Miss me? It’s been a while - you know how things are. Gotta keep em guessing. How’ve you been? You looked exhausted yesterday, I wanted to do nothing but make you pliant underneath my fingertips and tongue. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I would. Just imagining how your skin would feel against mine is enough to drive me insane. Even as I write this, my body feels like it’s on fire; the way I’d hopefully make you feel when I finally get a chance to touch you.
The words were neatly written as usual; he always had impeccable penmanship. Tony rubbed his hands lightly over the back of the flimsy sheet of lined paper, the structure of the lettering having left permanent indentations.
Tony always liked feeling the back of the sheet after he was finished reading it. The man wrote hard, as if engraving every word he couldn’t physically place onto his skin. Maybe he read the letter over twice or five times, biting his lip softly as goose bumps prickled against his warming skin. A churning in his stomach started up like gears, toes curling as if he could literally hear the voice, an audible sigh leaves his lips when he’s done.
His body responded like a chorus when there was even a hint that the man had been present, that voice still in the back of his head, still screaming, ‘This is sick. You’re sick’. However, Tony’s built up the courage to ignore the voice now.
The man never signs off his name, as expected. Tony didn’t want a signature, hearing the man on the news for another heinous murder was enough of a signature for him. Each time Tony would shut of the television; images of the mask still burning his brain.
A grayish plaster stretched into a blank slated face, connected to a leather strap and enclosed by rusted silver. The plaster looked worn and used, however, not torn in any way. Dark blue buttons were sewn over where eyes should be, four holes in each button that did nothing but add to the mystery of it all. There was a straight lined zipper where the mouth should’ve been that seemingly had a dried, red substance, probably blood - now permanently woven into the teeth.
Tony found his thoughts drifting off to that mask, remembering each scuff and darkening on each one, wanting to do nothing but trace over the mask with his palm. Just the thought made him shiver, while before the thought made him nauseous.
He still didn’t know why or how he’d succumbed to this point. However, the theory still stays the same. Tony’d never been treated like he was an anchor, a product of something more valuable than a company or his brain. The man wanted more from Tony than he’d ever given.
So, he researched and researched and came up with zero conclusions as to who the man who left these masks truly was. He did find something about himself that was the result of countless hours of research: that he is in lust with a serial killer.
Everything started around three years back, a few months after Tony’s heart issues had been publicly announced. After months and months of treatment, he went straight back to work. ‘No rest for the wicked,’ he so eloquently put it in interviews.
That’s when it happened.
Granted, the Mask Murderer had been doing his devilish deeds a year before the stalking started, hitting the midwest by storm, then disbanding for a year only to settle in New York; well, only to kill in New York.
No one knew where he lived. The serial killer was more off the grid than anyone. His killing tactics seemed bold, but he was damn meticulous, which made people question exactly who he was.
The day Tony got his first ‘present’ so to speak was in the afternoon after Rhodey left his house, after a casual debate on the importance of the actual killer himself.
“The mask murderer strikes again, this time leaving the two previously missing higher up executives, William Davison and Michael Flenderson, on public benches in Central Park. Only, as usual, for authorities to realize their bodies have been not only disassembled, but reassembled, masks covering their faces. The bodies were eventually found by the police not too long after they were pla-”
Tony scrambled for the remote and quickly shut off the television, rolling his eyes while letting out an exasperated sigh. Rhodey passed him a look that read, ‘I was watching that’, but Tony ignored it, basking in his own selfishness for the time being.
“You know, I’m sick of hearing about this guy. He has a pattern in his tactics. Higher up executives and rich men in power, why is this so hard? How the hell do they not catch the man placing the bodies down?” He punctuated with a slam of the crystal glass that carried inexcusably expensive whiskey.
Rhodey took a note of it and chuckled, sipping on the beer Tony kept in the back of his fridge. “Calm your tits, Stark. It sort makes sense why they wouldn’t catch him. He waits for a long span of time before someone even turns out missing. The only consistency is his killing tactics; reassembling after cutting off each and every body part, and even keeping the clothing in place.”
“Artistic fucker,” Tony rumbled before taking another hearty few gulps.
“You might be his next target, especially since you’re not cowering in fear.” Rhodey’s tone was light and teasing. Sure, Tony was a multi billionaire and owned one of the biggest tech industries in the world, but still, he knew nothing would happen to his best friend. The whole situation itself sounded like something out a shitty horror film. However, this nagging in the back of his mind kept telling something was off.
