Tony P.O.V
Clint's family just pulled up and have begun unloading suitcases by the Limo. We've gone with a larger, luxury van for extra storage, though the seats all still line the walls and face in, making it rather intimate. With four small children who have never been in a limousine, one of which being Callie, I'm not sure how relaxing it will be. She can get pretty hyper in new situations. Some things we've decided to buy when we get to the resort—food, beach toys, liquor—to save on space.
I stroll out to meet Clint, raising a hand. "Hey, Barton! You guys are early."
"Yeah, hope that's okay," Clint says.
"Totally fine, though Stevie's still in bed."
"He is? It's nine-thirty!" He calls as he transfers car seats into the limo.
"Yeah, he's been a real crank so I thought I'd let him sleep."
"Who's a crank?" Laura asks as she ambles over from Callie's playground where Thor is watching all three children.
"Stevie," Clint chuckles. "Apparently he's still sleeping."
"What? I thought he was an early riser!"
I roll my eyes. "He is, but he's having hormone problems."
The couple share a look. Clint stands up and leans against the vehicle. "Hormone problems?"
I cross my arms, considering my words. "He's unbelievably grumpy. Like, whiny and temperamental, especially at Thor. It's been fucking awful. Bruce started him on antidepressants, but it hasn't really kicked in yet as far as the emotions go."
"As far as the emotions?" Laura asks, brow furrowing.
"Yeah, I guess usually antidepressants make it harder for a guy to, uh, get up? But Stevie is having the opposite problem, though I'm thinking it's cause he hasn't been allowed to wank for the last week. Hopefully Bruce says he's good to go today or this trip is gonna be rough."
"A week? What's wrong with him?"
"He caught his head in his zipper, so he says." I shrug and Clint cringes. "Poor kid has had to change his sheets a few times this week, if you know what I mean."
Laura blushes and mumbles something about checking on the kids.
"That's rough," Clint says.
"Yeah, and you know how embarrassed he gets." Clint nods. I pat his shoulder. "I'm gonna go wake up the grouch—pray for me." I wink at him before strolling back into the house. Bruce and Nat are coming through the kitchen so I grab the former's shoulder. "Time to check the boy's wiener."
"Okay, I'll come check in fifteen minutes, give him some time to shower."
I carry on to Steve's room alone and find the door ajar. Callie had been in his bed last night, I guess she wasn't able to wake him and decided to just leave. The room smells stale, like boy, so I open a window casting light onto his face. His full lips are slightly open, lashes dark against pale cheeks, hair sticking up at obscure angles—he's adorable. My stomach does an odd flip that is confusing so I push it away. I sit beside him and gently push the hair off his forehead. "Hey, Buddy, time to wake up."
He grumbles and rolls onto his back, the prominent tent in the blankets causes me to blush. "Five more minutes." His voice is coarse with sleep.
I chuckle and force my eyes away from the teepee. "No, it's already nine-thirty. You need to get ready to go."
He kicks his legs and throws an arm over his eyes. "I'm tired."
"Are you tired, or did I interrupt a nice dream?" I grin as he covers his face with the blanket. "Come on, get up."
"I am up." He giggles.
"That's the wrong kind of up." I laugh and dig my fingers in where I think his armpits ought to be.
He squirms, laughing. "Tony, stop!" A grinning face emerges from the blankets and he sits up stretching. When he gets up, his shorts are pulled taught, as if his schlong is wearing a party hat. The front of the fabric is splotched and crusty so I pull the duvet down and, sure enough, there are spots in the bed as well.
I look up at him smirking, but when I see his red, shame filled face, I stop. "It's okay, we'll throw them in the wash and the maid can move them to the dryer."
He shakes his head, hands fisted at his sides. "I don't understand how it can cum in my sleep without me even knowing, and still be this hard in the morning."
I nod. It is impressive for it to be so erect that it can teepee the blankets when he's on his back. Mine usually lays up against my stomach. "It's probably just cause you haven't been able to wank off."
He shrugs and stretches the item in question down, allowing it to spring back up.
"Does it hurt?"
"Not anymore, but I haven't tried anything." He absentmindedly continues to stretch the thing down and let it bounce up several times.
"Go take a shower, Buddy, it smells like boy in here." I tousle his hair and am met with a sweaty palm. "Bruce will be in in a few minutes."
As I turn to leave he grabs my hand. "Can you stay?" The fear mixed with humiliation forces me to take him seriously so I start to strip the bed.
"Alright. Hurry up then." I smile at him and then focus on my task, pretending not to notice when he strips naked and starts the water. He leaves the door cracked, like a child scared of the dark, but I can see him through the mirror. The erection is still raging, and he keeps gently grabbing at it until he remembers he shouldn't.
A few minutes after he gets in the shower, I see a hand grab the shower head and lower it, and a soft moan follows. My cheeks heat, but I can't help but smile—you do what you've gotta do, though I don't know how that could make you cum. However, before he can finish, Bruce strides in. "He's in the shower," I say dumbly.
"I can hear that." He starts for the bathroom.
"He has a huge boner."
"Perfect. That's a good way to check if he's healed up." Bruce cracks his knuckles and gently knocks on the bathroom door, but doesn't wait for an answer. I follow behind despite knowing I shouldn't. "Hey, Steve, it's me," he says to the shower curtain and then pulls it open.
The boy looks like a deer caught in headlights, his rock hard dick in one hand, shower head in the other. He quickly returns the shower to its cradle. "I wasn't masturbating."
"Good boy. Let's have a look." Bruce grabs the thing and pulls it towards himself. That alone seems to nearly do Steve in. He moans and his knees visibly buckle as he grabs the wall of the shower. Bruce's cheeks darken but he doesn't acknowledge it, he simply runs a finger over the tip. "This is where the cut was," he says more to himself than anything and then looks up at Cap. His fingers rub across the spot several times. "Does it hurt?"
