Fandom: Marvel 616 Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: E Wordcount: ~4,500 Tags: Sex Farce, Robot Tentacles, Masturbation...with help! Notes: Merry Christmas Sine! I know you love tentacles so I wrote some for you -- I hope you enjoy it!
Tony doesn’t think anything of Steve walking into the workshop. Sure, it’s a giant mess, but within the expected range of workshop messes. It’s not an outlier or anything.
The mess is the result of his current obsession: soft-bodied robots. What if he could harness all the benefits of nature and machine? There’s all kinds of examples: an octopus’s arm can crush a clam’s shell and also delicately tickle its favorite keeper; snakes can get into anything — really anything, Tony thinks with a shudder, remembering the most recent go-around with the Serpent Society — and roundworms might be the most successful organisms on the planet.
He’s designing long, wiggly robots, great for squirming into tight spaces like collapsed buildings or narrow pipes. He’s been thinking of applications in rescue and reconnaissance, mainly, with vague inklings on the horizon about more sophisticated soft robots for arthroscopic surgery.
Now, three days into the project, Tony’s workstations are covered in plaster molds and tubs of silicone. He’s got a mostly-assembled prototype arm clamped to the edge of a bench, going through stress-tests of its servo muscles. He’s worried the metal components inside might wear through the outer flexible skin too quickly, and he might need a different material as a support structure. Maybe he could do it all using hydrostatic forces. Possibly contained by some sort of cloth? Tony waves Steve farther inside and jots that down: collagen/protein matrix fabric? investigate textiles.
Steve steps into full view of Tony’s creative process and stops dead. “Um, Tony? Is this a bad time?”
“No? Why? It’s fine, nothing time-sensitive running right now, it’s all on automatic for a while.”
There’s something very odd about how Steve is regarding him. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here, which isn’t Steve’s usual reaction to Tony working. There are some suspiciously slimy spills, he guesses — it wouldn’t be completely unreasonable for Steve to assume that Tony’s working with dangerous chemicals. There’d been the one time with the hexafluoride, which was memorable.
“I promise this is all non-toxic. The silicone is medical-grade, even.”
Steve makes a choking noise. “I would hope so,” he says, going bright, tomato red as he says it.
Tony checks himself up and down and can’t find anything remarkable. He glances at his computer monitors — nothing weird, just his schedule, email, and a couple CAD renderings of octopus muscle structure spinning lazily while they wait for the 3D printer.
“Do you not like my soft body robotics experiments?” he asks finally, at a complete loss.
“So…that’s a robot? Not a — um —” Steve says, still strangled and blushing furiously.
“One of several robots prototypes,” Tony agrees, forging ahead despite the weird signals from Steve. “Watch this, it can go through a pipe that’s partially blocked by debris.” He unhooks his prototype from its stand and sets it in front of the obstacle course he’s built to challenge his creations.
The robot squeezes gamely into the narrow opening, wriggling determinedly forward. Steve goes, impossibly, more red.
“Isn’t it great? These are going to be cheap, rustproof, waterproof, and super energy efficient. I’m running this one on what’s basically a watch battery.”
“It’s swell, Tony,” Steve says, eyes wide, strangely transfixed by Tony’s robot still working its way into the pipe.
Tony ducks down into Steve’s line of sight, frowning up at him. “You’re being weird, Winghead. Is everything okay?”
Usually people don’t get alarmed by his robots until they’re substantially more dangerous than this.
“It’s nothing, really, I just thought for a second you were building something, ah, hm.”
“What?”
“Something — custom. For, um, personal use.” Steve makes an abortive gesture and then looks down at his hands, horrified. Then his face hardens in resolve, jaw squaring up like he’s Captain America about to face down an army. He clears his throat.
“I thought I walked in on you making yourself a tentacle dildo,” Steve says, voice firm and clear as a bell. “I didn’t mean to insult or make you uncomfortable. Human sexuality is naturally complex.”
Oh god.
