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At My Mercy

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Sometimes the old anger roars up its head and Steve thinks, viciously, No wonder he’s made himself the Director of SHIELD. He’s always had issues with control.

He feels guilty almost immediately, because he’s running SHIELD with Tony, technically, and Tony had asked for help before the war between them escalated, but the fact remains that Tony hadn’t trusted him at first and that still kinda hurts.

They’re working on it, though, and also working on it in more private circumstances, and Steve shouldn’t complain, really.

“Afternoon, Commander,” comes Tony’s silky voice and Steve turns to see him walking into the room wearing only the skin-tight SHIELD uniform and feels his mouth go dry.

Get it together, Rogers, he tells himself. They’re on the helicarrier. These are decidedly not private circumstances. But it’s Tony’s fault for looking so damn inviting. Steve starts to seriously wonder if the suit is even his size. It must be too small to hug his body like that, highlighting every muscle, and Steve can’t help himself from running his eyes over Tony, his ideally trimmed goatee, entirely too kissable lips, the long line of his neck, his chest and the white strap across it that makes Steve’s hand itch to grab it and pull Tony closer, his belt and below—it’s downright indecent. It’d be better if he were naked.

“Tony,” Steve manages to say, and seeing Tony raise his eyebrow, he scrambles to find words. Work, they’re at work . . . “Director Stark,” he corrects himself.

Tony has the gall to laugh at him.

“The Madripoor mission concluded fine,” he says. “They sent over some files for me to decode, but it won’t take long, and then I can go home.” Come with me, his tone says, his smile easy and eyes dark.

“Great,” Steve says, already picturing peeling Tony’s suit off him.


They kiss almost before the door falls shut behind them in a clash of mouths, hands clawing at each other, Tony seemingly liking Steve’s uniform as much as Steve likes his.

“Wait,” Tony gasps out, “Wait, I—”

Steve stills immediately, his heart beating fast, blood rushing in his ears.

Tony leans against the wall, breathing heavily, before he composes himself and nods. “Wait,” he repeats, and then he goes further inside the room, stopping in front of his wardrobe.

Don’t change almost escapes Steve’s mouth.

But then Tony walks back to Steve, a pair of handcuffs dangling from his fingers.

“I wanted to try these,” he says.

Steve has to remind himself to breathe.

Tony Stark, issues with control, issues with trust or lack thereof, asking Steve to handcuff him.

Maybe Steve’s heard him wrong.

But Tony’s still looking at him, expectantly, and Steve nods.


Tony naked and cuffed to his bed is a beautiful sight, or would be if Steve’s brain still functioned well enough to process it.

He wants to touch him and he wants to look at him forever and he wants to prove he’s worth of this trust and he wants—he wants—

He wants Tony.

He’s still in his Commander uniform, another thing Tony asked of him, and it’s becoming increasingly constricting.

“Do you plan to stare at me all evening?” Tony purrs.

“And what if I do?” Steve asks back. “Would you protest?”

Tony opens his mouth and then shuts it without saying a word. Interesting.

“I do enjoy the view,” Steve admits. “I could just touch myself and make you watch.”

Tony whines.

“I’m starting to think you’d like it,” Steve muses. “Another day, maybe.”

Today, well, today he just wants to fuck Tony until he screams Steve’s name.


Tony is always very responsive, but even more so when he can’t move, Steve notes, having two fingers already inside Tony to stretch him. Steve hasn’t even touched Tony’s cock yet, but he’s half-hard already anyway, his eyes closed tight as if even seeing Steve leaning over him in his uniform is too much, or maybe at the added sensation of the fingerless gloves rubbing against his entry.

It gives Steve an idea.

He hums, and he keeps pushing his fingers in and out of Tony even as he adjusts his position and smoothly leans down to take Tony’s cock in his mouth without a warning. Tony buckles under him, and Steve uses his free hand to keep him still.

Tony grows completely hard almost immediately as Steve sucks him, a litany of swearwords leaving his mouth. The cuffs ring against the bedframe as Tony pulls on them, and Steve smiles around him. He blows air on Tony’s cock and Tony all but vibrates, and Steve considers for a moment that he could keep going, make Tony come, and then fuck him when he’s pliant and relaxed, but no, that’s not what he wants. He wants Tony to be desperate.

He pulls back.

“Steve,” Tony gasps. “Please—”

“You’re not ordering me here, Director.”

Tony falls silent again, his pupils blown wide.


Steve pushes into Tony in one smooth motion, only stopping when he’s completely inside him. He’s still in his uniform, only opened it enough to pull his cock out, and Tony makes a move as if he wants to grab at him, but the handcuffs stop him.

He’s exquisite.

Steve slides out and pushes inside Tony again. He fucks him slowly, delighting in the little sounds of pleasure escaping Tony’s mouth.

He presses a kiss to Tony’s throat, moves to the left to bite at the point between his neck and shoulder. He tastes sweat on his skin, and Tony’s shivering under him, moaning on Steve’s every thrust.

Steve starts moving faster, his pleasure building up.


Tony comes first, all his muscles tensing and relaxing at once, his mouth open, gasping for air. Steve reaches up to tap at the fingerprint lock at the handcuffs so that Tony can stretch his arms already.

“Come on, Steve,” Tony murmurs, clenching around him, and he wasn’t supposed to be ordering Steve here, but it doesn’t matter, Steve’s too far gone. He comes inside Tony, clutching at Tony’s arms, and Tony strokes his back.

“Thank you,” Tony says, later, and Steve rolls off him and gives him a look.

“Yeah, it was such a hardship having you at my mercy,” he says drily, and Tony laughs, still a bit breathless.