Steve/Tony
Title: Beyond Bound
Author: finding_jay
Pairing: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Hardcore BDSM, self-loathing, violence, explicit sex scene. Eggs.
Summary: Steve hates the Internet and porn and the twenty-first century and, most of all, himself.
Notes: Written for avengers_tables Kink Table prompt 'impact play'.
It was amazing how the world had changed in the time he'd been asleep. Everything was so bizarre. Television, the radio, vehicles. Even smaller things, like going to the grocery store, had become an adventure. Steve couldn't get a grip on self-checkout machines, and the idea of ATMs were a nightmare. He had begged the women down at payroll if he could just get paid in cash or cheque, and after mumbling some excuses they admitted they didn't know how. Tony had finally explained the intricacies of it all to him, and slowly introduced him to the world of technology. It was how they bonded- each week or two, Tony would come around to his apartment with a new gadget or play thing. Eventually Tony was coming by more often, and Steve even found himself down in Tony's workshop for a whole afternoon, helping him with his cars.
Still, Steve still paid for everything in cash, stuck to vintage cars and bikes, and avoided TVs as much as possible. He didn't even own a set The one thing he did get hooked on, though, was the Internet. Clint had been the one to get him onto it, and after Tony had found out, he'd gone and built him a small computer he could carry around- a 'netbook' he had called it. He'd set up the whole system, and now Steve had everything he wanted to know at the touch of his fingers. He gorged over articles, catching up on everything he'd missed out on, obsessively read the news, even found websites simply to give images on how to draw certain poses. He'd meticulously type the URL into the address bar each day until he realised he could just 'bookmark' it.
After nearly three months, in which his relationship with Tony started to turn into something more than just friends, he finally got the nerve up to look at porn. He'd found pin-up sites easy enough, and he smiled at the memories of Marlene Dietrich, Sally Rand and Mae West. But Tony wasn't into a cheeky grin over his shoulder and a flirty wink. His hands and mouth moved below Steve's belt and awakened something else inside him. His search over the Internet took him over a variety of websites, some that piqued his interest, but mostly he just quickly clicked away from. None really lured him back; they all moulded into a rather generic, blah form of imagery, and soon he found himself no longer blushing at the sites of naked men and women, sweaty and rolling around.
He'd almost started to get disappointed until he found his cursor hovering over a new link. He clicked 'Enter' on the age certification and his screen was immediately filled with men and women bound, tied and gagged, their flesh red and bulging around ropes, chains, leather. Bruises marred their skin, their mouths gaping as their bodies were assaulted and injured. Some were wearing blindfolds while others had their eyes open wide, staring at another person, either in the image or off-screen somewhere. Steve's eyes darted over the pictures before he quickly clicked the 'X' in the upper right corner to close the page and immediately slammed the screen of the netbook shut. His heart was pounding, a surge of adrenaline pulsing though his veins, and he instinctively snapped his head to his front door as though he were expecting someone to barge right in and catch him looking at such filthy images.
He avoided looking at any porn again for nearly a week. The images, though brief his view of them were, lurked in the corners of his mind. He forced his hand from his pants at night and tried to fall asleep straight away. However, he was at Tony's one evening (Tony having said Steve's apartment was too small and cramped to really contain any kind of awesome sex and when he finally finished building the extra rooms Steve could just live there with the rest of the team), their mouths smearing over each other, hands groping and pants quickly discarded, the thoughts started to lurk back. A woman with her arms tied painfully behind her, a man with a foot forcing his head to the floor. Reality and fantasy started to merge. Steve's eyes glazed over for a moment, and, as though he couldn't control himself, he tugged at a fistful of Tony's hair.
'Hey!' Tony pulled back, a laugh in his voice. 'What as that for?'
'Sorry,' Steve blurted out as he threw himself backwards on the bed, limbs askew. 'Accident.'
A pause developed between them. Tony laughed lightly and started towards him again, crawling over him and gently pushing Steve back against the mattress. Steve shut his eyes, and once again his mind was filled with images of people in the same, familiar situations, pressed to the ground, legs shoved open and hands above their heads, welts forming where they had doubtlessly been flogged. His heart raced and his stomach lurched. Connecting his palm to Tony's shoulder, he shoved him back, perhaps a little harder than necessary, and rolled off the bed in one smooth movement.
'I need to go,' he said quickly. 'I have to get up early.'
'It's only...' Tony checked his watch. 'Seven PM.'
'I have to cook dinner.'
'We'll order in.' Tony grinned crookedly and again made a motion towards Steve.
'I need to go,' Steve said weakly. Grabbing his jacket and shoes from the floor, he raced from Tony's confused expression before he could stop himself.
That night he hunted down the website again and slowly, unsurely typed his credit card details in. Creating an account, he started first looking over the images. 'Kink on Demand' one page proclaimed, while another stated 'Sex and Submission'. Steve kept his trousers firmly buttoned and done up, refusing to let his hand creep below the flat surface of his desk, although his cock was stirring in his briefs. He found himself downloading certain types of videos, saving similar kinds of images on his hard drive. He found himself developing a predilection towards the men being tied down, whipped and bound. Tanned man, with dark hair and broad chests. The more dominant member of the two being tall, paler, blonde.
Just a preference, he thought, as he finally shut the netbook and shuffled towards his bed. Nothing wrong with that.
*
One week turned into two and then three. He would find himself in his S.H.I.E.L.D. quarters, Tony's hands and mouth over him, tongue in his mouth, a hand shoved down his pants and jacking him. Steve kept his eyes shut, trying to just focus on Tony, nothing but Tony, Tony Tony TonyTonyTony, and yet he felt himself yearning more. He kept his hands firmly on Tony's hips or back, kept his hips rolling into Tony's fist, moaned at the right times, whimpered at others. Sweet, little, vanilla Steve Rogers, the blushing young man who bit his lip and shied away when Tony spoke dirty to him. He could do that, he could play that part. He couldn't dismantle Tony's view him, let him know how perverted Captain America was, fantasising about bruising Tony while they were wrapped around one another.
'Hey, careful!' Tony laughed, as he wiggled in Steve's suddenly too-tight, forceful grip around his waist. 'Keep doing that and I'm going to bruise.'
'Oh,' Steve whispered as he loosened his grip from Tony's ass. He let his hands gently fall back onto Tony's hips and let himself get brought to orgasm, his mind filling with images of him pushing Tony against a wall, hand around his throat and choking him as he fucked him hard and rough.
He picked the lingo up quickly and started plugging similar queries into Google. Gay, flagellation, breath play, whipping, anything to the far end of the kink scale. He found how to create password locked folders, and he moved all the porn onto there, paranoid that someone might run into it. The guilt started to gnaw at him, though. He started looking at vanilla, generic porn: lots of blonde hair and plastic features, bad plotlines and a blowjob before general intercourse. Steve forced himself to wank to it, although he rarely came to orgasm. Even so, the more aggressive images haunted him in his sleep. His dreams were filled of him and Tony, mouths crushing together as he tied him up, lashed him, bruising his body. He woke up to sticky sheets which he carried to the laundry and wept as he waited for them to dry. He was sick, mentally ill- that was the only explanation he could come up with. Something inside of him was broken and festering. He wracked his mind trying to come up with a possible explanation, but he couldn't find anything. Maybe he was just born this way. Maybe the ice had done it to him.
Tony kept inviting him over, but Steve could tell he was beginning to cotton on that everything wasn't alright. He never asked; he just stroked Steve's back after sex, kissed behind his ear, pressed his face to the crook of his neck. Steve let him; he still liked the gentle touch despite everything. He still liked the soft touch of Tony's lips, the way he ran his hands through his hair after sex, the way he wrapped their legs together, held Steve to his chest and dozed. So why was he broken? He felt it bubbling in his chest, the words dying to come out every time he pressed back into Tony's embrace, tongue begging to ask.
'Tony?'
'Mm?'
An opportunity, an opening.
'I need to go home now.'
Tony sighed and, obviously reluctantly, lifted his arm to free Steve. 'I'll see you tomorrow?'
'Yeah. Sure.'
The same routine, every time.
*
The battle had been hard. They had been surrounded on all sides, outnumbered three to one. It had taken every scrap of their training to come out as well as they did. They had wound up the victors- or as victorious as could be considered given their motley state. When they returned to base, all exhausted and doubled over, they had attempted to scatter into their respective rooms, but instead had been herded into the infirmary to get their wounds treated.
