, I do,” Steve said, holding up the cards. “It’s a poker hand. It’s-” He blinked. “A good poker hand.”
“Okay, it’s a poker hand in that we are playing poker, and that’s the cards that are in your possession. However, it’s not a good hand. It’s, I don’t even know what to call that other than junk.” Tony grinned at him. “You have a junk hand, Steve.”
Steve grinned back at him. “I have a king.”
“That’s all you have, baby.” Tony tapped his two pair. “I win.”
Steve considered that. “Are you sure?” he asked, his mouth pursed. A shock of hair was falling over his forehead, and without thinking about it, Tony reached up and brushed the strands back.
“I’m sure.” When Steve gave a shrug, and reached for his pants, Tony shook his head. “No. Oh, no. No, you don’t. The sock.”
Steve held up his left foot. It was not the foot with the sock. He traded legs, fumbling to grab his own knee. He seemed pleased when he managed it. “Sock?”
“Yes, give me the sock.” Tony had acquired quite a pile of clothing, considering how many layers Steve had been wearing to start this game. He was proud of himself. “I am not playing poker with a man in briefs, an army hat and one sock, that’s just weird. Keep your pants, give me the damn sock.”
“Pants,” Steve said, in that stubborn tone that Tony knew so well, and Tony threw his hands in the air.
“No. Absolutely not, you give me that sock right now, you are making me crazy, don’t you-” Laughing, Tony lunged, and Steve scrambled to get out of reach, kicking the table as he moved. Cards and chips and pieces of clothing went in all directions. Tony barely noticed, struggling to get a grip on Steve’s flailing leg. “Sock!” he crowed as he pulled it off, and was left clutching his prize as Steve rolled out of reach, off the couch and onto the floor.
He held up his right foot. It still had a sock on it.
Tony stared at the sock in his hand, then back to the one on Steve’s foot. “How many socks are you wearing?” he asked, and it was ridiculous, it was so ridiculous that he was losing it. Laughing, he collapsed back onto the couch, into the mess of their clothes, still clinging to the sock with both hands.
Steve wiggled his toes inside the sock, considering the movement. “This is the last one,” he said, sounding sad about that. “My last sock.”
“I’ve already taken six socks off of you,” Tony said, and it was hard to get the words out, he was laughing so hard. He was laughing so hard he was crying. “Six. So not only were you wearing three or more socks on each foot, but you were wearing an uneven number of socks.”
“I am wily and unpredictable,” Steve said, blinking. He was still staring at his foot. He wiggled his toes, and blinked at it some more. “There’s something wrong with my foot.”
“You were wearing four socks on that foot,” Tony said, pressing a hand over his eyes. His fingers were shaking. “You just forgot what it looks like.”
“Maybe,” Steve allowed. He put his leg down, and sat up. “I’m still wearing my pants.”
“Yes, it’s all very Chippendale’s in here,” Tony said. Still breathing hard, the occasional chuckle hiccuping out of him, he turned his head to grin at Steve. “It’s a good look on you.”
“Yeah?” Steve looked at him, wide blue eyes, and Tony gave him a smile. “I can… I can do better.”
Steve stood, all lithe grace and muscle and golden skin, and did a little hip shimmy. Tony arched an eyebrow at him, and Steve grinned. “What?” he asked, sounding smug despite the fact that he was listing to one side. “I was- I was in show business, you know. I know stuff.”
“I had heard that,” Tony agreed. He sat up and started gathering the cards up again. Anything to keep his eyes off of the way Steve’s pants were barely clinging to the upper curves of his hipbones. Tony was regretting winning Steve’s belt, he really was. “C’mon, let’s finish the game.”
“Gonna lose,” Steve said, and his face was flushed, his lower lip caught beneath his teeth. Without looking in Tony’s direction, he did another little hip grind, a surprisingly sensual one, and Tony’s mouth went dry. Steve’s head ducked down, and he was laughing, warm and bright, his blush only accentuating the heat of the way he was moving.
Tony had to swallow a couple of times before he could concentrate on words. “The game,” he said, and he could hear the raw desire in his own voice. He cleared his throat. “That’s- Okay, come on, we need to-”
Steve ignored him, or maybe he just ignored Tony’s instructions, because he was clearly playing to an audience now, his eyes tipping up to meet Tony’s, his grin stretching a bit wider, a bit more wicked. “What?” he asked, and he was clever, was Captain Rogers, he’d always been dangerously clever. “No? No- Not good?”