Oh god oh god oh god.
Steve knows what tentacle porn is.
Steve knows what tentacle porn is and he thinks I’m into tentacle porn.
I don’t know how I’m going to recover from this.
Tony straightens up and coughs into his hand. “That would be quite the off-label use,” he says, trying to turn it into an easy joke, ha ha, a little sex mistake between best friends, and not confident he sticks the landing on the dismount. “These are strictly for, ah, non-invasive applications.”
“Right. In that case -- I guess I’ll just -- leave you to it,” Steve says, confident facade starting to fray, and then he bolts.
If you’d asked Tony twelve hours ago, he would have told you he wasn’t interested in any kind of tentacle anything. He’d watched some really shocking porn on a dare in his youth, it wasn’t like he didn’t know about the genre, but he’d been confident it wasn’t for him.
Now, maddeningly, it’s all he can think about.
He has to put the soft robotics project on hold while he figures this out, because he can’t work if he’s popping a semi every time he picks up the damn thing to rewire it. Instead, he sits in his workshop and tries to comment up some code he wrote in a mad all-night rush a few weeks ago. He needs to focus to untangle his past self’s leaps in logic.
Steve thought about a tentacle going up your ass. He looked at your robot and the first thing he thought about was it inside you.
Did Steve think about the whole fisherman’s wife she-bang? Tony strung up in tentacles and writhing as he took it in every orifice? Tony has first-hand experience with hostile tendrils of all kinds, but hadn’t connected them to anything erotic.
Until now.
Tony groans and puts his face into the keyboard.
Maybe Steve was projecting. Tony thinks this possibility will be comforting until he starts imagining Steve covered in fucking tentacles — literal fucking tentacles — all naked and flushed and bucking against the intrusion, or maybe bucking towards it, wanton and desperate and Tony’s half-hard in his pants again, goddamnit.
Tony’s a problem-solver. He can solve this.
Maybe the way to get past the tentacle distraction isn’t avoidance but desensitization. He’s obsessed with the novelty of it, the lure of the unknown, and if he just tries it a bit his dick will come to its senses.
“Sorry buddy,” he says to his robot. “I’m afraid I have to retrofit you in the service of impure acts.”
The robot doesn’t respond, because it’s a robot and doesn’t have an opinion on the matter.
Tony’s a great engineer, so he’s going to make a great sex toy. That’s a given. There’s no project he hasn’t given his all. Maybe the nose armor could have used a little more attention to detail, but every other project: maximum effort.
In Steve’s defense, the robot doesn’t need many adjustments to turn it into a dildo. It wasn’t such a spectacular leap. Tony writes down a list of essential features on a scrap of paper:
Aesthetically pleasing
Lube-compatible (prob. water based), sterilizable
Ergonomic and autonomous
Not going to permanently injure my ass
For aesthetics, he’ll change the silicone from neutral translucent white to a nice glossy black, and add some surface detail. Lube and cleanup are minimal concerns; medical grade silicone is a popular sex toy material already. The programming needs the most work and will demand some finesse, both to teach the robot how to find the prostate, and to address the no-busting-Tony’s-butt requirement.
Tony cracks his knuckles and goes to drag his much-abused life-size crash test dummy out of its crate. He tosses it onto the couch and knocks its knees wide. It looks both pathetic and debauched. Using a bit of scrap tubing and baling wire, Tony rigs up a stand-in for the new toy, then gets to work on the logistics and choreography, as it were.
What Tony ends up making is a four-foot-long tentacle, slick and dark and very slightly menacing. It has a heavy base that can be bolted or clamped to basically anything. When it can’t sense anything at a human body temperature within its radius, it lies quiescent, but step within its reach and it perks up, hungry for simulated nookie.
Tony lets it grope his thigh for a bit before deciding he’s satisfied.
Then he makes two more, because it’s good design sense to have multiple prototypes.
By the time Tony’s done with all that, he’s so sick of troubleshooting the damn things his dick has decided it’s completely uninterested in the proceedings. Success!