Contusions were the majority of the injuries, all of them shades of purple and green and blue. Clint had sprained his right wrist after a fall went badly, and Natasha's knuckles were swollen and bleeding. Bruce had a deep cut from where he'd been struck before he transformed, and Thor had bizarrely lost his voice. Steve's chest and sides were hurting from where he'd been hit with falling debris.
Tony had a black eye and a nasty gash along his left cheekbone. He had lifted his mask when they'd all thought the battle was over, only to be pounced on. He'd fallen backwards, and the attacker had gotten several good hits before Tony could close the faceplate. Thor wound up striking the alien with Mjolnir. The corner of the hammer had grazed Tony's side, causing some minor bruising, but he admitted it was better than the alternative. Steve had avoided looking at Tony the flight home. It was bleeding slowly, and Tony had a towel pressed to it, but his eye was blackening and swelling. In the infirmary he received a series of stitches working their way up his cheekbone and to his eye. Steve had to sit there, doing his best to stay still, as another nurse poked and prodded him before announcing him fit to return to his room.
So he sat there, on the edge of his bed, and his netbook sitting on his lap. He didn't need it, though- his sick, fucked up mind now had the perfect masturbation material. Tony's broken face, bleeding and bruised, as he jumped as the doctor stitched him up. Him jolting at the first touch of antiseptic, squirming as gloved hands touched the sensitive flesh. He shoved the netbook off his lap.
'Sick freak,' Steve hissed to himself as he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyesockets.
There was a soft rap at the door. Steve groaned and buried his face into the pillow, ignoring the strain in his ribcage.
'Steve?' came Bruce's gentle voice.
Steve wanted to yell at him to leave him alone, to fuck right off, but he didn't. It wasn't Bruce's fault he was so messed up, so screwed in the head. It had to be the ice that had done it. He hadn't been like this before the deep freeze. He'd been a nice, polite boy, the kind that a nice, polite girl could take home to meet the parents- if he'd ever caught the eye of any.
He heard the door slide open, and the soft sound of Bruce's feet on the carpet. The door clicked shut.
'It wasn't your fault. You were too far away- nobody blames you.'
The corner of his bed sunk down as Bruce sat upon it. Steve only buried his face into the pillow further. He felt Bruce's hand on his foot, and his stomach lurched as a buried fantasy of smacking the soles of Tony's feet with a cane flashed through his head.
'Tony's inviting us 'round for a game of poker on Friday. He asked me to ask you. I'm not much of a poker person myself, but it'd be nice to, well, bond.'
Steve gave a weak laugh that morphed into a groan. Pressing his fists to his temples, he twisted on the bed and dragged his knees to his chest so he was into a ball. Rocking from side to side, he continued to groan, feeling a sob work its way up from his chest.
'Are you okay?' he heard Bruce ask. 'Should I- maybe I should- '
'I'm sick,' Steve croaked. His face was wet and he pushed it further into a pillow.
'What? Where? Stomach, nose...?'
'In the head.'
Rolling onto his side, still in a ball, he looked over at Bruce. Concern ran over his face, his brow pinched, confusion clear on his expression. Hugging his knees, Steve sniffed, unable to help himself.
'I'm sick. Twisted. I'm seriously messed up and- '
'Steve, I really don't know what you're talking about.'
'- you're all too nice to say anything.' He sat up, holding his weight with a hand. 'There's something seriously wrong in my head. I can't help it. I keep trying to avoid it, and sometimes I can go a few days, but then it keeps coming back and, and then I can't help it. It gets into my veins and suddenly I'm dreaming about it, and- '
'I think you need to speak to a counsellor, Steve. I'm probably not the best person.'
Steve nodded, eyes downcast. 'You're right. I'm... I'm dangerous. I shouldn't even be around people.'
Bruce was silent for a moment. His face was still drawn, lips pressed tight. 'Would you mind- it might be too personal, and so, that's fine if you don't want, but- may I ask... what's wrong?'
He and Tony had never officially made their relationship public. Well, it wasn't even really a relationship. More of a, having-sexual-intercourse-with-one's-best-friend type relationship. Steve never stuck around after sex except to have a drink, and Tony never took him out on dates. This worked out fine in a way, but Tony had been making increasing excuses as to why Steve should stay once they'd screwed themselves out, and Steve had been making increasing excuses to come over to Tony's place without the preamble of just wanting to get off. This whole situation wasn't exactly a secret, but neither of them spoke about it to anyone else, and if anybody knew, they never brought it up. But Bruce was studying him, head tilted to the right, eyes locked on him. Steve pressed his chin to his chest, dropping his eyes.
'I like... seeing people hurt.'
'Oh.'
'And... I want to hurt people.'
'Huh.' A beat. Then, 'anyone in particular?'
'Not you,' Steve said hastily. He looked up, his words coming out in a rush. 'I... I mean I don't want to hurt people, especially you. I mean, anyone; you or Tash or Nick, or, you know...'
'Your friends,' Bruce offered, helpfully.
Steve nodded. 'Right. Or anyone, really. I don't even want to hurt Loki, and Loki's Loki. I'd rather we could all just talk about it, but... when duty calls...' He drifted off, sinking back into himself.
'Uh-huh... and where does harming others come into it?'
Sliding down the wall, Steve grabbed the pillow and shoved it on his lap. He knew Bruce of all people wouldn't yell at him, or lash out, or mock him. He still wanted to keep it inside of him, but now that he'd said it aloud, he wanted to keep talking, to rattle out the words he'd locked inside himself for the past several months. To share the load just a little.
'I saw a video. Um. Several videos,' he finally said. 'Of the, uh, pornographic variety.'
'Porn isn't a crime,' Bruce said, with a soft chuckle. 'It's perfectly natural to- '
'They were hurting each other,' Steve carried on. He'd found a loose thread on the pillowcase and he was tugging at it. 'Or... one of the people in it was getting hurt. Sometimes it was just one person hurting them, sometimes... more. In a lot of different ways. And... at first I was just looking at pictures, but then I started watching the films, and... and then I kept watching them, and they got into my head, and I couldn't stop myself. I'd get... mm, you know. So I'd stop watching them, but then I'd dream about it, choking and whipping and fingers digging into... and I would wake up and start, mmm, before I was able to stop myself. And Tony kept asking me over, and I've been trying so darn hard to stop myself, and I have been, but all the time I've been wanting and wanting and wanting... I can't tell him, I'm sick and I shouldn't even be allowed on this team.' He sucked in a breath and held it. He was shaking, his eyes hot with tears, his jaw quivering. Finally, he added softly, 'please don't tell anyone.'
Bruce was silent for a long time. Steve could see him out of the corner of his vision. He wasn't moving. His hands were folded on his lap, one leg tucked under the other, the cursed netbook near his foot. He ran a hand over his lips, a finger reaching to where his glasses normally sat. He cleared his throat.
'Steve.'
'Mm?'
'These videos... the people in them... they're all adults, right?'
Steve finally looked at him, a single brow raised. He needed to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Bruce nodded and laughed- fuck, how could he laugh at a time like this?
'I just wanted to- I didn't think otherwise, but...' He stopped, and forced the smile from his face. 'But the people in them- did they...?' He gestured towards his crotch. 'Reach their, er, peak of arousal?'
Steve nodded, suddenly turning pink in the cheeks. He couldn't tell Bruce that was his favourite part. Watching the men- it was always men now, dark haired, lanky, long fingers and large, brown eyes- covered in bruises and welts, maybe some broken skin. Bucking and aching, a cock in their ass or mouth, sometimes both, and orgasming all over themselves, sticky and white, again and again and again until Steve came, too. He'd rewatch those parts again and again, sometimes just the audio since he'd committed all the visuals to memory. Imagining it was Tony beneath him, driving into him, balls deep, pressing down on the bruises and making him hiss as he spent himself all over his belly.
'So... you'd say it was all consensual, what was filmed?'
Steve shrugged a shoulder. 'It said so on the website... websites,' he corrected, quietly.
'Ah.' Bruce nodded, and stood up. He patted Steve on the head, scruffing his hair, and tossed the netbook over at him.
'Where- what...? You're just going to go?'
