Chapter Text
Tony needs a fuck, and he needs it right now, at eleven-thirty at night. Staring at Steve Fucking Rogers’ ass all day long in that tight blue suit fucked him up. But Mr. Captain America was way out of Tony’s league; too perfect and all that. As far as Tony can tell anyway. Tony can only assume the man is as perfect as his military record.
So Tony needs a fuck, because he’s dying slightly inside and as he hops on his motorcycle he already has a target in mind, already knows exactly where he’s going. There’s a spot down by Greenville Yard, off the tracks and isolated enough that no one important goes there. He dials the phone number that no one ever actually answers as he drives, the dial tone shimmering on a heads up display inside his bike helmet. It only rings four times before the person on the other end ends the call without connecting. Four was good; it meant he was there.
Tony speeds through the Holland tunnel and down to the tracks, then pulls off onto a dirt road and through some trees into the shipyard. There he turns off the engine and walks the bike to an empty shipping container, and parks it inside. He puts a chain through the doors and locks it up, then continues through the shipyard, his thousand-dollar shoes crunching on dirt and rocks. He doesn’t bother with a flashlight, it would just attract attention. He knows he’ll be found by the right person soon enough.
It happens just as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, fingers getting cold in the chill of the night. It’s like being hit by a train; the pain of slamming into the freight container on his right is only slightly less painful than the man tackling him from the left. Rough hands turn him sideways and yank his hands behind his back in a vice-like grip Tony knows never lets go. He pants against the cold steel wall, adrenaline spiking. Fingers, warm and strong, knot in his hair and hold his head as leather presses against his back from his ankles to his shoulders.
“You’re back again,” a voice growls against Tony’s ear, and Tony replies as the man is still speaking.
“Yes, yes, yes, I called! I need it!”
“Not just about you,” the voice hisses, shoving Tony against the shipping container forcefully. Tony grunts and nods.
“Right, yeah, got it,” he says, writhing slightly against the weight of the man behind him. “I know you were watching today,” he adds, and the grip around his wrists tightens, forcing out a gasp of pain. “He didn’t see you! Swear it!” The grip tightens for a few more seconds until Tony fears his wrists are going to snap. “Ah! Please—!”
Things go red for a moment before the pressure eases, and Tony tries to catch his breath.
“He better not,” the voice says hotly against Tony’s neck, and then the fingers in Tony’s hair slide down his shoulders and spine to his pants. What the man finds is that Tony’s pants are already unbuttoned and unzipped — and have been since he parked the bike.
“Didn’t want to waste our time,” Tony explains breathlessly as the man behind him scoffs.
“You’re a piece of shit,” the man says. “Never known anyone so desperate.” Tony laughs weakly as the man’s hand slides into his underwear and roughly forces with his pants and boxers down his thighs.
“Takes one to know one,” Tony replies, which earns him more punishment: the man grabs his hair again and slams his head into the shipping container. Tony groans and sees stars for a moment as the man lets go of his head. When Tony regains his senses it’s because the man is shoving his fingers inside him, wet and cold. “Guh!” Tony shudders as his hips twitch, pressing his cock against the cold steel of the container. “Aaah… please,” he moans, but the man doesn’t reply except to pant in Tony’s ear and work his fingers quickly inside him. It’s good, it’s so good and Tony’s body is so used to this by now that it doesn’t take long to get up to three fingers.
“C-coat,” Tony pants, hearing the man unzip his pants behind him. “Condom’s in my pocket,” he says, his chest heaving in anticipation, his knees weak. The man laughs and shoves his hand into the pockets of Tony’s leather coat, looking for the small foil packet.
“You always remember,” the man says, and Tony gives a shaky laugh. They’d never even discussed it really, but the first time they’d done this Tony had pulled out a condom and the man hadn’t argued, not for a moment.
“Can’t leave behind biological evidence,” Tony jokes. It’s their excuse. He can’t admit it’s to maintain the illusion for him: that they’re just strangers and have nothing to do with one another. He needs that separation, needs to keep that in his head because otherwise… he just thinks of Steve. He can hear the man laughing at him again, but he hears the snap of the condom, and when the man rubs his length against Tony’s thigh, he feels cool latex. He sighs, which quickly turns into a moan as the man presses against him, slowly pressing inside.