Rhodey’d always been the type to warn Tony about his gut feelings, especially when it came to Tony’s personal well being. The thing was, how did one tell someone, ‘I don’t think you’re going to die, but something’s going to go wrong’? Instead, he’d been giving the billionaire these longing looks and concerned, ‘Be safe’s. Tony’s no idiot either. He’d noted the looks and the small words of an almost warning, however he pretended he didn’t recognize them.
Tony grinned in response “Rhodes, baby, please. Why would anyone kill someone like me?"
"I can think of three good reasons." Rhodey’s sneering was followed by Tony's moan of displeasure.
"You wound me, sugar bear."
"Yeah, well, I should start heading home. It's gonna start raining soon, and you know how people drive around here."
After parting ways, Jarvis, his butler, handed him his mail; Tony's eyes catching instantly on the red ornament. Dumping the rest of the mail onto his kitchen counter, he picked up the item that was velvet to the touch. His eyes casted over the mock heart shape that was dented and chafed at some edges. The heart itself looked damaged. Blight remnants of gold surround the bottom of the item, causing it to lean when Tony sat it on the kitchen counter. Turning it, he found a withered gold clasp littered with dirt. He opened it easily with a resonating 'click', finding one item lying in plush, black velvet lining.
The item was a dog tag with the number one carved harshly into the flimsily metal. Tony raised a brow and looked for the box that it came in, possibly a send or return address.
"Jarvis!" Tony's voice edged on frantic. Jarvis caught onto it and stepped into the room.
"Anything wrong, Master Stark?"
“Did this come in a package?” Tony flashed the ‘gift’, tremors flowing throughout his hand, leaving the box to rattle the dog tag around inside.
Jarvis noted the borderline hysterical behavior, however spoke calmly in his British drawl. “I don’t believe so. It was sitting outside of your doorway and I brought it in.”
Tony thought for a second. The heart shaped box was obviously a dig on his heart...right? Maybe he was over thinking, because what did the one on the dog tag even mean? Whoever sent this wanted him to react this way. He’d gotten strange fan mail or peculiar gifts before - owning large companies could do that, however the gift was just plain unsettling. An equation he couldn’t solve because not all of the variables were there.
Tony kept the gift.
The following day, Tony didn’t tell anyone about the gift. He figured it wouldn’t happen again, that his life wouldn’t slowly evolve into a Lifetime movie. He was damn wrong.
“Pep, Pepper, Pepperoni, I hear you. I’ll review it as soon as I get settled,” Tony reassured, however they both knew he wouldn’t get around to reviewing whatever files were sent to him unless he truly felt like it, which was rare.
“When is that? Tony, I need this done by tomorrow afternoon, or I swear--” She practically yelled through the phone, leaving him to cringe as he finally made his way upstairs to his room, only to spot something resting in the middle of his bed. A letter? Wasn’t Jarvis off for the rest of the week?
“Pepper…I have to call you back.”
Pepper noted the change in his tone, which struck up a flash of worry. “Tony, is everything okay?”
“Yeah just - hold on.” With that, he hung up. Dropping his phone to the bed with a soft ‘thud’, he sat on the edge of his bed and grabbed the neatly placed letter.
The letter front of the envelope was blank. Turning it around, he saw there was also nothing on the back. Tony gently opened up the letter with his middle finger, edging the ends of the sealed paper to pop the envelope open. Then he opened the folded piece of paper.
Did you like the gift I gave you? Sorry I wasn’t able to stay long enough to see your reaction. I honestly expected security to be pretty tight. Guess you don’t need to when you’re not really thinking about someone doing something like this, huh? At any rate, I’m gonna cut this short. Make sure you get some rest tonight, sweetheart.
P.S How did they look on the news last night?
Tony didn’t even notice he was holding his breath the entire time he read the letter until he let out a heavy exhale. He didn’t know whether to panic or tell someone, he didn’t know whether to scream or call the police. The masked serial killer was stalking him, sending him gifts and calling him sweetheart.
It made his stomach churn, it made his palms sweat, and it made his mind run on overdrive to the point where he did nothing, folding the letter back up and placing it into an empty drawer. Tony laid his head back onto one of his pillows and stared up at the ceiling until his mind became vacant, numb, and refused to progress further with thoughts.