Bruce smiled, the uncertain, yet confident smile he gave for awkward moments. 'Look. We're a bunch of screwballs. Somehow I think you're the least screwy of us. I wouldn't worry too much, okay?' He paused in the doorway, fingers curled around the handle. 'Some people are into choking. Some aren't.'
'I don't...'
Bruce dropped his hand. He stepped away from the door, his fingers lightly clasped. 'Steve... you're a good person. The best out of the whole team. You're not sick, or damaged, or mentally ill. You have a fetish. That's normal- healthy, even. I wouldn't worry about it.' He paused and took a breath. 'If you're really worried about what Tony thinks... Talk to him. He's very blasé. I'll expect to see you on Friday night, alright?'
With that he left, leaving Steve still curled up on the bed, netbook hanging limply from his right hand. He stared at the door for a long moment, his breath caught in his chest. Then, with a yell, he threw the netbook at the wall. It crashed against it loudly. Leaping up, he stalked over to it and kicked it hard, once and then twice. The third kick cracked the casing. Stomping on it, he felt the glass shatter against the keyboard. Falling to the ground, he let the aching wail explode from him and the hot tears streak down his face.
*
He avoided the rest of the Avengers for the next three days. The team had been given a temporary leave of absence as S.H.I.E.L.D cleaned up the mess the aliens had wrought. The destruction of the netbook had lifted a weight from Steve's shoulders. The conversation he had with Bruce spun in his head, but it seemed as though breaking the computer had eased the turmoil. A visual representation of breaking free from his secret.
He listened to the radio during that short time period, a newspaper in his lap, a cup of coffee resting on the armrest of the couch. He wandered down to Central Park and sketched whatever came to him. For a while his mind struggled with the fantasies of breaking Tony. He lurked on the steps of the library for a while, sipping a coffee and a bagel in the other hand. Eventually, though, he turned and walked back to his apartment.
*
The poker game finished close to midnight. Everyone slowly wandered downstairs, to the spare rooms Tony had announced as theirs for the evening, but if they could leave before ten AM the following morning, that would be fantastic. The tower had almost been finished, although scaffolding was still in place in some areas, some walls unpainted, the carpeting in others still not nailed in. Everybody, Bruce included, mumbled their response and dragged themselves off. Steve stayed sitting in his chair, knees to his chest. His ribs no longer hurt, although he couldn't say the same for everyone else.
Tony still had a large, angry wound under his left eye. The swelling wasn't as bad as everyone had thought it would be, but throughout the night he kept raising his lowball to his cheek and hissing softly. Steve had barely been able to drag his eyes away. He'd lost badly at each game. Eventually he gave up and silently swapped between watching the rest and flicking through his sketch book. Now he was leaning back into the sofa, Tony opposite him. He was shifting through a report, a pen in one hand. He'd occasionally circle something, lean back and then write something.
'You going to bed?'
'Mm.'
Steve closed his sketchbook and set it down on the table. He dragged his legs to his chest, bare feet on the couch, and rested his chin on top his knees, folding in on himself. His eyes traced over the gash, the purple bruise. Other bruises had surfaced. Blue and green speckled Tony's neck and chest, his arms. He'd reached up to grab the whisky off the top shelf during the night, and Steve had shivered to see a large course of bruises running over Tony's hips.
'You wanna come up to my bed?'
'Mm.' Steve paused. 'No.'
Tony dropped the stack of paper on his lap. He raised his right brow, his unmarked eyed, and tossed the report onto the table. The cards were still scattered on it.
'No?' he repeated, incredulous. 'You've been staring at me for the whole night. Thor even asked me if you were okay- Thor. The most oblivious alien this side of Asgard.'
'I- I'm just tired, that's all.'
'Could've fooled me.' Tony pulled himself up into a seated position and swallowed the rest of his whisky. Smacking his lips, he flopped back, eyes back on Steve. 'If you're annoyed because you kept losing- '
'I'm not,' Steve interrupted. 'I've never been able to play. I liked being around everyone. I just...' He stood up and moved around the sofa. Gripping the back of it with his hands, he tried to drag his eyes away from Tony's injury but couldn't.
Tony paused for a moment, and then pointed at it. 'This? Shit, Steve, I thought Bruce had- he said you were- '
'Bruce told you?!' Steve repeated, his gut lurching.
'Yeah, he said you were upset about it but seemed okay when- look, I'd've spoken to you myself but you've been avoiding me for weeks, fuck.' Tony stood up, grimacing as he did so. He raised a hand to his cheek. 'If you wanted to break- stop sleeping together, then- '
'I want to rip your stitches out,' Steve blurted out. He brought his hand to his mouth, eyes wide, the blood running from his head.
Tony jolted his head up and looked at him. 'I'm sorry?'
Steve shook his head. Tony cocked his head, frowning as best he could.
'Could you- '
'No.' Steve shook his head again.
'Did you just say...?' He pointed at the dozen stitches running under his eye. 'Because the doc said they can't come out for a week at the earliest. Shit knows what was on that alien fucker's knife.' Tony took another step forward, his legs grazing the front of the sofa. 'So we can't play doctor tonight, sorry.'
'I want to rip them out,' Steve whispered. He couldn't help himself. He was suddenly dizzy; he felt as though he were in a dream. 'And dig my thumb into it. And push my fingers into the bruise and your eye socket. I want to make you cry.' The last sentence came out barely above a breath. His knees were shaking, mind reeling, the only thing keeping him standing being sheer will.
Tony was silent, speechless. His eyes bored into Steve's, his mouth open, right brow furrowed while his left struggled against the swelling. Steve realised his bottom lip was red and puffy, and he swallowed thickly, his mind instantly going over the idea of sucking on it and making it all the more swollen. He shivered and ducked his head, the same-old wash of shame overcoming him. God, he'd fucked up.
'Do you want to hit me?'
'Yes.'
'Why?'
Steve shrugged. 'I'm sick.'
'Did I...? Did somebody...? I haven't- Pepper and I, we're just- what...?'
'It's not you,' Steve whispered. He squeezed his eyes shut and dug his fingers into the couch, feeling the material pucker underneath his fingertips. 'I'm messed up... that's all. I... want to hurt you. I want to mark you. Bruise you. I want to punch you hard and- ' His breath caught in his throat. 'I want to tie you up and chain you and make you beg me to stop.' He was shaking hard, fighting down the bile in the back of his throat. 'That's why I haven't been talking to you. Because every time you touch me, I want to grab your hand and bend your fingers back. I want to make you bleed. I'm- I'm dangerous, Tony, I shouldn't be here, pretending to be some damn hero and saving the world when I can't even stop my fucking mind from these thoughts.' His voice hitched as he swore. He finally tore his eyes open. Tony had moved to his side of the couch, barely a foot away. 'I'm sorry- I'm so, so sorry. I don't know how you can stand to be around me.'
'Hit me.'
'What? No!'
Tony took a step forward. Steve moved back. 'You want to hit me, so do it.'
'I don't- I can't, your face- Tony, don't.'
Tony swung first. His fist cracked against Steve's jaw. Steve stumbled backwards, catching himself. He swung back, a little more wildly than he expected, with his left hand. Tony's head whipped to the left. Grabbing Steve's wrist, he dug his short fingernails in and stepped up to him, chest-to-chest.
'That's it?' he spat. 'You're a fucking super soldier! Captain fucking America! You were my father's wet dream, and you give a pansy ass slap like that?' He shoved Steve hard. 'Do it. Hit me like I'm a fucking HYDRA agent.'
Gulping, Steve did. Tony's head smacked to the left again, an angry red welt forming. It wasn't as hard as he could go, but his eyes kept running over the gash, counting the stitches, making sure none had popped out. It was strange to hit him, to hear the sound of the smack, to feel Tony's cheek growing hot.
Tony laughed, raw and deep. 'I saw the pictures of you before you became part of the project. Weak ass thing. You're still hitting like him.'
