When Steve thinks about it, it goes like this-
"All you have to do is say yes," Romanov says, her lips close to his ear. She's straddling him without touching him, close enough that he can feel the heat radiating from her body. His hands are cuffed to the chair, so he couldn't touch her if he wanted. He's trying hard to resist, but he doesn't know what he'd do if they weren't.
"No," Steve manages to say.
"Come on," Romanov coaxes, and he can feel her breath, soft and wet. "We can do absolutely anything you want. Don't you want it?"
"No," he repeats.
She catches his earlobe with her teeth, and Steve just barely stops himself from moaning. "Don't you have anything to say but no?"
He turns, and she's right there, eyes dark and glittering. "No," he says again, and she smirks at him.
She opens her mouth to speak. "That's enough," Coulson says, before she can, voice mild but firm. Romanov slowly climbs off him, giving him nothing but a light brush on the thigh that feels like it's going to burn him up.
Coulson walks towards him, and Steve swallows. He doesn't know what he's more afraid of, Romanov's promises or Coulson's threats, but he's not going to give in to either of them, no matter what he does, no matter what they do to him.
Coulson squats down, looking him in the eye. "We can make things much better for you, Captain," he tells Steve, stroking the growing bulge in Steve's pants. Without warning he squeezes, and Steve jumps. "Believe me when I say that I don't want to make them worse."
"No, thanks," Steve says. "I'm fine."
Coulson shrugs, standing up. "Maybe he's a lost cause," Romanov says.
"I know you know better than that," Coulson replies. "No such thing as a lost cause."
"I would hate to lose him," Romanov agrees. She takes Steve by his chin, not being particularly gentle as she turns his head this way and that, examining him. "We could do so much."
"It'll take a lot to break him," Coulson says, like he's not even there.
Romanov smiles. "But that's half the fun."
Coulson looks Steve up and down. "Less than half, by far. We'll keep him a good long time afterwards."
Steve thinks about it, what it would be like to be in their hands, all the things they could do to him. He's not afraid of being broken; he's afraid of what they'll put him back together as. They could make him into a toy, no will except the will to serve them. They could use him over and over and over again, play with him until they're done, then pick him back up and do it all over again.
There's a feeling in the pit of his stomach when he thinks about it, a deep, twisting feeling, and he doesn't know whether or not he wants to know what it means. Surely he hates the idea, because there'd be nothing worse than that. Best to ignore anything else, any little betraying voice in his head that says different, because it's just not right.
"What next, then?" Romanov asks, looking him over. "So many choices."
"I think we should take a closer look at what we have," Coulson says. "We'll worry about the rest in a minute."
"With pleasure," Romanov says. She reaches for Steve, and he involuntarily lifts his chin as she undoes his collar button. He gasps when she grabs his shirt and rips it the rest of the way open, his buttons scattering on the floor. Coulson reaches into his pocket; he pulls out a switchblade, flicking it open, and Steve comes within a hair's breadth of giving in, giving him whatever he wants as long as he'll put the knife away.
The knife is sharp and sure; it glides through the material as Coulson slashes his t-shirt, untucking it so he can push the whole thing back, exposing his bare chest to both of them. Romanov runs her fingers down it, toying with one of his sensitive nipples until he can't take it anymore. He keeps his mouth shut, but it doesn't stop the noise that he makes from escaping. Neither Romanov nor Coulson says anything, but they look at each other like everything is going to plan, like it's progressing exactly as they hoped. Steve's face goes hot as he thinks about the tiny, treacherous thing in him that wants this; he resolves firmly to redouble his efforts, to do whatever it takes to keep everything under control.
But then Coulson is unbuckling his belt, and Steve's resolve gets that much thinner. He undoes Steve's pants, unzipping his fly; Steve sucks in a breath as Coulson slides the knife underneath his waistband, the blade tugging at it as it makes its way through the elastic.
"Please stop," Steve says, his hands clenched with the effort not to move, not to give in. He's deeply embarrassed of how plaintive it sounds, but he can't take it back now; he's cracking, and they're both going to know.
Romanov laughs. "I told you what to say if you want it to stop," she says, as the elastic finally gives, snapping back away from the knife.
Coulson drops the knife into his pocket. "It's very simple," he says. "You only have to say one thing, and this stops." The corner of his mouth ticks up. "Or it keeps going. Depends on your perspective."
Steve slumps back in the chair, looking at the two of them. His heart is beating fast, and he's panting like he's going to die. He's absolutely terrified of them, of all they could do to him, of everything that could happen. His cock is so hard, leaving a wet spot in his briefs, which are only barely covering him anymore, and his brain is all messed up, turned back to front, leaving him with no idea of anything, no concept of which way is up.
Steve swallows. "Yes," he says shakily. "I'll do what you want."
He expects derision from his captors, but that's not what he gets. Instead they smile warmly, like they're proud of him for finally making the right choice. Coulson runs his fingers through Steve's hair, tilting Steve's head back so that he can kiss Steve sweetly, and Steve feels immense relief wash over him. He wants this, he's always wanted this, all he had to do was admit it, to ignore the part of him that was holding him back. Romanov is in his lap now, and she reaches down to push away the tatters of his clothing and wrap her hand around his cock, stroking him slowly, and- and-
-and Steve comes, arching off his bed, come splattering his stomach. He sighs, shutting his eyes for a moment before reaching for a tissue to wipe up with. He really can't keep doing this. It's disrespectful, it's demeaning, and it's a very, very bad idea.
But it's such a nice thought.