Tony shuts everything down and heads upstairs to rustle up some lunch. When he’s back in a place with windows, it turns out he’s misjudged “lunchtime” by about seven hours. Conveniently, this lands him right in the middle of dinner.
He sniffs around for food and finds Clint, Thor, and Steve in the dining room, demolishing a gigantic platter of sushi. Tony winces as Clint stabs a piece with a fork and pops it into his mouth. Steve and Thor have manners and are using chopsticks.
Thor beckons. “Come eat!”
Tony’s always liked sushi. He appreciates the expertise hidden within its simplicity. Fish, rice, nori. Three basic ingredients; ten years of training to master them.
It also tastes great.
Tony is about to sit down and enjoy some of the nice fresh tuna belly when he watches Steve pick out a piece of tako sushi and pop it in his mouth.
Steve eating octopus is not what Tony needs right now.
His dick wakes up with a vengeance and all Tony can think is mouth tentacle ass tentacle Steve tentacle.
“I better not,” Tony says, stopping dead in his tracks. “Stomach upset, can’t do fish right now.”
“Is there anything we can get you?” Steve asks, making to stand up.
“No!” Tony says. “I’m fine! I’ll be fine!”
Steve smiles at him and Tony’s traitor cock informs him that Steve has a great smile. It also informs him that Steve would look great with his lips wrapped around Tony’s new tentacular creations downstairs, or around Tony’s cock while a robot tentacle worked its way in and out of his ass. Tony needs to leave right now or things are going to get obvious.
Scratch that, things are already obvious. If Tony wants to go up to his room to solve this problem, he has to walk around the table with his crotch in full view of his fellow Avengers. So Tony does the only sensible thing and turns right back around and goes to his workshop.
He can take care of this there. There’s three custom-built kinky sex robots in the workshop, designed to address exactly this problem. He’ll just head downstairs, drop trou, and do a few practical tests.
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timeasmymeasure
616 Steve/Tony: Robot Tentacles
Date: 2020-01-04 10:08 pm (UTC)Fandom: Marvel 616
Pairing: Steve/Tony
Rating: E
Wordcount: ~4,500
Tags: Sex Farce, Robot Tentacles, Masturbation...with help!
Notes: Merry Christmas Sine! I know you love tentacles so I wrote some for you -- I hope you enjoy it!
Tony doesn’t think anything of Steve walking into the workshop. Sure, it’s a giant mess, but within the expected range of workshop messes. It’s not an outlier or anything.
The mess is the result of his current obsession: soft-bodied robots. What if he could harness all the benefits of nature and machine? There’s all kinds of examples: an octopus’s arm can crush a clam’s shell and also delicately tickle its favorite keeper; snakes can get into anything — really anything, Tony thinks with a shudder, remembering the most recent go-around with the Serpent Society — and roundworms might be the most successful organisms on the planet.
He’s designing long, wiggly robots, great for squirming into tight spaces like collapsed buildings or narrow pipes. He’s been thinking of applications in rescue and reconnaissance, mainly, with vague inklings on the horizon about more sophisticated soft robots for arthroscopic surgery.
Now, three days into the project, Tony’s workstations are covered in plaster molds and tubs of silicone. He’s got a mostly-assembled prototype arm clamped to the edge of a bench, going through stress-tests of its servo muscles. He’s worried the metal components inside might wear through the outer flexible skin too quickly, and he might need a different material as a support structure. Maybe he could do it all using hydrostatic forces. Possibly contained by some sort of cloth? Tony waves Steve farther inside and jots that down: collagen/protein matrix fabric? investigate textiles.
Steve steps into full view of Tony’s creative process and stops dead. “Um, Tony? Is this a bad time?”
“No? Why? It’s fine, nothing time-sensitive running right now, it’s all on automatic for a while.”
