Title: The Kiss
Author: Del Rion (delrion.mail (at) gmail.com)
Fandom: The Avengers (MCU)
Rating: M / FRM
Characters: Bruce Banner (Hulk), Tony Stark (Iron Man)
Summary: It’s just a kiss, but the intensity of it is stealing Tony’s breath away and he’ll have bruises matching Bruce’s hands on his face once it’s all over.
Complete. Part of “Slow Burn” series.
Warnings: Sexual content and language (m/m, kissing, frottage, light bondage, PWP – porn-without-plot).
Disclaimer: Iron Man, Avengers and Marvel Cinematic Universe, including characters and everything else, belong to Marvel, Marvel Studios, Jon Favreau, Joss Whedon, Louis Leterrier, Paramount Pictures, Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures and Universal Pictures. In short: I own nothing; this is pure fiction created to entertain likeminded fans for no profit whatsoever.
Beta: Mythra (mythras-fire)
About The Kiss: This is a completely random scene that I just had to write.
So, have a short glimpse at a super intense make-out session! (Also, it is possible Bruce Banner is a really dark person on the inside – with a dash of good on the surface.)
Story and status: Below you see the writing process of the story. If there is no text after the title, then it is finished and checked. Possible updates shall be marked after the title.
His lips are swollen and half-numb.
Bruce’s hands frame his face in a way that is tender but firm – unyielding like the Hulk holding his ground in battle.
It’s amazing and horrifying how good Bruce is at this when he gets into it; how Bruce didn’t need to be coaxed or asked, and how this wasn’t even Tony’s idea. Usually he’s the one to come up with things like this.
It feels more like fucking to him, but their bodies are barely touching, with Tony’s hands tied behind his back and their clothes still on.
Bruce holds his face and kisses him deep and slow and fast and shallow, teasing and demanding in turns, making Tony the one who follows – the one who gets coaxed in for another, and another, and another…
He hasn’t been able to breathe normally for what feels like hours. His lungs are burning, trying to draw in enough air, making him feel dizzy. His arms keep pulling against the thick, wide leather cuffs, wanting them to hurt more than they’re supposed to although he has no idea why.
Bruce keeps kissing him. Their chests are barely touching. It is as if Bruce knows Tony can’t really breathe – that with the arc reactor it’s already hard enough without the added stress of trying to keep up with Bruce, to let him into Tony’s mouth and follow him back into his.
He can’t smell anything but Bruce, which is great and distracting all at the same time. It’s like his entire existence gets filled by him, more and more, and he wants it to progress yet stay like this forever, which is a conflict, and then Bruce is licking the roof of his mouth behind his teeth again, tickling, teasing, just waiting for Tony’s tongue to interfere so he can play with it.
Like he’s asking his mouth out on a play-date, over and over, and Bruce is the kid who never gets exhausted, never runs out of ideas and things to do – even when they are bad things, like Bruce’s thigh finally shoving forward, finding its place between Tony’s, pressing against the hard-on Tony’s been suffering from for too long.
Still he maintains the kiss, fingers framing his face, and there will probably be bruises on his skin after. The pressure’s not much, but it’s continuous and firm, like he thinks Tony might pull away.
Tony will never pull away, even though his lungs scream for a break and he can no longer keep up with what he’s wanting to do with his own mouth, falling victim to Bruce’s tongue and teeth and lips, his entire body buzzing as he drags his hips along the proffered thigh, his underwear feeling uncomfortable and itchy, dragging and making it burn all over his crotch.
He wants to say something – has wanted to say something for a while now – but there’s no air and there’s no time, and he’s long since lost whatever thread of thought he had in mind. Not important.
Bruce moves back, just slightly, and Tony pants, licks his lips and waits, eyes closed, expecting it when Bruce kisses the corner of his mouth, then closer to the center – then licks his lips, parting them, Tony’s resistance is minimal to none, and it goes on again, like a merry-go-round stuck in a loop with the added bonus of Bruce’s thigh.
Tony focuses on that since he’s lost control of his mouth: his hips writhe against Bruce’s thigh, desperate in a way he hasn’t been in years. He does it over and over, he circles and wriggles, until he comes in his pants. His orgasm is sharp and painful, as difficult to get through as it was to achieve.
Bruce huffs a breath onto his face and hums, fingers still holding him captive. “Shall we do that again?” he asks, seductive and dark, like it’s a test he wants to run immediately.
Tony still can’t breathe, not enough, his lungs burning and screaming ‘no’, but his hips jerk and he can feel his cum rubbing into his skin inside his underwear, a cool, icky mess against his heated skin.
Bruce tilts his head to the side, croons in his ear: “Will you come in your pants again?” It betrays the inner sadist in him, the way he says it, dark and full of dirty promise, of something that is not exactly a release – not in the long run and definitely not from the way he’s going at it, making Tony fight for every breath and not even acknowledging the fact that Tony might not be able to get it up again for another round.
Regardless, Tony whimpers and rubs his crotch harder against the proffered thigh.
Bruce chuckles and pulls away, catching his eye – the sadistic edge recoiling momentarily in the face of real concern. It makes Tony feel vulnerable; makes it easier to focus on the reality of it – and to drive home the lack of his resistance and the throbbing of his need. He could ask for something else. Something simpler and easier.
Before he can, Bruce closes the distance and kisses him all over again.
“Yes,” Tony gasps brokenly – belatedly – into Bruce’s mouth, the word lost in an incomprehensible noise. His mind narrows down to Bruce’s fingertips on his face, their lips, and the thigh he’s desperately rubbing against to rekindle his passion.
Nothing else exists, and right here and now he’s content with that.