Steve growled, low in his throat. Tony raised his hand and hit him with the back of his hand, his knuckle grazing his cheek. Steve's flesh stung and he realised dimly that the skin had been broken. Stepping forward, he grabbed Tony's arm and pulled him towards him. He yanked Tony's arm behind his back, hand to shoulder blade, pulling it tight. Kicking his legs out from underneath him, Steve followed him to the ground. Tony bucked underneath him, swearing loudly. With his free arm, he reached out and groped blindly on the coffee table. Steve flung forward and, with one arm, shoved the table over. The glasses crash loudly, the empty liquor bottles smashing. With his concentration deflected momentarily, Tony slipped out from his grip and made a move away. Steve whipped around grabbed the back of his shirt. There was the sound of fabric tearing and stretching as Tony strained against it. Reaching behind, he dug his fingers into Steve's wrist, trying to pry his hand away. With a grunt, he lurched forward and dove for him, sending the taller man into the knocked-over table. Steve's head crunched against the edge, a flash of pain running down his skull. Tony leapt on him, his hands clawing at his shirt collar. Their mouths crushed against one another, teeth and tongues fighting for dominance. Steve realised dimly that Tony was hard against his stomach, his hips rolling, rubbing.
And, it dawned on him, so was he.
Pushing Tony onto his back, Steve crawled atop him, ripping his shirt open in the process. Tony's arc reactor was burning bright, illuminating his bruised ribs, the swelling of his eye. Steve pulled his own shirt off, a loose button popping as he fought with it. Scrunching it into a ball, he shoved it roughly under Tony's head. His hips were still bucking, hands clawing at Steve's shoulders, throat. Grabbing Tony's wrists in one hand, he thrust them above his head.
'Stay,' he hissed as he leant over to kiss him again.
Tony's kiss was hungry, demanding, moaning as Steve jerked his jeans down and loosened his own. Steve kicked them off and helped Tony to do the same. Clambering back up Tony's form, he regripped his wrists and dug his knees into Tony's waist. His free hand slid down Tony's jaw and over his throat. He could feel his pulse, the scratch against his Adam's apple as he breathed and sighed. He pressed down, gently, tentatively, before yanking his hand away and wrapping it around his cock. He could feel Tony's erection rubbing against the end of his spine, seeking purchase. Reaching behind, he took hold of it was well. The angle wasn't perfect but it would do. Tony sighed, eyes rolling back. His arms were still above his head, the skin around his wrists red from Steve's grip.
Letting go of his cock, Steve pressed his fingers to the scarred tissue around Tony's arc reactor. Tony jolted, his eyes opening, watching Steve's tentative fingers. Still jacking him, the head of Tony's erection hot and swollen, he dragged his fingernails down his chest, catching a nipple under a nail. Tony shuddered, breath hitching. He came, ejaculating fast over Steve's hand. He moaned, hips rolling and bucking as Steve milked him.
As Tony lay stretched out, Steve stroked his cock, eyes darting over Tony's swollen eye, the gash, the bruises marring his tanned skin. He was hurting, too, his cheek puffy from where Tony had hit him, the back of his head from the edge of the table, arm from where he'd knocked it over. His orgasm hit him hard, come streaking Tony's chest and over the arc reactor. Shutting his eyes tight he let himself fall against Tony, ignoring the sticky patch between them. Tony's arms wrapped around him, holding him close, nose to his temple.
'You 'kay?' Tony asked, voice thick, gruff.
Steve nodded. Lifting his chin, he rested it on Tony's shoulder. Brushing his finger over the stitches on Tony's cheek, he counted them. They were all still in place.
'Sorry I hurt you,' he whispered.
'You didn't,' Tony replied without hesitation. 'You told me you were going to rip out my stitches- you didn't even graze that side of my face.' Tony waited until he had his full attention. 'You hit me with your left hand, Steve. You're right handed. You would have ripped my stitches out if you'd hit me with your dominant hand.'
Steve buried his face into the crook of Tony's neck, mouthing his neck. His body was sore, but he'd heal quickly.
'I'm sorry if I pissed you off with what I said,' Tony said, vaguely apologetically but with a mocking undertone. 'I'd still stick it in you, even you reverted back to your stick insect form.'
Laughing, Steve spread his sticky, come-streaked hand on Tony's chest. He kissed him on the corner of his lips, the thread of guilt in his stomach unravelling. He slipped off Tony, who grunted and mumbled about how heavy he was, and nestled in close to him. Tony's hand flopped onto his belly, his eyes shut.
'I love you, Steve.' Tony's voice was soft, and Steve had to strain to hear him.
Steve ran his eyes over Tony's features. He couldn't tell if he was blushing, but, then again, Tony never blushed. His eyes were resolutely shut, his mouth a thin line, his form still except for the rise and fall of his chest.
'I love you, too, Tony,' Steve replied, his voice just as soft.
Tony's features softened. Lolling his head to the side, clearly fighting cracking into a smile, he ran the back of his hand up Steve's middle.
'I just realised you might need to help me in the shower. I'm old, you know. Joints aren't quite what they used to be.'
'Uh-huh.'
'Actually, you might need to help me into bed. Keep an eye on me throughout the night, make sure I don't pull my stitches out. Think you can do that?'
Steve pushed himself up and took Tony's hand. Helping him up, he grabbed their clothes and tucked them under his arm.
'I might be able to do that.'
Following Tony out the door, tiptoeing over the broken glass and damaged furniture, Steve gently smacked him on the ass. Tony grinned, all teeth, and tugged Steve towards the bathroom.
He fell asleep in Tony's arms that night, held close with Tony's face pressed into his shoulder. He dreamt of nothing, his sleep deep and restful for the first time in months.
*
JARVIS woke him at nine AM. He was curled up in the large bed, quilt over his head, the sheets tangled somewhere around his feet. Yawning loudly, he stretched out, flopping over to find the other side of the bed empty. He was naked. Somehow, none of this surprised him. Scratching idly, he rolled out of bed and found some fresh, clean clothes hanging off the doorknob of Tony's far too large wardrobe. The tips of his ears burnt as he recognised Pepper's handiwork. Shoving them on, needing to rebutton the shirt twice in his haste, he snatched his shoes from where they sat by the door and raced out. The level he was on was empty, so he moved down to the one below. The smell of breakfast hit him. Tony and Pepper were bickering, while Bruce, a little too bright-eyed, slid a plate of eggs and sausages to the far side of the counter when he saw Steve.
'Look, Happy knows a guy who'll get it fixed.'
'Tony, you can't just break a two thousand dollar table because you were beaten in a game of poker.'
'Tomatoes will be ready soon,' Bruce murmured to Steve. 'You and, uh, Tony...?'
'Hey, I'll just buy another,' Tony said dismissively as he breezed around Pepper and grabbed the plate from Steve's hands. Snatching a fork, he dug into the eggs. 'Besides, you should be blaming Steve.'
Steve shook his head, hands up. Bruce handed him another plate. They went to sit down as Tony and Pepper continued to bicker, Pepper clearly biting his lower lip and rolling her eyes as Tony blithely dug into the breakfast.
'I had to stop Natasha from investigating last night,' Bruce said quietly.
'Thanks.'
'I tried to wake them up for breakfast,' Bruce continued, after taking a sip from a glass of orange juice.
'Don't!' Tony suddenly bellowed. He slipped into the chair next to Steve, while Pepper sighed and pulled her phone out to start making calls. 'If they wake up, we'll need to share with them. And Thor will drink all the coffee.'
They ate the rest of the breakfast in silence, Steve helping himself to seconds. Bruce eventually excused himself, so it was just Steve and Tony. Their legs pressed together under the table, and Tony scratched his chair over the floor to shift closer to Steve.
'So. I heard a musical of The Wizard of Oz was made,' Steve said slowly. Tony grunted his response around a mouthful of eggs. 'Want to get tickets?'
'Sure,' Tony replied. He pulled his phone out from his pocket and started tapping away at it. 'Friday good?'
'Sure.'
'Want to get dinner beforehand?'
'Sounds good.'
'Mm. You'll obviously need to stay the night, because it will be late.'
'Obviously.'
'And we'll need to work on a safeword,' Tony continued. Steve raised his eyes to him. 'Just in case.'
'Right.'
Tony's face was still blotchy in places. The worst of the swelling seemed to have gone down during the night. There was a thin sheen across the stitches where he had obviously applied an antibiotic cream. A flicker of guilt washed over him, but he squashed it down as Tony smiled, cheeky and wry. He forced the niggling feeling away. Tony was watching him, his thumb rubbing small circles into his thigh, as though he were amazed. Steve wanted to bring it up, but somehow he couldn't- or rather, he didn't want to. They could talk about it soon, but for now, Steve just wanted to stay sitting there, drinking in the moment.