“Fuck yes, oh fuck, fuck yes,” Tony pants. “Oh my god yes…” He’s filled, and it feels so good it takes his breath away, the feel of latex on skin, the thick length inside him, sliding so easily, rubbing right over his prostate, stretching his body… His head presses against the cold steel of the shipping container and then falls back against the man’s shoulder as he moans wantonly.
The man pants behind him, his breath hot on Tony’s neck and chin. His hand wraps around Tony’s stomach and pulls his hips back as they fuck, holding him tight as Tony writhes. The man fucks him for what feels like ages, never giving Tony release, never focusing on making Tony reach climax. He just keeps at, his hips sometimes slow and sometimes fast until Tony feels raw and his knees start to buckle. Tony’s not sure if the man has come or not; his stamina is impossible. Tony moans, sagging against the man, held up only by his body and the wall he was pressed against.
“God,” he says, his voice wrecked, sweat dripping down his nose despite the chill in the air. “God you gotta let me come,” he moans. “You gotta come, I need to come,” he babbles, his legs shaking, shoulders aching from being held behind his back for so long.
“Get down on your knees,” the man behind him says, slipping out of him. Tony whimpers and balks.
“I ca— I can’t, the— the dirt, they’ll know, they’ll wonder,” he says, pressing his face against the container. The man yanks him away, and without support Tony’s legs give out on their own, and he sinks down to his knees in the wet dirt. The man lets Tony’s wrists go as he falls to the ground, and Tony presses his hands against the container.
“You’ll be fine,” the man says, and suddenly his hand is on the collar of Tony’s jacket, yanking him backwards and throwing him on his back in the mud unceremoniously. Tony groans, his arms half-numb, his mind fogged by need but the next moment he’s being filled again, the man hovering above him on one rock-solid arm, the other hand working its way up under Tony’s coat and shirt.
Tony swears and locks his legs around the man’s hips, thrusting up against him and desperately trying to find relief. He reaches down to take his cock in hand, but the man yanks his hand away and pins it down on the ground as Tony shouts in desperation.
“Fuck! Oh god fuck you, please fucking let me - fuck I need to come please!” Tony yells, writhing beneath the man, trying to grind his cock against the man’s stomach, dripping precum onto his own stomach and coat. The man’s thrusts become harder and faster and suddenly Tony’s moaning in pleasure, heat washing over him as a tingling tightness spreads from his cock outward. “Ah! Ah! So close - please don’t stop please,” Tony begs, begs with tears in his eyes, his entire body shaking with the effort of trying to achieve climax.
With a strangled cry Tony finally comes, throwing his head back as his body arches like a strung bow, tight and hard as his cock pumps his release, showering cum all over his coat. The man pulls out of him as he’s still shuddering, his cock still pulsing. An impossibly hard fist knots into the front of his coat and hauls him up.
“Suck me off,” the man says, panting for breath and still hard. The condom wasn’t filled with cum — how could this man still not have come, Tony thinks, but he doesn’t have much brainpower to think with. The man rolls the condom off and drops it into the dirt. Tony fumbles in his pockets for another one, but he’d only brought one…
“You know I’m clean,” the man says, and it’s too familiar for a moment, too close to being “friends” for Tony’s liking, so instead of saying anything he just fills his mouth with the man’s length and lets the musty smell and salty flavor tinged with latex and powder carry him away. The man puts a warm hand on the back of Tony’s head and that helps too; the fingers knot into his hair as he sucks the man down. He’s on his knees in the dirt now, nearly laying face-down in it, his hands beside the man’s legs as he kneels and leans back.
The man’s hips tick upwards as Tony works him, taking him deeper and deeper until his throat opens and the man thrusts into him with a low growling moan. The man holds Tony’s head tight and close; and it seems even his stamina finally has a breaking point. The man pants, his voice softer as he shakes, getting closer to coming with Tony’s mouth around his length.
“Gnn… nn…” The man comes almost silently, thrusting up into Tony’s throat and holding him there with a hand tight against the back of his head. Tony swallows, tries to breathe through the sticky release and coughs, swallowing more until his throat is clear and the man lets go.
