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Steve struggled to keep control over his raging emotions. There were too many to count, but he tried to quantify them anyway; rage warred with guilt. The day’s battle had gone badly, a cluster of extremis mercenaries had taken hostages, and then gotten explosive when Hulk chucked a pickup truck through the middle of their hideout. Tony had been his usual self-assured, knows better than everyone else jackassery, and naturally had gotten in Steve’s face about it.
Clint was hurt -- again.
Too many things to feel; he wanted to laugh, or scream, or weep, all at the same time. He wanted to hurt someone, to make them pay for everything that had happened. But the extremis mercs were just as much victims as anyone else; experimented on by a madman, forced to do horrible things in order to get the medication they needed to keep from exploding.
“Hey, Cap?”
Nat’s fingers were soft on his arm, just above his wrist where the uniform stopped now that he’d stripped off his gloves.
Steve raised his eyes; Nat was so beautiful, all the time. Even sweat-soaked and bloody from battle, she looked like an angel. He wanted to strip her naked, take her hard and fast, tying them together, and he wanted to gather her up and hold her tight, where no harm would ever come to her. But mostly, he wanted to kill everyone who had ever hurt her.
His entire body was clenched up from the fight. His thoughts were screeching inside his skull until they were so jumbled he could make any sense of them.
“Do you need a time out?”
Steve realized he was clenching his fists, so hard that his fingernails were digging into his palm. He was bleeding sluggishly from a few crescent-shaped cuts in the heel of his hand.
She was so beautiful, her eyes a soft, rich blue, rimmed with hazel. Full lips, and he had reason to know all the things she could do with that mouth -- he hesitated, then reached out. Ran one broad fingertip across her lower lip. She dipped her chin and sucked the finger into her mouth, tongue rolling around like he was a hard-candy. God, Nat was a gift.
It was on the tip of his tongue to say no, that he was fine, he was great, everything was-- she smirked around the mouthful of his finger as if she knew what he was thinking, and she did something with her shoulders, some deep breathing, seduction thing and while he hated thinking about where she’d learned it, he had trouble resisting, too. She was drawing attention to her breasts, the way the zipper of her armor barely held the shirt closed at all, the way he could look down and see her creamy skin. His dick quivered.
“Yeah, maybe,” he said, finally.
Desire darkened her eyes, a pink flush dotted her cheeks. As he watched, her nipples hardened, poked at the fabric of her armor -- how, he wondered, had Tony done that? Made her meshwear that was practically bulletproof, blade-resistant, and still let him see the taut shape of her through it?
It was a Tony thing.
Probably.
“Maybe, soldier?” Her eyebrow went up.
“Yes, ma’am,” Steve corrected himself.
***
Steve was shivering.
He was naked, his bare feet on the floor, hands clasped at the small of his back. Parade rest. He wasn’t cold; Nat was always careful to keep the room temperature toward the uncomfortable side of warm whenever they played. But he was still shivering.
Thoughts flowed over him like water. There was nothing to look at, very little to hear. Nat sat behind him; if he’d look he was certain he’d see her eyes full of warm admiration, but he couldn’t look, because if he looked at her, he’d be disobeying and that appreciation for his figure would sharpen into disappointment.
He’d already disappointed himself enough today, he didn’t want to disappoint Nat.
“Steve?”
He swallowed; his mouth was full of saliva, his tongue was too sensitive. “Ma’am?”
“Where’s your nose?”
Shit. He’d leaned back again.
“Forgive me,” he murmured. Pressed his face against the corners, the plaster was cool against his heating cheeks.
“I don’t think so,” she said. He heard her heels on the floor; she’d taken her feet down from the hassock where they were resting. “I’ve had to remind you twice already. You’re not doing a very good job at staying still.”
He clenched up but it was no good. She thumbed the remote in her hand, sending low, thrumming jolts across the bullet vibes she’d attached to his cock with a silicone jelly ring and the second one, which was just past his rim, inside his ass. He barely managed to avoid jumping back, even though he knew it was coming.
Even though he’d wanted it.
“Don’t move,” she told him again. “Nose in the corner and you think about what a bad boy you’ve been.”
It was utterly, utterly humiliating.
And Steve craved it with a desire so bad that it was need.
To be reminded that he was just a man. That he failed, that he would fail. That he made mistakes. He’d spent most of his adult life as someone that no one listened to, when the mistakes he made only hurt himself. But as Captain America, people listened. Even when what he had to say wasn’t worth listening to. And he had to remember to think; to take risks, yes, but to remember that other people could be -- would be -- hurt.
To remember that he wasn’t a good soldier.
That he was supposed to be a good man.
He tried to clear his mind, to just be. Impossible, with the buzzing along his shaft, in his ass. The muscles in his thighs jumped, his toes wanted to curl. His hips ached to roll and rut, to strop himself against the corner, for some friction and relief on his aching dick.
He managed about four minutes, by his count. “Mistress, please.” His voice cracked, quavered.
Nat scoffed. “Thought you were supposed to be some super soldier,” she mocked him. The vibrations changed; she’d hit one of the speed buttons; they came faster, in little pulses instead of steady buzzing. “Endurance for days.”