Author: finding_jay
Pairing: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Hardcore BDSM, self-loathing, violence, explicit sex scene. Eggs.
Summary: Steve hates the Internet and porn and the twenty-first century and, most of all, himself.
Notes: Written for avengers_tables Kink Table prompt 'impact play'.
It was amazing how the world had changed in the time he'd been asleep. Everything was so bizarre. Television, the radio, vehicles. Even smaller things, like going to the grocery store, had become an adventure. Steve couldn't get a grip on self-checkout machines, and the idea of ATMs were a nightmare. He had begged the women down at payroll if he could just get paid in cash or cheque, and after mumbling some excuses they admitted they didn't know how. Tony had finally explained the intricacies of it all to him, and slowly introduced him to the world of technology. It was how they bonded- each week or two, Tony would come around to his apartment with a new gadget or play thing. Eventually Tony was coming by more often, and Steve even found himself down in Tony's workshop for a whole afternoon, helping him with his cars.
Still, Steve still paid for everything in cash, stuck to vintage cars and bikes, and avoided TVs as much as possible. He didn't even own a set The one thing he did get hooked on, though, was the Internet. Clint had been the one to get him onto it, and after Tony had found out, he'd gone and built him a small computer he could carry around- a 'netbook' he had called it. He'd set up the whole system, and now Steve had everything he wanted to know at the touch of his fingers. He gorged over articles, catching up on everything he'd missed out on, obsessively read the news, even found websites simply to give images on how to draw certain poses. He'd meticulously type the URL into the address bar each day until he realised he could just 'bookmark' it.
After nearly three months, in which his relationship with Tony started to turn into something more than just friends, he finally got the nerve up to look at porn. He'd found pin-up sites easy enough, and he smiled at the memories of Marlene Dietrich, Sally Rand and Mae West. But Tony wasn't into a cheeky grin over his shoulder and a flirty wink. His hands and mouth moved below Steve's belt and awakened something else inside him. His search over the Internet took him over a variety of websites, some that piqued his interest, but mostly he just quickly clicked away from. None really lured him back; they all moulded into a rather generic, blah form of imagery, and soon he found himself no longer blushing at the sites of naked men and women, sweaty and rolling around.
He'd almost started to get disappointed until he found his cursor hovering over a new link. He clicked 'Enter' on the age certification and his screen was immediately filled with men and women bound, tied and gagged, their flesh red and bulging around ropes, chains, leather. Bruises marred their skin, their mouths gaping as their bodies were assaulted and injured. Some were wearing blindfolds while others had their eyes open wide, staring at another person, either in the image or off-screen somewhere. Steve's eyes darted over the pictures before he quickly clicked the 'X' in the upper right corner to close the page and immediately slammed the screen of the netbook shut. His heart was pounding, a surge of adrenaline pulsing though his veins, and he instinctively snapped his head to his front door as though he were expecting someone to barge right in and catch him looking at such filthy images.
He avoided looking at any porn again for nearly a week. The images, though brief his view of them were, lurked in the corners of his mind. He forced his hand from his pants at night and tried to fall asleep straight away. However, he was at Tony's one evening (Tony having said Steve's apartment was too small and cramped to really contain any kind of awesome sex and when he finally finished building the extra rooms Steve could just live there with the rest of the team), their mouths smearing over each other, hands groping and pants quickly discarded, the thoughts started to lurk back. A woman with her arms tied painfully behind her, a man with a foot forcing his head to the floor. Reality and fantasy started to merge. Steve's eyes glazed over for a moment, and, as though he couldn't control himself, he tugged at a fistful of Tony's hair.
'Hey!' Tony pulled back, a laugh in his voice. 'What as that for?'
'Sorry,' Steve blurted out as he threw himself backwards on the bed, limbs askew. 'Accident.'
A pause developed between them. Tony laughed lightly and started towards him again, crawling over him and gently pushing Steve back against the mattress. Steve shut his eyes, and once again his mind was filled with images of people in the same, familiar situations, pressed to the ground, legs shoved open and hands above their heads, welts forming where they had doubtlessly been flogged. His heart raced and his stomach lurched. Connecting his palm to Tony's shoulder, he shoved him back, perhaps a little harder than necessary, and rolled off the bed in one smooth movement.
'I need to go,' he said quickly. 'I have to get up early.'
'It's only...' Tony checked his watch. 'Seven PM.'
'I have to cook dinner.'
'We'll order in.' Tony grinned crookedly and again made a motion towards Steve.
'I need to go,' Steve said weakly. Grabbing his jacket and shoes from the floor, he raced from Tony's confused expression before he could stop himself.
That night he hunted down the website again and slowly, unsurely typed his credit card details in. Creating an account, he started first looking over the images. 'Kink on Demand' one page proclaimed, while another stated 'Sex and Submission'. Steve kept his trousers firmly buttoned and done up, refusing to let his hand creep below the flat surface of his desk, although his cock was stirring in his briefs. He found himself downloading certain types of videos, saving similar kinds of images on his hard drive. He found himself developing a predilection towards the men being tied down, whipped and bound. Tanned man, with dark hair and broad chests. The more dominant member of the two being tall, paler, blonde.
Just a preference, he thought, as he finally shut the netbook and shuffled towards his bed. Nothing wrong with that.
*
One week turned into two and then three. He would find himself in his S.H.I.E.L.D. quarters, Tony's hands and mouth over him, tongue in his mouth, a hand shoved down his pants and jacking him. Steve kept his eyes shut, trying to just focus on Tony, nothing but Tony, Tony Tony TonyTonyTony, and yet he felt himself yearning more. He kept his hands firmly on Tony's hips or back, kept his hips rolling into Tony's fist, moaned at the right times, whimpered at others. Sweet, little, vanilla Steve Rogers, the blushing young man who bit his lip and shied away when Tony spoke dirty to him. He could do that, he could play that part. He couldn't dismantle Tony's view him, let him know how perverted Captain America was, fantasising about bruising Tony while they were wrapped around one another.
'Hey, careful!' Tony laughed, as he wiggled in Steve's suddenly too-tight, forceful grip around his waist. 'Keep doing that and I'm going to bruise.'
'Oh,' Steve whispered as he loosened his grip from Tony's ass. He let his hands gently fall back onto Tony's hips and let himself get brought to orgasm, his mind filling with images of him pushing Tony against a wall, hand around his throat and choking him as he fucked him hard and rough.
He picked the lingo up quickly and started plugging similar queries into Google. Gay, flagellation, breath play, whipping, anything to the far end of the kink scale. He found how to create password locked folders, and he moved all the porn onto there, paranoid that someone might run into it. The guilt started to gnaw at him, though. He started looking at vanilla, generic porn: lots of blonde hair and plastic features, bad plotlines and a blowjob before general intercourse. Steve forced himself to wank to it, although he rarely came to orgasm. Even so, the more aggressive images haunted him in his sleep. His dreams were filled of him and Tony, mouths crushing together as he tied him up, lashed him, bruising his body. He woke up to sticky sheets which he carried to the laundry and wept as he waited for them to dry. He was sick, mentally ill- that was the only explanation he could come up with. Something inside of him was broken and festering. He wracked his mind trying to come up with a possible explanation, but he couldn't find anything. Maybe he was just born this way. Maybe the ice had done it to him.
Tony kept inviting him over, but Steve could tell he was beginning to cotton on that everything wasn't alright. He never asked; he just stroked Steve's back after sex, kissed behind his ear, pressed his face to the crook of his neck. Steve let him; he still liked the gentle touch despite everything. He still liked the soft touch of Tony's lips, the way he ran his hands through his hair after sex, the way he wrapped their legs together, held Steve to his chest and dozed. So why was he broken? He felt it bubbling in his chest, the words dying to come out every time he pressed back into Tony's embrace, tongue begging to ask.
'Tony?'
'Mm?'
An opportunity, an opening.
'I need to go home now.'
Tony sighed and, obviously reluctantly, lifted his arm to free Steve. 'I'll see you tomorrow?'
'Yeah. Sure.'
The same routine, every time.
*
The battle had been hard. They had been surrounded on all sides, outnumbered three to one. It had taken every scrap of their training to come out as well as they did. They had wound up the victors- or as victorious as could be considered given their motley state. When they returned to base, all exhausted and doubled over, they had attempted to scatter into their respective rooms, but instead had been herded into the infirmary to get their wounds treated.