There’s something very odd about how Steve is regarding him. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here, which isn’t Steve’s usual reaction to Tony working. There are some suspiciously slimy spills, he guesses — it wouldn’t be completely unreasonable for Steve to assume that Tony’s working with dangerous chemicals. There’d been the one time with the hexafluoride, which was memorable.
“I promise this is all non-toxic. The silicone is medical-grade, even.”
Steve makes a choking noise. “I would hope so,” he says, going bright, tomato red as he says it.
Tony checks himself up and down and can’t find anything remarkable. He glances at his computer monitors — nothing weird, just his schedule, email, and a couple CAD renderings of octopus muscle structure spinning lazily while they wait for the 3D printer.
“Do you not like my soft body robotics experiments?” he asks finally, at a complete loss.
“So…that’s a robot? Not a — um —” Steve says, still strangled and blushing furiously.
“One of several robots prototypes,” Tony agrees, forging ahead despite the weird signals from Steve. “Watch this, it can go through a pipe that’s partially blocked by debris.” He unhooks his prototype from its stand and sets it in front of the obstacle course he’s built to challenge his creations.
The robot squeezes gamely into the narrow opening, wriggling determinedly forward. Steve goes, impossibly, more red.
“Isn’t it great? These are going to be cheap, rustproof, waterproof, and super energy efficient. I’m running this one on what’s basically a watch battery.”
“It’s swell, Tony,” Steve says, eyes wide, strangely transfixed by Tony’s robot still working its way into the pipe.
Tony ducks down into Steve’s line of sight, frowning up at him. “You’re being weird, Winghead. Is everything okay?”
Usually people don’t get alarmed by his robots until they’re substantially more dangerous than this.
“It’s nothing, really, I just thought for a second you were building something, ah, hm.”
“What?”
“Something — custom. For, um, personal use.” Steve makes an abortive gesture and then looks down at his hands, horrified. Then his face hardens in resolve, jaw squaring up like he’s Captain America about to face down an army. He clears his throat.
“I thought I walked in on you making yourself a tentacle dildo,” Steve says, voice firm and clear as a bell. “I didn’t mean to insult or make you uncomfortable. Human sexuality is naturally complex.”
Oh god.
Oh god oh god oh god.
Steve knows what tentacle porn is.
Steve knows what tentacle porn is and he thinks I’m into tentacle porn.
I don’t know how I’m going to recover from this.
Tony straightens up and coughs into his hand. “That would be quite the off-label use,” he says, trying to turn it into an easy joke, ha ha, a little sex mistake between best friends, and not confident he sticks the landing on the dismount. “These are strictly for, ah, non-invasive applications.”
“Right. In that case -- I guess I’ll just -- leave you to it,” Steve says, confident facade starting to fray, and then he bolts.
If you’d asked Tony twelve hours ago, he would have told you he wasn’t interested in any kind of tentacle anything. He’d watched some really shocking porn on a dare in his youth, it wasn’t like he didn’t know about the genre, but he’d been confident it wasn’t for him.
Now, maddeningly, it’s all he can think about.
He has to put the soft robotics project on hold while he figures this out, because he can’t work if he’s popping a semi every time he picks up the damn thing to rewire it. Instead, he sits in his workshop and tries to comment up some code he wrote in a mad all-night rush a few weeks ago. He needs to focus to untangle his past self’s leaps in logic.
Steve thought about a tentacle going up your ass. He looked at your robot and the first thing he thought about was it inside you.
Did Steve think about the whole fisherman’s wife she-bang? Tony strung up in tentacles and writhing as he took it in every orifice? Tony has first-hand experience with hostile tendrils of all kinds, but hadn’t connected them to anything erotic.
Until now.
Tony groans and puts his face into the keyboard.
Maybe Steve was projecting. Tony thinks this possibility will be comforting until he starts imagining Steve covered in fucking tentacles — literal fucking tentacles — all naked and flushed and bucking against the intrusion, or maybe bucking towards it, wanton and desperate and Tony’s half-hard in his pants again, goddamnit.