“Very good,” Tony said, in a faint croak. “Very, very good. But I need you to sit down and-”
He broke off, mid word, as Steve straddled his lap, his knees tight against Tony’s hips. “Better?” he asked, looping his arms around Tony’s neck.
“Yes,” Tony breathed. “No! Wait, no, I need you to-” He put his hands up, and he meant to push Steve back, he really did, but his palms slid over that hot, warm skin and his brain went blank.
Laughing, Steve began moving against him, over him, his back arched, his head tipped back. His arms went over his head, his fingers trailing over the back of his neck, pulling the muscles of his chest and shoulders into stark relief. “You like it,” he said, his voice rough.
“Oh, God, yes,” Tony managed. “I mean, no!” He was panting, sharp little breaths as he stared up at Steve, who smiled down at him, sweet and innocent and shy, and that was even hotter than Tony’d ever imagined. When Steve dipped his head, brushing his lips against Tony’s, Tony moaned into his mouth.
When Steve pulled back, he was smirking, visibly pleased with himself. Tony was dizzy, stupid with lust, even as Steve removed his hat and slipped it over Tony’s head. He pushed back, stumbling back to his feet, and the loss of his warmth hit Tony like a body blow.
Whistling under his breath, Steve leaned over and peeled his sock off, nearly falling on his face as he managed it, then staggered back, forward, and hopped up on the coffee table. “You like it,” he said, smug with the knowledge.
“God, yes,” Tony said, boneless and absolutely blissed out of his mind with need. Still, he managed to rouse his conscience enough to grit out, “Jarvis, delete the security footage, do that-” He swallowed hard as Steve did a truly beautiful shimmy, swinging his sock over his head. “Do that right now, because he will never forgive me for this, I am going to get dumped, and oh, God, wow, I didn’t-” Stunned, he watched Steve dance.
Laughing, Steve gave him a look over his shoulder, his lashes low, his grin sweet and hot in equal parts. Flinging the sock, he dropped his hands to the button of his pants, and Tony knew he should stop this, he really should, he needed to stop this right now. Instead, he slumped lower on the couch, so turned on that he was having trouble remembering to breathe.
“Holy FUCK,” Darcy said from the doorway, and Steve’s hands jerked at his waistband, sending a button flying. He stumbled backwards, hands windmilling in mid-air, and went crashing to the floor. The table followed him over with a bang.
“Jesus!” Way too slow, Tony scrambled up and towards him.
“We need to work on your stealth skills,” Natasha said. She peered over the top of the couch. “You okay, Cap?”
“Yes,” Steve said, without moving. He was sprawled out on his back, blinking up at the ceiling.
Tony crouched down next to him, running a careful hand over Steve’s head. “Really?”
“Not at all,” Steve said. He fumbled one hand up onto the couch until he managed to snag a blanket. Dragging it down, he huddled underneath it. “I’m gonna die.”
Tony patted his head, biting his lip to avoid laughing. “No, you’re not,” he said. He tugged at the blanket, and Steve clutched at it, refusing to let Tony pull it away. “Steve, you are not going to die.”
“Holy fuck, wait here, I’m gonna going to go get, like, a shitload of dollar bills!” Darcy sprinted for the door at full tilt and without much direction. “Don’t put any clothes back on!”
“WHAT HAPPENED-” Clint yelled from the doorway just before Darcy crashed into him. They both went down in a heap of flailing limbs.
“Tell me he’s not naked,” Tony said to Natasha.
She spared Clint a glance. “He’s naked.”
“Steve, I love you, but I need this blanket,” Tony said, reaching for it. Steve wiggled sideways, all but rolling himself up into the fleece.
Natasha sighed and picked up another blanket from the couch. She tossed it to Clint. “Where are your shorts, Barton?”
“There was a crash!” Clint was trying to get up, and Darcy was giggling. “I heard a crash!” He stared at them, his bow waving in mid-air. “That was a crash!”
“Huh,” Natasha said, leaning against the couch. “That tattoo’s new.”