"Oh my god." The hand that isn't pressed to the shower wall is opening and closing rapidly and his eyes are squeezed shut.
My own dick is hard in my pants and I find myself hoping Bruce will get him off, and then wishing I was Bruce. Surely it's only because Steve and I had messed around before, but the feeling makes me nervous, but at the same time enthralled. "I don't think it hurts," I chuckle.
Bruce smirks at me "Steve, does it hurt?" He keeps playing his fingers across the small scar. He sighs, but the amusement in his face is unmistakable.
Cap shakes his head.
"Good. Tell me when." His left hand cups the balls while his right firmly slides up and down the younger man's shaft.
It only takes once before Steve's mouth becomes an O and an animalistic groan escapes his lips. Bruce aims the cannon down into the tub. Thick ribbons of cum spray the side of the porcelain four or five times before it finally dwindles and the last is milked out.
"Holy shit, Banner," I mumble. My own boxers are damp from precum and I realize I'm going to have to escape to my room before we get going.
"I'm not doing you," he laughs. "I only did it because he was right there, and frankly, he deserved to get a hand job after a week of having to hold off." He washes his hands and then glances at Steve who looks positively delirious. "You're good to go. If there's any pain you let me know."
All the boy can manage is a grunt in response, his glossy eyes barely visible under heavy eyelids. He seems to be basking in what's just happened, that or the relief from finally being able to get off has paralyzed him. After a moment though, I clear my throat. "Get moving, buddy."
He blinks and seems to take me in. "I think Bruce just gave me a hand job. That or I accidentally came when he was examining me."
"Kind of both. He was examining you and then he gave you a good stroke and you jizzed. I saw it."
I chuckle at his look of surprise. "You did?"
"Yep."
His cheeks darken and he busies himself with cleaning his penis. "Don't tell anybody."
"I won't."
"Promise?" His blue eyes, so fearful and innocent, meet mine.
"I promise. Come on now, we have to get going."
He smiles, relieved and rinses the soap off his body. "It felt really good though. I was so hard."
"I know, buddy." It makes me think of my own hard on which has dwindled and the slow ache in my balls tells me I should've taken care of it when I had the chance. I love it when he talks so openly with me, like he and I have a special connection that no one else has.
"Do you think he'd do it again?"
"No, I think it was one time thing." I sit on the toilet and watch him wash his hair. His dick is slowly going limp, not quite down, but at a 45 degree angle. "You do realize that you could have any fucking girl you wanted, right?"
A slight frown makes creases on that perfect face. "I don't want that."
"Why not?" I laugh incredulously.
"Because it's too much pressure. I told you, they get all disappointed when I cum too soon."
"I know, but you'd still get off. Just detach yourself from the embarrassment, and then you can have all the handies you want."
A head shake. "I need to be comfortable with the person. That's why I like it when you do it."
A blush creeps up my cheeks. My mouth opens and stays for a few seconds. I'm glad he's comfortable with me, but I don't intend to touch him again. It made things far too complicated between us. "Well, that was a one time thing too, you know."
He turns the shower off and snatches a towel off the hook. His face is red, eyes downcast. "I know." His voice is hard. He dries himself fast and wraps the towel around his waist. "But I don't understand. Why is it bad if I like it?"
The aggression in his voice is making me uncomfortable. "Steve..."
"No, stop. I just want to know why. You're not my dad, so just shut up. You gave me a fucking hand job. You started it. It was your idea. And, you wanted me to touch you too. You liked it, didn't you?"
His demeanor has darkened, chest rising rapidly, fists at his sides. He has been so angry and aggressive. All week, Bruce and I, even Natasha a few times, have had to snap at him--put him back in his place. "No, you shut up! You do not get to speak to me that way." I spit, squeezing his cheeks between my thumb and forefinger. "We've discussed this before, and I'm fucking done talking about it." I shove him in the chest with my free hand and release, letting him stumble into his room. The anger shifts into hurt, eyes welling.
He touches his cheeks, red from where I'd driven my fingers, lips quivering. The hand moves to his hair and he pulls on it, covering his eyes. A growl of a whine escapes his lips, and he throws the towel across the room, choking on an angry sob. There's a thud as he kicks the bed and throws himself onto it.
Guilt creeps up my neck but I shove it aside. He needs to be put in line. There have been far too many emotions and he's so big--he could kick the shit out of me if he wanted to. It's important that I keep a level of fear over him, make him see me as a parental figure, so he obeys me. Him saying I'm not his dad makes me nervous, I had to bite it in the butt before that idea spiralled out of control. He screams into his pillow, slamming his fists into the mattress. I sigh and grab some clothes from his dresser, and sit beside him, placing a hand on his back. He stills and turns, red, teary eyes meeting mine.
I stroke his hair. "It's okay. Here, let's get dressed."
He sits up and rests against my chest. "I'm sorry," he sobs.
"I forgive you, but you need to keep that anger under control." I massage his head. He's still naked, but his bits are hiding between his thighs. His pubic hair is soft and light, as if he hasn't fully developed. I pull my eyes away and clear my throat. "Here, put these on."
He pulls the boxers on and swipes at his damp cheeks. "Is all the stuff packed?"
"Yep, it's in the limo. Clint was just installing car seats."
"Did you put Callie's in?"
"No, I was going to let you do that."
He nods, and falls quiet as he finishes dressing.
"I'm going to go check on everything. Come out when you're ready."
"Okay, dad." He clears his throat. "I mean, Tony."
The slip of tongue satisfies me. That should fix that for a few days.