And like it's flipped a switch, Tony can't seem to stop talking, even if it's mostly a serious of breathless swears with Steve's name mixed in every so often. He doesn't seem to realize he's doing it, head still thrown back and eyes tightly closed.

And then Steve's hands settle on his hips and press him into the table. It's almost that grip as much as the wet heat surrounding his cock that makes all of Tony's words trail off into a sound so low and rough that it's almost inhuman. One that somehow goes even lower as Tony tries to buck his hips up and can't, then chokes off entirely as Tony flexes to feel the strength pressing back against him.

It's all he can do to try and gasp out a warning, hopefully understandable, that he's reached the absolute limit of his control. But maybe the way every muscle in his body locks up is just as clear.