“Steve fell off the table,” Tony said, “will you please put down the weapon and put on some pants?” He risked a look now that Clint was showing no signs of getting up or throwing the blanket off. “Where are your clothes?”
Coulson appeared in the doorway, dressed in a crisp shirt, jacket, tie and boxers. “The damn Roombas,” he seethed, “stole his clothes!”
“They did not. But I did get a full body Roombaing,” Clint said, as Phil adjusted his blankets. He raised his hands. “They came outta NO WHERE. MOB OF ROOMBAS.”
“You were covered in soot,” Darcy said. “Alien soot. You might as well have rolled in catnip and wandered into a crazy cat lady house.”
“Are you comparing my tower to a crazy cat lady house?” Tony asked, trying to coax Steve off the floor. Steve wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist and buried his face in Tony’s stomach. With a sigh, Tony gave him a hug. “Okay, we can keep the blanket, that’s fine.”
“Thank you,” Steve said, sounding grateful.
“Fewer cats, more robot things, but very similar,” she said. She sat up. “Steve, you were pretty!”
“Not helping, baby,” Natasha said.
“Not helping at all,” Tony said. “What are you doing out here? Go back to your room.”
She sat there, legs akimbo, and he should be glad she was in footie pajamas now, soft and warm and covered in tiny skulls. “I was promised food,” she said. “You. You promised food.”
“Yes, I did. Jarvis?” Tony managed to get the blanket away from Steve’s face.
“The food arrived some time ago,” Jarvis said, long suffering as always. “I did not think it wise to allow the front desk staff to escort it up at this time.”
“I knew there was a reason you’re my favorite,” Tony said, grinning. “Okay, we just have to-” He lost his breath on a gasp as Steve’s arms tightened like a vise on his waist. “Gotcha, not going any where. Jarvis, can you page Thor for me?”
A moment later, Thor leaned into the living room, his hair in pink foam curlers. “Aye?”
Tony stared at him for a moment, his mouth hanging open. “Yeah, you know what, not going to ask. Can you grab a warrior or two and go fetch the food from downstairs?”
Thor nodded. “Easily done.” He disappeared again.
Tony held out for another thirty seconds before he asked Natasha, “Why?”
She shrugged. “Jane wanted to see what he looked like with curls. She was very enthusiastic about the idea. He seems to be enjoying himself.”
“Listen, don’t you judge him,” Darcy said, glaring. “I wanted to do-” She waved a hand. “Girly stuff. You know how much boy stuff we put up with? There are…” She struggled for words. “There are SO MANY BOYS in here. I wanted, I wanted to do girl things, and Sif is good at girl things, and Natasha is fucking excellent at girl things-”
“Thank you,” Natasha said.
“What makes it a girl thing?” Tony asked her.
She gave him a look. “If I do it, it’s a girl thing.”
“That’s clear enough. So, we’re curling Thor’s hair. Gotcha.”
“It was either that, or we dye it blue,” Darcy said, wiggling her feet. “I got Manic Panic, an’ Jane wouldn’t let me dye it blue. I wouldn’t have even had to bleach it, Thor’s hair is so-” Her eyes got big. “Oh. Steve, we should-”
“Absolutely not,” Tony told her, trying to sound stern. “Don’t even think about it.”
She pouted for a second. “Hey, Clint-”
“Jarvis, can we please get some coffee brewing, because I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” Tony said. “Seriously.”
“What were you two doing in here?” Coulson asked, because, of course Coulson would ask that.
“Steve was stripping,” Darcy said, and Steve groaned into Tony’s stomach.
“He wasn’t- Let’s not-” Tony started, but it was too late, Natasha was already holding up a card.
“Strip poker,” she said.
“Fuck, yes,” Clint said, bolting upright. “Let’s do this.”
“That wasn’t an offer,” Natasha told him.
His face fell. “Can it be?”
“You’re already naked,” Coulson said, yawning. He didn’t seem concerned by this. He just leaned his head on Clint’s shoulder, eyes at half mast.
“We’re not playing strip poker,” Tony said, cutting off the discussion. “Not with all of you. Anything else. Pick something else to do, because ANYTHING is better than strip poker.”
Darcy raised her hand. “Can I choose?”
“Fine. Whatever. Yes. Choose.”