“Please…”
“If I see those hips move, I’m gonna take you out of the corner and put you on your knees.”
Steve whined.
She’d done that to him once, made him just kneel there, for hours it’d seemed like, while she played the remotes, stroked him a few times with one warm hand, and hadn’t let him come at all. She’d taken the toys away after she masturbated, legs spread wantonly while he’d watched and begged, and she was fucking merciless. Made him sleep face up, no blanket, no pressure, no nothing.
When she’d taken pity on him in the morning, he was pretty sure everyone several floors around had heard him scream when he’d come.
It’d been wonderful.
“Oh, god,” Steve croaked.
Nat twitched the remote in her hand again, playing him until she found an absolutely brutal combination of speed and power, until he was incoherent, begging her for relief.
“Please, please, mistress,” Steve begged. “I need…”
“You do?”
Shit, shit, shit, he was ahead of himself, he… “If you want me to have it, please, mistress…”
“Do you deserve it?”
Steve tightened his jaw, trying to concentrate, trying to project sincerity, to hold on to his wildness, his need, his wants, to give her what she wanted and needed, because that was the only way this worked. Give and take, need and desire, will and want. He needed to be forced, humiliated, reminded that he was only human. That the person inside was more important than the body that housed his spirit.
And she needed… control. She held every bit of him in the palm of her hand. There was nothing, nothing he wouldn’t do for her. If she didn’t want him to come, he wouldn’t. No matter what it cost him. No matter how difficult it was. “Are you my good boy, Steve? Look at me.”
He turned around to face her, hard and aching and trembling. He could feel everything, every inch of his skin was alive. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Your good boy. Yours.”
“Come here,” she said and he knelt between her spread thighs. She raised her hips and he could smell her, the tang of her wanting. She flicked the remote again, jolting him with sensation. “And if I say you have to get me off and you can’t have any relief?”
Steve almost, almost smirked. “You want me mouth, or my hands?”
“Fingers first, then gimme that cock,” she told him.
Oh, god, if she was going to have him fuck her, with the vibrators still in place--
“Hop to it, soldier,” she said, leaning back in her chair until she was practically spread out in front of him, scooched all the way down to the edge of her seat, the sweet curve of her ass hanging off the cushion.
“Yes, ma’am,” Steve said, reaching for her.
Whatever she needed.
“You’re my good boy,” she told him with a soft sigh as his fingers spread her.
He could feel her body trembling under him, her skin was so soft and smooth. He had to taste her, kiss her. Steve leaned forward, closing the space in between them. She was breathing harder, already, just from one teasing finger. He threaded the fingers of his other hand through her hair until he cradled her skull.
His mouth forced hers open -- she made a small sound of surprise and he swallowed it whole. He drank in her lips. Her mouth molded to his and he plunged his tongue into her. Her hands came up to grip his shoulders and she leaned up to meet him, eager for more.
He could feel her nipples, hard and perked, against his bare chest. She made sweet, greedy noises as they kissed, tangling her tongue with his. He worked her with one hand, smooth and efficient, without teasing, without preamble. He knew what she liked, he knew what she needed, and he was going to get her there as quick as possible.
She was gasping, almost screaming against his mouth as he worked her ruthlessly, giving everything that she was keeping from him.
He knew when she tipped over; she drew her legs up, toes curled, her thighs quivering, and he moved his hand, thrusting inside her, full and hard and urgent, before she was even coming down, the vibrators keeping him moving, the bullet brushed against her throbbing clit.
She did scream, then, overstimulated and he kept her pinned down, forced her to take it, take it again, and again, tipping her hips up to meet him.
She would keep it from him and he would make sure she took every last quiver. No escape. Relentless and savage, he worked her, kept his mouth over sealed on hers. He fucked her. Implacable and inexorably moving her toward a second orgasm, and then kept going.
When she tugged her mouth away to gulp in air, he fastened his mouth on her nipple, sucking it into his mouth and flicking his tongue over the sensitive tip. He ground his hips against hers, sliding into her hot, wet depths, and at the same time, making sure the vibrator touched her at every stroke.
“Oh, god.” She was crying now, tears painting down her cheeks, her mouth trembling with need and elation.
“You with me?” he asked her, biting at her ear and she all but howled.
“Steve, please, come on, come with me, now--”
And her voice tipped him over, let him, gave him the liberty to do so. He swelled and strained and…
“Nat!”
They moved together
He could feel her frentic need in her movements, frantic and eager. Her fingernails dug into his scalp, a welcome spark of pain. So sweet, so wet for him, she drove him crazy without even trying, and when she did try, he left sanity far behind in his desperate bid for oblivion and joy.
She was shaking with it, trembling until she clenched up around him, squeezing in a fever heat, and his orgasm was a jagged, edged thing that tore at him. Lust consumed him, and he let himself be devoured until they were laying, sprawled and sweaty on the chair, both of them jolting again, when the vibrator sizzled their skin. Like a flash of lightning, thrumming fitfully. Steve whimpered. “Oh, please. No more.”
Nat thumbed it off, and Steve practically collapsed on her.
“You’re my good boy, Steven.”
“Yes, ma’am.”