He slept at 6 a.m.
From that point on, he received various gifts and letters from the serial killer, mainly sketches and letters. The sketches were variations of him, some of him in the public eye, most of him while he's at home reading or even sleeping. Tony would trace over each line as if he were recreating the sketch. The man always got every detail correct. It made Tony's stomach flutter with an emotion he couldn't quite place.
Occasionally, he got little trinkets that looked vintage, one in particular that he found himself looking at over and over again being the bullet. A brass color, 9mm parabellum bullet that looked a bit worn.
Tony would grab the bullet when he felt stressed or worried, or when he was just thinking. Sometimes, he subconsciously missed the man. The rough edges of decaying metal felt good against the smoothness of his fingers.
Feelings of disgust evaporated as time went on. Another passing year and he was filling up his left nightstand with these letters.
He felt a pang of something every time a letter was placed neatly in the center of his bed. Jarvis never questioned them. Tony never told anyone about them.
The letters hadn’t gotten intimate until the third year. The flow of letters ceased for about a month. Tony couldn’t stop thinking about the serial killer; he’d look over previous letters and lick over his lips, craving more. He always craved more.
Yet, the man wasn’t giving more, so he cut his losses and brought over some woman from a social function just to get his mind off of him. In theory, it should have cleared his mind, it should have left him being able to say her name as his orgasm hit. However his thoughts were consumed with the killer, the man being what sent him over the edge.
Not longer than a day later a letter was placed neatly in the center of his bedding as usual, making Tony visibly shiver with anticipation, his cock stirring to half hard. With shaky fingers, he carefully opened up the letter and began to read.
I’ve been in hiding for a while, sweetheart, I’ve missed you. I guess you haven’t missed me though, considering the fact that you had some blonde woman over last night. I’m not angry. I know you’ve slept with others outside of your house. I know I haven’t been there to take you. However, I know the way you want to be fucked. Pinned down and taking it, someone to whisper in your ear who you belong to - someone pound relentlessly into your tight hole. I can make you scream, Tony, I’d make you scream my name till it’s the only thing you could remember.
If he was half hard before, he was now fully hard against his confining slacks. In no time, he found himself reading the letter over and over while stroking his cock slowly, each line replaying constantly in his head. At times like these, he wished he could hear the voice of the man who was driving him insane.
I know I haven’t been there to take you.
He tightened his fist around his shaft, bucking his hips and panting harshly.
However, I know the way you want to be fucked.
A hand reaches down to fondle his balls, tugging lightly and massaging gently, causing more pre-come to ooze from the tip.
Pinned down and taking it, someone to whisper in your ear who you belong to - someone pound relentlessly into your tight hole.
The hand that’s pumping his shaft moved up to flick the tip of his cock, making him whimper. He stopped briefly to apply lube to fingers, then pushed two inside himself while his other hand still worked the tip of his cock with his thumb.
I can make you scream, Tony.
Fingers curled, lightly brushing over his prostate. He shouted - he’s so close.
I’d make you scream my name till it’s the only thing you could remember.
After another few swipes over his prostate, his toes were curling in delight, his muscles were tensing, so close to the edge. Licking his chapped lips, he maneuvered to push up further, hitting his prostate dead on.
I’d make you scream my name till it’s the only thing you could remember.
He’s coming harder than he had in years, and the man hadn’t even touched him. He came harder than he had in years to a fucking serial killer’s stalker letter. Tony felt an abhorrent wave roll through him, however it quickly faded.
After cleaning himself off, he grabbed the remote and flicked on the television, only for there to be an announcement of three missing men. Tony knew it was him. It didn't stop him from looking at the letter another three times.
Tony went straight to a bar after an annoyingly dragged out meeting Pepper forced him to attend, needing the burn of alcohol to sedate him before he even thought about his plans for the following day.
Sure, he could drink at home, but the bar was a distraction, especially when no one knew who you were, and if they did, they didn't give a fuck. He didn't want any attention on himself, that was, until he spotted a blond sitting two chairs away from him.
The blond was sipping on a beer while keying in on the television above, some arbitrary sports dribble he could care less about. What he did care about was the way those wickedly red lips wrapped around the bottle, the way the brown leather jacket made him that much sexier, that strong jawline, the t-shirt that was practically painted on him.