Tony shivers for a moment, still laying on the ground, his sweat chilling him in the cold air. The man carefully pushes Tony away and stands up first, offering a hand to help Tony up as well. Tony takes it, and then turns away, stuffing himself back into his boxers, pulling his pants back up and buttoning them. His wrists are starting to ache now, and even in the dim moonlight he can see red marks that will soon be bruises. He’s mostly caught his breath now. He’s cold and wants to get back home, but he can feel the man’s eyes burning into the back of his head.
“He really didn’t see me?” the man asks. Tony shivers and crosses his arms over his chest. He doesn’t want to talk about Steve, but this was the agreed-upon payment, after all.
“Yeah,” Tony says. “He was a block away when I saw you. Too busy chasing those Hydra agents down.” Tony rubs his wrists.
“How is he?” the man asks, his voice soft.
“He’s good,” Tony replies, reaching up and trying to fix his hair, but it’s full of dirt. Hopefully everyone will be in bed and he can make it to his bedroom without running into anyone. “Nat’s still trying to get him with the blonde from secure intelligence.” The man laughs.
“Blonde isn’t his type.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Tony says, his throat tight. He needs a drink, maybe two. And a shower; then he can pass out and hopefully dream about nothing. “He’s still trying to find—”
Suddenly there’s a hand wrapping around his upper arm, tight, almost crushing it. Tony inhales sharply, wincing.
“Don’t. Tell him.” The threat is like ice in the man’s voice.
“I won’t,” Tony swears quickly, pain spreading down his arm to his fingers. The hand lets go, and Tony steps a few feet away quickly. “Are we good?” he asks, still not turning around. He doesn’t hear a reply, and after a few seconds he looks over his shoulder. The man is gone.
Tony doesn’t know how the guy moves so quietly. He swallows, and his throat hurts. Dirt crunches under his feet as he makes his way back to where he hid his bike. He rolls it out of the shipping container and hops on with a wince. He drives home, the pain coursing like a drug through his veins, keeping him low and calm. He parks haphazardly in the basement garage and limps to the elevator. JARVIS pings at him as he leans heavily against the wall, the lights blinking upwards to the penthouse.
“Sir…” Tony hates that he can hear the concern in JARVIS’ voice.
“Not a word,” he rasps, his throat feeling worse. “Hot shower,” he orders, pulling himself out of the elevator and heading towards his room.
“Yes sir,” JARVIS replies. “I will also get tea with honey and lemon brewing,” the program adds after a moment.
“Put some whiskey in there and we’re talking,” Tony says. He shivers down the hall, and doesn’t notice anyone or anything at all as he slips into his bedroom. He can hear the shower running, and strips off his dirty clothes as he walks across the room. He steps into the hot cascade and his shivers cease almost instantly. He stinks down to the floor as muddy water sluices off of him, swirling down the drain. Curled up, he falls asleep for a few minutes. JARVIS carefully adjusts the angle of the shower head so the water isn’t spraying on sir’s face, and when the tea is done he rings a gentle alarm to wake him up.
“Sir, it is not wise to sleep in the shower.”
Tony wakes with a ragged breath, blinking heavily through the steam. He stands up and now everything is sore, every muscle overused and aching. He can barely keep himself on his feet, but he manages to rinse off the rest of the dirt and wash his hair. The marks on his wrists are getting darker, he notes. He wonders if there are any others. He dries off and trudges into the bedroom. Dum-E is there with a tray and one cup of tea, just cool enough to drink. Tony downs it, and then pulls a glass bottle out from under his bed. He takes a good swig from that, sets it back down on the floor, and then lays back on top of the covers. He closes his eyes and falls asleep, exhausted.
Outside, Steve watches Dum-E leave Tony’s room, and frowns, his face pinched with concern. This isn’t the first time he’s seen Tony come stumbling back in the middle of the night after a fight, and it’s getting him worried. He’s asked JARVIS about it before, but Tony had forbidden the AI to say anything about it. Steve wanders back to his own room, his thoughts racing. As he falls asleep, he makes a decision to confront Tony about it tomorrow.