Contusions were the majority of the injuries, all of them shades of purple and green and blue. Clint had sprained his right wrist after a fall went badly, and Natasha's knuckles were swollen and bleeding. Bruce had a deep cut from where he'd been struck before he transformed, and Thor had bizarrely lost his voice. Steve's chest and sides were hurting from where he'd been hit with falling debris.
Tony had a black eye and a nasty gash along his left cheekbone. He had lifted his mask when they'd all thought the battle was over, only to be pounced on. He'd fallen backwards, and the attacker had gotten several good hits before Tony could close the faceplate. Thor wound up striking the alien with Mjolnir. The corner of the hammer had grazed Tony's side, causing some minor bruising, but he admitted it was better than the alternative. Steve had avoided looking at Tony the flight home. It was bleeding slowly, and Tony had a towel pressed to it, but his eye was blackening and swelling. In the infirmary he received a series of stitches working their way up his cheekbone and to his eye. Steve had to sit there, doing his best to stay still, as another nurse poked and prodded him before announcing him fit to return to his room.
So he sat there, on the edge of his bed, and his netbook sitting on his lap. He didn't need it, though- his sick, fucked up mind now had the perfect masturbation material. Tony's broken face, bleeding and bruised, as he jumped as the doctor stitched him up. Him jolting at the first touch of antiseptic, squirming as gloved hands touched the sensitive flesh. He shoved the netbook off his lap.
'Sick freak,' Steve hissed to himself as he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyesockets.
There was a soft rap at the door. Steve groaned and buried his face into the pillow, ignoring the strain in his ribcage.
'Steve?' came Bruce's gentle voice.
Steve wanted to yell at him to leave him alone, to fuck right off, but he didn't. It wasn't Bruce's fault he was so messed up, so screwed in the head. It had to be the ice that had done it. He hadn't been like this before the deep freeze. He'd been a nice, polite boy, the kind that a nice, polite girl could take home to meet the parents- if he'd ever caught the eye of any.
He heard the door slide open, and the soft sound of Bruce's feet on the carpet. The door clicked shut.
'It wasn't your fault. You were too far away- nobody blames you.'
The corner of his bed sunk down as Bruce sat upon it. Steve only buried his face into the pillow further. He felt Bruce's hand on his foot, and his stomach lurched as a buried fantasy of smacking the soles of Tony's feet with a cane flashed through his head.
'Tony's inviting us 'round for a game of poker on Friday. He asked me to ask you. I'm not much of a poker person myself, but it'd be nice to, well, bond.'
Steve gave a weak laugh that morphed into a groan. Pressing his fists to his temples, he twisted on the bed and dragged his knees to his chest so he was into a ball. Rocking from side to side, he continued to groan, feeling a sob work its way up from his chest.
'Are you okay?' he heard Bruce ask. 'Should I- maybe I should- '
'I'm sick,' Steve croaked. His face was wet and he pushed it further into a pillow.
'What? Where? Stomach, nose...?'
'In the head.'
Rolling onto his side, still in a ball, he looked over at Bruce. Concern ran over his face, his brow pinched, confusion clear on his expression. Hugging his knees, Steve sniffed, unable to help himself.
'I'm sick. Twisted. I'm seriously messed up and- '
'Steve, I really don't know what you're talking about.'
'- you're all too nice to say anything.' He sat up, holding his weight with a hand. 'There's something seriously wrong in my head. I can't help it. I keep trying to avoid it, and sometimes I can go a few days, but then it keeps coming back and, and then I can't help it. It gets into my veins and suddenly I'm dreaming about it, and- '
'I think you need to speak to a counsellor, Steve. I'm probably not the best person.'
Steve nodded, eyes downcast. 'You're right. I'm... I'm dangerous. I shouldn't even be around people.'
Bruce was silent for a moment. His face was still drawn, lips pressed tight. 'Would you mind- it might be too personal, and so, that's fine if you don't want, but- may I ask... what's wrong?'
He and Tony had never officially made their relationship public. Well, it wasn't even really a relationship. More of a, having-sexual-intercourse-with-one's-best-friend type relationship. Steve never stuck around after sex except to have a drink, and Tony never took him out on dates. This worked out fine in a way, but Tony had been making increasing excuses as to why Steve should stay once they'd screwed themselves out, and Steve had been making increasing excuses to come over to Tony's place without the preamble of just wanting to get off. This whole situation wasn't exactly a secret, but neither of them spoke about it to anyone else, and if anybody knew, they never brought it up. But Bruce was studying him, head tilted to the right, eyes locked on him. Steve pressed his chin to his chest, dropping his eyes.
'I like... seeing people hurt.'
'Oh.'
'And... I want to hurt people.'
'Huh.' A beat. Then, 'anyone in particular?'
'Not you,' Steve said hastily. He looked up, his words coming out in a rush. 'I... I mean I don't want to hurt people, especially you. I mean, anyone; you or Tash or Nick, or, you know...'
'Your friends,' Bruce offered, helpfully.
Steve nodded. 'Right. Or anyone, really. I don't even want to hurt Loki, and Loki's Loki. I'd rather we could all just talk about it, but... when duty calls...' He drifted off, sinking back into himself.
'Uh-huh... and where does harming others come into it?'
Sliding down the wall, Steve grabbed the pillow and shoved it on his lap. He knew Bruce of all people wouldn't yell at him, or lash out, or mock him. He still wanted to keep it inside of him, but now that he'd said it aloud, he wanted to keep talking, to rattle out the words he'd locked inside himself for the past several months. To share the load just a little.
'I saw a video. Um. Several videos,' he finally said. 'Of the, uh, pornographic variety.'
'Porn isn't a crime,' Bruce said, with a soft chuckle. 'It's perfectly natural to- '
'They were hurting each other,' Steve carried on. He'd found a loose thread on the pillowcase and he was tugging at it. 'Or... one of the people in it was getting hurt. Sometimes it was just one person hurting them, sometimes... more. In a lot of different ways. And... at first I was just looking at pictures, but then I started watching the films, and... and then I kept watching them, and they got into my head, and I couldn't stop myself. I'd get... mm, you know. So I'd stop watching them, but then I'd dream about it, choking and whipping and fingers digging into... and I would wake up and start, mmm, before I was able to stop myself. And Tony kept asking me over, and I've been trying so darn hard to stop myself, and I have been, but all the time I've been wanting and wanting and wanting... I can't tell him, I'm sick and I shouldn't even be allowed on this team.' He sucked in a breath and held it. He was shaking, his eyes hot with tears, his jaw quivering. Finally, he added softly, 'please don't tell anyone.'
Bruce was silent for a long time. Steve could see him out of the corner of his vision. He wasn't moving. His hands were folded on his lap, one leg tucked under the other, the cursed netbook near his foot. He ran a hand over his lips, a finger reaching to where his glasses normally sat. He cleared his throat.
'Steve.'
'Mm?'
'These videos... the people in them... they're all adults, right?'
Steve finally looked at him, a single brow raised. He needed to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Bruce nodded and laughed- fuck, how could he laugh at a time like this?
'I just wanted to- I didn't think otherwise, but...' He stopped, and forced the smile from his face. 'But the people in them- did they...?' He gestured towards his crotch. 'Reach their, er, peak of arousal?'
Steve nodded, suddenly turning pink in the cheeks. He couldn't tell Bruce that was his favourite part. Watching the men- it was always men now, dark haired, lanky, long fingers and large, brown eyes- covered in bruises and welts, maybe some broken skin. Bucking and aching, a cock in their ass or mouth, sometimes both, and orgasming all over themselves, sticky and white, again and again and again until Steve came, too. He'd rewatch those parts again and again, sometimes just the audio since he'd committed all the visuals to memory. Imagining it was Tony beneath him, driving into him, balls deep, pressing down on the bruises and making him hiss as he spent himself all over his belly.
'So... you'd say it was all consensual, what was filmed?'
Steve shrugged a shoulder. 'It said so on the website... websites,' he corrected, quietly.
'Ah.' Bruce nodded, and stood up. He patted Steve on the head, scruffing his hair, and tossed the netbook over at him.
'Where- what...? You're just going to go?'