Saying he looked good was an understatement.
Tony decided to turn on the Stark charm and pray that hopefully he would give him the time of day.
"Need something, sweetheart?"
Okay, so maybe he didn't have to pray.
"Do you want an honest answer?" Tony's eyes cast on shocking blue ones.
The man smirked, something about him making Tony want to stop while he was ahead, however he mesmerized. "Not before I get your name."
"Tony Stark, a pleasure...?" Tony held out his hand and the man took it. A tingling feeling zigzagged up his spine.
"Steve Rogers. Pleasure’s all mine, sweetheart." The pet name panged familiarity, however he couldn't think right now. Everything was now in tune with the hand he still held.
They talked for a while, about anything and everything. Steve was a war veteran who now did freelance art; the man was an old soul. He had a traditional yet wise way of looking at things. It fascinated Tony and his ever changing opinions.
The small, lingering touches left him quivering in response. The man probably knew what he was doing to him.
Something about Steve was familiar; the way he spoke, his honesty, his phrasing all reminded him of someone.
Tony shook himself from his own thoughts. Steve's just an interesting, good looking guy, that's all. He hadn't dated in a while due to the masked murderer, like they were somehow committed relationship. It made Tony sick. That no name killer had taken over his life.
Everything about Steve felt dangerously right, yet he found him excusing himself and going home, stopping at the side of the road to curse himself for his naive behavior, holding back tears of frustration.
He dreamed about Steve that night.
As the days went on, he never saw Steve again, but it became impossible to keep him off his mind, the letters of the murderer and Steve’s voice commingling within one another. Tony would picture Steve’s voice while reading over his favorite letters and his eyes would drift shut, his breath stilling.
How had he gotten to that point? This sick obsession with a man he didn’t know. Maybe it was the mystery of it all. Maybe it was because the man thought of him as something he could never see in himself. Maybe the strong lust was evolving into disgusting infatuation.
He heard the news report of more bodies found near alleys and dumpsters. The mask, that fucking mask again, grey plaster stretched like skin and blue buttons, zipper mocking the anonymity of it all.
He had to know, even it killed him. Three years, three goddamn years.
So, before he went to another mind numbing meeting, he left a note on his bed with a simple statement - Who are you? It was rushed, informal, and impatient sounding. Tony didn’t care. The note was set in the middle of his bedding like how the killer would routinely do. As he set the note down, his hands shook and heart stuttered; this was it.
Throughout the day, Tony’s thoughts were preoccupied by the possible outcomes. It could have been a trap. Maybe he was the next victim, or he could just simply ignore the note. Either way, he was at the meeting, but he wasn’t there. The brunet didn’t even notice he hadn’t eaten all day.
Around 8 p.m., he stepped inside of his house slowly, looking around to see what’d been taken out of place, yet he refused to turn on the lights. He told Jarvis to take the day off, not wanting him to possibly get hurt if the killer in fact saw the note.
Having spotted nothing in the living room, he went up stairs only to find something on his bed.
It wasn’t a note.
He felt frozen in his place, yet tremors flowed through his body. His heart sped up fast enough to explode in his chest. With slow steps, he walked closer, and he had to hold back a gasp - grey plastered blank slated face and blue buttons, the mask was covered in dried blood, the mouth of the zipper open.
Tony stood still, his body shaking violently, his mind trying to formulate complete thoughts, but failing to process anything, especially when he heard firm footsteps slowly creeping closer, each one booming louder than the next.
One hand landed at his waist, soft lips on his neck, sighing. Tony couldn’t breathe.
Tony’s eyes dilated wider than saucers. It sounded all too familiar, the smooth voice sounded all too much like…
Whipping around, he saw the man, and indeed there were those shocking blue eyes staring right into him. He felt weak all of a sudden, light headed and lost. Steve didn’t let him falter, pushing those same callus-ridden hands against his face and kissing him as if he were sucking the life out of him.
Tony groaned in response, his skin tingling and mouth seeking out more from the engagement of their mouths. His body didn’t stop shaking for a second, and he kissed Steve until he felt dizzy. Remembering he had to breathe, he pulled away, gasping for air.