Tony’s a problem-solver. He can solve this.
Maybe the way to get past the tentacle distraction isn’t avoidance but desensitization. He’s obsessed with the novelty of it, the lure of the unknown, and if he just tries it a bit his dick will come to its senses.
“Sorry buddy,” he says to his robot. “I’m afraid I have to retrofit you in the service of impure acts.”
The robot doesn’t respond, because it’s a robot and doesn’t have an opinion on the matter.
Tony’s a great engineer, so he’s going to make a great sex toy. That’s a given. There’s no project he hasn’t given his all. Maybe the nose armor could have used a little more attention to detail, but every other project: maximum effort.
In Steve’s defense, the robot doesn’t need many adjustments to turn it into a dildo. It wasn’t such a spectacular leap. Tony writes down a list of essential features on a scrap of paper:
For aesthetics, he’ll change the silicone from neutral translucent white to a nice glossy black, and add some surface detail. Lube and cleanup are minimal concerns; medical grade silicone is a popular sex toy material already. The programming needs the most work and will demand some finesse, both to teach the robot how to find the prostate, and to address the no-busting-Tony’s-butt requirement.
Tony cracks his knuckles and goes to drag his much-abused life-size crash test dummy out of its crate. He tosses it onto the couch and knocks its knees wide. It looks both pathetic and debauched. Using a bit of scrap tubing and baling wire, Tony rigs up a stand-in for the new toy, then gets to work on the logistics and choreography, as it were.
What Tony ends up making is a four-foot-long tentacle, slick and dark and very slightly menacing. It has a heavy base that can be bolted or clamped to basically anything. When it can’t sense anything at a human body temperature within its radius, it lies quiescent, but step within its reach and it perks up, hungry for simulated nookie.
Tony lets it grope his thigh for a bit before deciding he’s satisfied.
Then he makes two more, because it’s good design sense to have multiple prototypes.
By the time Tony’s done with all that, he’s so sick of troubleshooting the damn things his dick has decided it’s completely uninterested in the proceedings. Success!
Tony shuts everything down and heads upstairs to rustle up some lunch. When he’s back in a place with windows, it turns out he’s misjudged “lunchtime” by about seven hours. Conveniently, this lands him right in the middle of dinner.
He sniffs around for food and finds Clint, Thor, and Steve in the dining room, demolishing a gigantic platter of sushi. Tony winces as Clint stabs a piece with a fork and pops it into his mouth. Steve and Thor have manners and are using chopsticks.
Thor beckons. “Come eat!”
Tony’s always liked sushi. He appreciates the expertise hidden within its simplicity. Fish, rice, nori. Three basic ingredients; ten years of training to master them.
It also tastes great.
Tony is about to sit down and enjoy some of the nice fresh tuna belly when he watches Steve pick out a piece of tako sushi and pop it in his mouth.
Steve eating octopus is not what Tony needs right now.
His dick wakes up with a vengeance and all Tony can think is mouth tentacle ass tentacle Steve tentacle.
“I better not,” Tony says, stopping dead in his tracks. “Stomach upset, can’t do fish right now.”
“Is there anything we can get you?” Steve asks, making to stand up.
“No!” Tony says. “I’m fine! I’ll be fine!”
Steve smiles at him and Tony’s traitor cock informs him that Steve has a great smile. It also informs him that Steve would look great with his lips wrapped around Tony’s new tentacular creations downstairs, or around Tony’s cock while a robot tentacle worked its way in and out of his ass. Tony needs to leave right now or things are going to get obvious.
Scratch that, things are already obvious. If Tony wants to go up to his room to solve this problem, he has to walk around the table with his crotch in full view of his fellow Avengers. So Tony does the only sensible thing and turns right back around and goes to his workshop.
He can take care of this there. There’s three custom-built kinky sex robots in the workshop, designed to address exactly this problem. He’ll just head downstairs, drop trou, and do a few practical tests.