Bruce smiled, the uncertain, yet confident smile he gave for awkward moments. 'Look. We're a bunch of screwballs. Somehow I think you're the least screwy of us. I wouldn't worry too much, okay?' He paused in the doorway, fingers curled around the handle. 'Some people are into choking. Some aren't.'
'I don't...'
Bruce dropped his hand. He stepped away from the door, his fingers lightly clasped. 'Steve... you're a good person. The best out of the whole team. You're not sick, or damaged, or mentally ill. You have a fetish. That's normal- healthy, even. I wouldn't worry about it.' He paused and took a breath. 'If you're really worried about what Tony thinks... Talk to him. He's very blasé. I'll expect to see you on Friday night, alright?'
With that he left, leaving Steve still curled up on the bed, netbook hanging limply from his right hand. He stared at the door for a long moment, his breath caught in his chest. Then, with a yell, he threw the netbook at the wall. It crashed against it loudly. Leaping up, he stalked over to it and kicked it hard, once and then twice. The third kick cracked the casing. Stomping on it, he felt the glass shatter against the keyboard. Falling to the ground, he let the aching wail explode from him and the hot tears streak down his face.
*
He avoided the rest of the Avengers for the next three days. The team had been given a temporary leave of absence as S.H.I.E.L.D cleaned up the mess the aliens had wrought. The destruction of the netbook had lifted a weight from Steve's shoulders. The conversation he had with Bruce spun in his head, but it seemed as though breaking the computer had eased the turmoil. A visual representation of breaking free from his secret.
He listened to the radio during that short time period, a newspaper in his lap, a cup of coffee resting on the armrest of the couch. He wandered down to Central Park and sketched whatever came to him. For a while his mind struggled with the fantasies of breaking Tony. He lurked on the steps of the library for a while, sipping a coffee and a bagel in the other hand. Eventually, though, he turned and walked back to his apartment.
*
The poker game finished close to midnight. Everyone slowly wandered downstairs, to the spare rooms Tony had announced as theirs for the evening, but if they could leave before ten AM the following morning, that would be fantastic. The tower had almost been finished, although scaffolding was still in place in some areas, some walls unpainted, the carpeting in others still not nailed in. Everybody, Bruce included, mumbled their response and dragged themselves off. Steve stayed sitting in his chair, knees to his chest. His ribs no longer hurt, although he couldn't say the same for everyone else.
Tony still had a large, angry wound under his left eye. The swelling wasn't as bad as everyone had thought it would be, but throughout the night he kept raising his lowball to his cheek and hissing softly. Steve had barely been able to drag his eyes away. He'd lost badly at each game. Eventually he gave up and silently swapped between watching the rest and flicking through his sketch book. Now he was leaning back into the sofa, Tony opposite him. He was shifting through a report, a pen in one hand. He'd occasionally circle something, lean back and then write something.
'You going to bed?'
'Mm.'
Steve closed his sketchbook and set it down on the table. He dragged his legs to his chest, bare feet on the couch, and rested his chin on top his knees, folding in on himself. His eyes traced over the gash, the purple bruise. Other bruises had surfaced. Blue and green speckled Tony's neck and chest, his arms. He'd reached up to grab the whisky off the top shelf during the night, and Steve had shivered to see a large course of bruises running over Tony's hips.
'You wanna come up to my bed?'
'Mm.' Steve paused. 'No.'
Tony dropped the stack of paper on his lap. He raised his right brow, his unmarked eyed, and tossed the report onto the table. The cards were still scattered on it.
'No?' he repeated, incredulous. 'You've been staring at me for the whole night. Thor even asked me if you were okay- Thor. The most oblivious alien this side of Asgard.'
'I- I'm just tired, that's all.'
'Could've fooled me.' Tony pulled himself up into a seated position and swallowed the rest of his whisky. Smacking his lips, he flopped back, eyes back on Steve. 'If you're annoyed because you kept losing- '
'I'm not,' Steve interrupted. 'I've never been able to play. I liked being around everyone. I just...' He stood up and moved around the sofa. Gripping the back of it with his hands, he tried to drag his eyes away from Tony's injury but couldn't.
Tony paused for a moment, and then pointed at it. 'This? Shit, Steve, I thought Bruce had- he said you were- '
'Bruce told you?!' Steve repeated, his gut lurching.
'Yeah, he said you were upset about it but seemed okay when- look, I'd've spoken to you myself but you've been avoiding me for weeks, fuck.' Tony stood up, grimacing as he did so. He raised a hand to his cheek. 'If you wanted to break- stop sleeping together, then- '
'I want to rip your stitches out,' Steve blurted out. He brought his hand to his mouth, eyes wide, the blood running from his head.
Tony jolted his head up and looked at him. 'I'm sorry?'
Steve shook his head. Tony cocked his head, frowning as best he could.
'Could you- '
'No.' Steve shook his head again.
'Did you just say...?' He pointed at the dozen stitches running under his eye. 'Because the doc said they can't come out for a week at the earliest. Shit knows what was on that alien fucker's knife.' Tony took another step forward, his legs grazing the front of the sofa. 'So we can't play doctor tonight, sorry.'
'I want to rip them out,' Steve whispered. He couldn't help himself. He was suddenly dizzy; he felt as though he were in a dream. 'And dig my thumb into it. And push my fingers into the bruise and your eye socket. I want to make you cry.' The last sentence came out barely above a breath. His knees were shaking, mind reeling, the only thing keeping him standing being sheer will.
Tony was silent, speechless. His eyes bored into Steve's, his mouth open, right brow furrowed while his left struggled against the swelling. Steve realised his bottom lip was red and puffy, and he swallowed thickly, his mind instantly going over the idea of sucking on it and making it all the more swollen. He shivered and ducked his head, the same-old wash of shame overcoming him. God, he'd fucked up.
'Do you want to hit me?'
'Yes.'
'Why?'
Steve shrugged. 'I'm sick.'
'Did I...? Did somebody...? I haven't- Pepper and I, we're just- what...?'
'It's not you,' Steve whispered. He squeezed his eyes shut and dug his fingers into the couch, feeling the material pucker underneath his fingertips. 'I'm messed up... that's all. I... want to hurt you. I want to mark you. Bruise you. I want to punch you hard and- ' His breath caught in his throat. 'I want to tie you up and chain you and make you beg me to stop.' He was shaking hard, fighting down the bile in the back of his throat. 'That's why I haven't been talking to you. Because every time you touch me, I want to grab your hand and bend your fingers back. I want to make you bleed. I'm- I'm dangerous, Tony, I shouldn't be here, pretending to be some damn hero and saving the world when I can't even stop my fucking mind from these thoughts.' His voice hitched as he swore. He finally tore his eyes open. Tony had moved to his side of the couch, barely a foot away. 'I'm sorry- I'm so, so sorry. I don't know how you can stand to be around me.'
'Hit me.'
'What? No!'
Tony took a step forward. Steve moved back. 'You want to hit me, so do it.'
'I don't- I can't, your face- Tony, don't.'
Tony swung first. His fist cracked against Steve's jaw. Steve stumbled backwards, catching himself. He swung back, a little more wildly than he expected, with his left hand. Tony's head whipped to the left. Grabbing Steve's wrist, he dug his short fingernails in and stepped up to him, chest-to-chest.
'That's it?' he spat. 'You're a fucking super soldier! Captain fucking America! You were my father's wet dream, and you give a pansy ass slap like that?' He shoved Steve hard. 'Do it. Hit me like I'm a fucking HYDRA agent.'
Gulping, Steve did. Tony's head smacked to the left again, an angry red welt forming. It wasn't as hard as he could go, but his eyes kept running over the gash, counting the stitches, making sure none had popped out. It was strange to hit him, to hear the sound of the smack, to feel Tony's cheek growing hot.
Tony laughed, raw and deep. 'I saw the pictures of you before you became part of the project. Weak ass thing. You're still hitting like him.'