They didn’t say a word to each other. Too much has been said over the past three years, yet nothing’d been understood completely. Tony pushed the mask off the bed and let the man that continuously wrecked his mind take control, not even processing the fact that they were both naked until Steve spoke in a gentle yet stern tone. “Look at me.”
Tony hadn’t noticed his eyes had been closed the entire time. It was strange; he’s usually vocal during sex, or just vocal in general. Hell, he shouldn’t have even been doing this. Nonetheless, he did was he was told, looking into those eyes that drank him up hungrily. Not like he was a piece of meat, but desperately so.
It made his heart ache.
Steve ran his fingers through his hair and smiled beautifully, raising a brow playfully. “You okay?”
Tony snorted. “Let’s see, a man that’s been stalking me for three years who kills for a living and turned out to be a guy I met at a bar around a week ago is about to fuck me. Yeah, I’m fine.”
Steve chuckled “Good.”
He peppered kisses down his chest and stomach, occasionally dragging teeth and imprinting markings into the plains of his thighs, neck, and wherever else he could find. Tony couldn’t keep a record of where anymore, his head was swimming and his eyes twisted shut once more.
Steve ran a hand over his already hard cock and stroked a few times. It took everything in Tony not to come from it.
“I wanted to take my time tonight, but god I just can’t - maybe next time.”
Before Tony could even sink in a complete thought from Steve’s statement, a lubed finger was being pushed inside of his entrance, causing him to elicit a yelp of surprise that melted into a moan. Opening his eyes, he saw Steve hovering over him, studying him. When their eyes met, he dipped in for another heart-stammering kiss, adding a second finger to open him up.
Tony moaned and sloppily complied to the kiss. It was becoming too much too fast, and Steve wasn’t even inside of him yet. After a few more thrust of Steve’s fingers, he pulled away from the kiss, then aligning his cock to his entrance, pushing in slowly. They groaned in unison.
The killer braced his hands against his hips and finally got all of himself in. Tony felt his breathing clip with each slight movement. It was a tad bit painful, however as he adjusted, Steve’s cock felt amazing.
Steve started up deep thrusts, holding their bodies as close as they could go, and grunting into the nape of his neck. Tony felt the air being drawn out of him with each thrust, moans leaving his lips on impulse. With each thrust, the speed increased until all that was heard was the slapping of skin and Tony’s gradually louder moans.
Steve pulled away from his chest and placed his hands back onto his hips, tipping his head back in pleasure and fucking him harder. Tony was practically being pushed up from the impact, his hands gripping the sheets tightly and mewling slightly when Steve’s nails dug into his hip bones.
Tony felt pleasure shaking his core, surrounding his body in an impossible heat that made him tear up, nuances upon nuances leaving him to release shaky moans. So close, but he wanted to drag everything out.
Steve leaned into him and sucked on his earlobe, then whispered, “You’re mine, Tony, your voice, your lips, your hands, your eyes, your ass -” punctuating with a harsh slap to his ass. Tony whined.
“- your everything belongs to me. Understand?”
Tony didn’t even bother with over thinking, or thinking at all, just moaning in a mantra, “Yes, yes, yes!”
Steve smirked in satisfaction, murmuring a small, “Atta boy.”
Tony nearly screamed as he climaxed, gripping anything he could while bucking his hips violently. Another long moan left his lips as he felt himself being filled up by Steve. A growl filtered through his ears, but for the most part, he felt himself drifting off. The last thing he remembered was a soft kiss to his forehead.
Tony jumped up, his heart racing as he looked around only to see it was around 11 p.m. Looking closer, he saw that the mask was gone, causing his heart to sink.
Well, at least he had finally met the guy, however, it wasn’t enough. With a light sucking of his teeth, he sighed and turned to lie back down. He hummed slightly; everything was so surreal. It was a bit hard to believe everything that happened. However, it sucked that he didn’t even get to ask questions or actually talk to the man. Looking up, he spotted a note, and a grin broke out on his face.
I’m leaving New York tonight, heading to California. You have a house in Malibu, right? I’ll be waiting for you.
Tony read the letter over and over again. He could stand to take a few weeks off, it’s not like he would live there with the killer. Part of his brain was screaming he shouldn’t, screaming that he didn’t know what he was walking into, that was the logical part. The other side that usually got him into terrible situations told him to go. Told him, ‘You haven’t gotten enough. Get more. This is what you want.’
He left that same night.