Tony gets the tattoo for Steve. He wants it, obviously, he’s not an idiot, to get something permanently inked into his skin that he doesn’t actually want. It’s something he’s thought about since he was in college. Back then he’d been first too young - it doesn’t matter if you’re in grad school if you’re under eighteen, they won’t touch you without a parent or guardian present and Howard would have disowned him or worse - and then later he’d just never really gotten around to it.
Steve had never been with a man before Tony (he suspects Steve’s never been with a women before, either, but they don’t talk about the fact that his boyfriend had been dating his godmother because that’s just weird, really). Tony is expecting Steve to be hesitant and uncertain in bed, not ashamed of himself but maybe struggling with his own desires. Internalized homophobia maybe, or just virgin nerves. He’s expecting almost anything except the way Steve pulls him down to the bed one night and proceeds to slowly and systematically fuck Tony so thoroughly that his legs don’t work properly until the next morning. He doesn’t expect the way Steve sucks dark bruises into Tony’s throat and belly and thighs. He doesn’t expect the way Steve holds him down and fucks into him with slow, deliberate strokes, breath coming in long pants, his voice a rumble like thunder against Tony’s ear with every thrust. “Mine.”
(Steve had kissed him awake the next morning and slipped inside him like Tony’s body had been made to take his cock, fucked him sweet and slow and whispered love in his ear until he made Tony come without being touched)
So the fact that Steve has something of a possessive streak comes as a pleasant surprise. It manifests mostly as protectiveness - Steve’s not the jealous sort, not any more than any other man - and a tendency to want to show off the fact that Tony is his now, especially when one of Tony’s exes is around. Tony, after careful consideration and several instances of breath-taking semi-public sex, decides that he is very much okay with this.
Steve likes marking him, too. Likes leaving bruises shaped like his hands on Tony’s hips, likes leaving hickeys that Tony’s business suits only barely cover. He likes to lie against Tony while their bodies are still locked together and the sweat is still cooling on their skin and suck at Tony’s throat until the flesh is hot and dark and the gentle brush of Steve’s tongue over his bruised skin makes Tony gasp.
(Tony likes it when Steve marks him, loves the way it feels when Steve lays claim to him, that Steve wants the world to know that Tony belongs with him. Sometimes he deliberately wears his collar open or his sleeves rolled up so the marks can be seen. He likes to wait until he can catch Steve’s eye in the kitchen or the gym or while they’re watching a movie and then he’ll press his fingers against one of Steve’s marks. Slide his hand down his chest or over his thigh, rest his palm on his hips and press so that the bruise aches so sweetly beneath his touch and Steve smiles at him with so much love and want and pride that it takes Tony’s breath away)
So he gets the tattoo. For Steve, who likes to see Tony marked. But also for Tony who likes to be marked, to be reminded in that visceral, physical way that he’s Steve’s. Nothing dramatic - just the shield pattern, the star done in a silver-white on a blue background, the red and white rings around it. It’s only about the size of a half-dollar, and he has it inked onto his right hip. Steve is in DC for two weeks, helping Falcon mop up a Hydra plot that sounds like something out of an old comic book and Tony has a business trip to the Malibu HQ to do quarterly reviews. And almost four weeks have passed with no more than phone calls and Skype sessions, and the tattoo on Tony’s hip has healed in vivid red and blue and silver on his skin.
Steve stops when he sees the tattoo. Freezes in place, his hands hooked in the waistband of Tony’s slacks, still tangled around his legs. He’s kneeling over Tony, his cock hard and flushed and already leaking and his eyes have gone dark in a way that Tony is intimately familiar with.
Tony reaches out, wraps his hand around the back of Steve’s neck and pulls him down. “Yours,” he breathes against Steve’s mouth.
Steve’s kiss steals the breath from his lungs, but instead of the hard and fast fucking Tony’s been fantasizing about for the last four weeks he finds himself spread out of on the bed while Steve takes him apart slowly and deliberately.
“Mine,” Steve says softly, almost reverently as he kisses every inch of Tony’s skin, strokes his hands down Tony’s sides like he’s gentling a skitish colt. “Yours,” Tony says breathlessly, tangling his hands in Steve’s hair as Steve swallows him inch by devastating inch. “Oh god, always yours.”
Steve kisses the tattoo while Tony is still shaking with orgasm, runs his tongue over it. “Is it?” He waits for Tony’s nod before he presses his thumb against it and rubs, watching the colored skin move. “Can I?”
“Anything,” Tony says. “It’s yours.”
Steve kisses him and he tastes like Tony still. “Did you want this?” he asks, their mouths barely parted, his voice a soft hush between then. “Did you do this because you wanted it or to make me happy?”
Tony leans up, takes a kiss that’s slow and deep. “I want it,” he said. He took Steve’s hand in his and pressed Steve’s palm against his hip, over the tattoo. “I want it. Knowing you’d want it too just made it better.”
The sound Steve makes is enough to make Tony’s cock twitch with renewed interest, and Steve takes their joined hands and wraps them around his cock.
Tony hums at the feel of Steve, hot and hard, skin so smooth beneath his fingers. Steve’s jerking himself off fast, Tony’s hand caught between both of Steve’s so he only feels Steve’s cock with the tips of his fingers but he doesn’t care. He squeezes Steve’s hand and Steve’s cock jumps in their grip.
He realizes what Steve’s after just as Steve orgasms, semen hitting Tony’s hip in thick, hot pulses.
Steve kisses him, breathless and sloppy, panting into Tony’s mouth. “Mine,” he says softly, running his hands through his come, rubbing it into Tony’s skin. He presses his fingers against the tattoo in deep massaging strokes as he kisses Tony again and again.
Tony holds Steve’s face between his hands and they breathe each other for long minutes while their hearts beat against each other and Steve’s hand covers his mark on Tony’s skin.
“Mine,” Tony says, just as he’s starting to drift off. He strokes his fingers over Steve’s cheek and smiles. Steve’s palm is hot against his hip, Steve’s heart is beating against his chest and Tony can still taste himself in Steve’s mouth. “Mine.”
“Always yours,” Steve agrees.
(Steve wakes him much later and fucks him half senseless against the shower wall. He doesn’t take his hand off the tattoo the entire time. Tony is inordinately pleased with himself for weeks.)
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