Steve growled, low in his throat. Tony raised his hand and hit him with the back of his hand, his knuckle grazing his cheek. Steve's flesh stung and he realised dimly that the skin had been broken. Stepping forward, he grabbed Tony's arm and pulled him towards him. He yanked Tony's arm behind his back, hand to shoulder blade, pulling it tight. Kicking his legs out from underneath him, Steve followed him to the ground. Tony bucked underneath him, swearing loudly. With his free arm, he reached out and groped blindly on the coffee table. Steve flung forward and, with one arm, shoved the table over. The glasses crash loudly, the empty liquor bottles smashing. With his concentration deflected momentarily, Tony slipped out from his grip and made a move away. Steve whipped around grabbed the back of his shirt. There was the sound of fabric tearing and stretching as Tony strained against it. Reaching behind, he dug his fingers into Steve's wrist, trying to pry his hand away. With a grunt, he lurched forward and dove for him, sending the taller man into the knocked-over table. Steve's head crunched against the edge, a flash of pain running down his skull. Tony leapt on him, his hands clawing at his shirt collar. Their mouths crushed against one another, teeth and tongues fighting for dominance. Steve realised dimly that Tony was hard against his stomach, his hips rolling, rubbing.
And, it dawned on him, so was he.
Pushing Tony onto his back, Steve crawled atop him, ripping his shirt open in the process. Tony's arc reactor was burning bright, illuminating his bruised ribs, the swelling of his eye. Steve pulled his own shirt off, a loose button popping as he fought with it. Scrunching it into a ball, he shoved it roughly under Tony's head. His hips were still bucking, hands clawing at Steve's shoulders, throat. Grabbing Tony's wrists in one hand, he thrust them above his head.
'Stay,' he hissed as he leant over to kiss him again.
Tony's kiss was hungry, demanding, moaning as Steve jerked his jeans down and loosened his own. Steve kicked them off and helped Tony to do the same. Clambering back up Tony's form, he regripped his wrists and dug his knees into Tony's waist. His free hand slid down Tony's jaw and over his throat. He could feel his pulse, the scratch against his Adam's apple as he breathed and sighed. He pressed down, gently, tentatively, before yanking his hand away and wrapping it around his cock. He could feel Tony's erection rubbing against the end of his spine, seeking purchase. Reaching behind, he took hold of it was well. The angle wasn't perfect but it would do. Tony sighed, eyes rolling back. His arms were still above his head, the skin around his wrists red from Steve's grip.
Letting go of his cock, Steve pressed his fingers to the scarred tissue around Tony's arc reactor. Tony jolted, his eyes opening, watching Steve's tentative fingers. Still jacking him, the head of Tony's erection hot and swollen, he dragged his fingernails down his chest, catching a nipple under a nail. Tony shuddered, breath hitching. He came, ejaculating fast over Steve's hand. He moaned, hips rolling and bucking as Steve milked him.
As Tony lay stretched out, Steve stroked his cock, eyes darting over Tony's swollen eye, the gash, the bruises marring his tanned skin. He was hurting, too, his cheek puffy from where Tony had hit him, the back of his head from the edge of the table, arm from where he'd knocked it over. His orgasm hit him hard, come streaking Tony's chest and over the arc reactor. Shutting his eyes tight he let himself fall against Tony, ignoring the sticky patch between them. Tony's arms wrapped around him, holding him close, nose to his temple.
'You 'kay?' Tony asked, voice thick, gruff.
Steve nodded. Lifting his chin, he rested it on Tony's shoulder. Brushing his finger over the stitches on Tony's cheek, he counted them. They were all still in place.
'Sorry I hurt you,' he whispered.
'You didn't,' Tony replied without hesitation. 'You told me you were going to rip out my stitches- you didn't even graze that side of my face.' Tony waited until he had his full attention. 'You hit me with your left hand, Steve. You're right handed. You would have ripped my stitches out if you'd hit me with your dominant hand.'
Steve buried his face into the crook of Tony's neck, mouthing his neck. His body was sore, but he'd heal quickly.
'I'm sorry if I pissed you off with what I said,' Tony said, vaguely apologetically but with a mocking undertone. 'I'd still stick it in you, even you reverted back to your stick insect form.'
Laughing, Steve spread his sticky, come-streaked hand on Tony's chest. He kissed him on the corner of his lips, the thread of guilt in his stomach unravelling. He slipped off Tony, who grunted and mumbled about how heavy he was, and nestled in close to him. Tony's hand flopped onto his belly, his eyes shut.
'I love you, Steve.' Tony's voice was soft, and Steve had to strain to hear him.
Steve ran his eyes over Tony's features. He couldn't tell if he was blushing, but, then again, Tony never blushed. His eyes were resolutely shut, his mouth a thin line, his form still except for the rise and fall of his chest.
'I love you, too, Tony,' Steve replied, his voice just as soft.
Tony's features softened. Lolling his head to the side, clearly fighting cracking into a smile, he ran the back of his hand up Steve's middle.
'I just realised you might need to help me in the shower. I'm old, you know. Joints aren't quite what they used to be.'
'Uh-huh.'
'Actually, you might need to help me into bed. Keep an eye on me throughout the night, make sure I don't pull my stitches out. Think you can do that?'
Steve pushed himself up and took Tony's hand. Helping him up, he grabbed their clothes and tucked them under his arm.
'I might be able to do that.'
Following Tony out the door, tiptoeing over the broken glass and damaged furniture, Steve gently smacked him on the ass. Tony grinned, all teeth, and tugged Steve towards the bathroom.
He fell asleep in Tony's arms that night, held close with Tony's face pressed into his shoulder. He dreamt of nothing, his sleep deep and restful for the first time in months.
*
JARVIS woke him at nine AM. He was curled up in the large bed, quilt over his head, the sheets tangled somewhere around his feet. Yawning loudly, he stretched out, flopping over to find the other side of the bed empty. He was naked. Somehow, none of this surprised him. Scratching idly, he rolled out of bed and found some fresh, clean clothes hanging off the doorknob of Tony's far too large wardrobe. The tips of his ears burnt as he recognised Pepper's handiwork. Shoving them on, needing to rebutton the shirt twice in his haste, he snatched his shoes from where they sat by the door and raced out. The level he was on was empty, so he moved down to the one below. The smell of breakfast hit him. Tony and Pepper were bickering, while Bruce, a little too bright-eyed, slid a plate of eggs and sausages to the far side of the counter when he saw Steve.
'Look, Happy knows a guy who'll get it fixed.'
'Tony, you can't just break a two thousand dollar table because you were beaten in a game of poker.'
'Tomatoes will be ready soon,' Bruce murmured to Steve. 'You and, uh, Tony...?'
'Hey, I'll just buy another,' Tony said dismissively as he breezed around Pepper and grabbed the plate from Steve's hands. Snatching a fork, he dug into the eggs. 'Besides, you should be blaming Steve.'
Steve shook his head, hands up. Bruce handed him another plate. They went to sit down as Tony and Pepper continued to bicker, Pepper clearly biting his lower lip and rolling her eyes as Tony blithely dug into the breakfast.
'I had to stop Natasha from investigating last night,' Bruce said quietly.
'Thanks.'
'I tried to wake them up for breakfast,' Bruce continued, after taking a sip from a glass of orange juice.
'Don't!' Tony suddenly bellowed. He slipped into the chair next to Steve, while Pepper sighed and pulled her phone out to start making calls. 'If they wake up, we'll need to share with them. And Thor will drink all the coffee.'
They ate the rest of the breakfast in silence, Steve helping himself to seconds. Bruce eventually excused himself, so it was just Steve and Tony. Their legs pressed together under the table, and Tony scratched his chair over the floor to shift closer to Steve.
'So. I heard a musical of The Wizard of Oz was made,' Steve said slowly. Tony grunted his response around a mouthful of eggs. 'Want to get tickets?'
'Sure,' Tony replied. He pulled his phone out from his pocket and started tapping away at it. 'Friday good?'
'Sure.'
'Want to get dinner beforehand?'
'Sounds good.'
'Mm. You'll obviously need to stay the night, because it will be late.'
'Obviously.'
'And we'll need to work on a safeword,' Tony continued. Steve raised his eyes to him. 'Just in case.'
'Right.'
Tony's face was still blotchy in places. The worst of the swelling seemed to have gone down during the night. There was a thin sheen across the stitches where he had obviously applied an antibiotic cream. A flicker of guilt washed over him, but he squashed it down as Tony smiled, cheeky and wry. He forced the niggling feeling away. Tony was watching him, his thumb rubbing small circles into his thigh, as though he were amazed. Steve wanted to bring it up, but somehow he couldn't- or rather, he didn't want to. They could talk about it soon, but for now, Steve just wanted to stay sitting there, drinking in the moment.