Egocentric, pretentious, curt, yet unsure—very unsure; this is all Steve gathers from the first five minutes with the man talking. If he’s being honest, he’s only half paying attention. The other half preoccupied with his lunch.
The guy calls himself “Superior Iron man, the face of the future we need.” He says this confidently, with a proud posture that reads triumph. His real name is Tony Stark, says his file, the morally ambiguous futurist who has too much time on his hands.
He’s obsessed with reconstructing the world in his image, and really, isn’t everyone trying to do that. He knows the guy is a genius, and as with all geniuses and inventors, he'll find his downfall by the hands of his own creations. Tony is doomed to fail in his motivations.
Not that Steve cares; he just wants to finish his lunch.
Ten minutes into the speech, Tony slams his hand onto his desk like a petulant child begging for attention. “Are you listening to me? I’m not one for repeating myself.”
Steve raises his eyebrow. “No, I’m eating.” His Brooklyn drawl leaves him, and he lifts his legs to cross atop of his desk as he continues eating as if Tony hasn't said a thing.
“How dare you treat me like one of your lackeys. I am everything this pathetic excuse for a terrorist group wants to be. I am superior, and I’m making you an offer to better yourselves, to become bigger and to spread like the disease the lesser thrive on. And you sit here and eat as if you've got a fraction of what I have to offer.” Tony doesn’t yell, but his voice raises a few levels and his face plate is removed, the look on his face reads pure disgust. Those eyes of his glowing a brilliant blue, hair a true black, and chiseled features that have Steve seeing why he’s able to woo the public.
Steve sucks his teeth, removes his feet from the desk and scoots up a bit.
“Sit,” he offers, calmly and even-keeled.
Tony does so, a small grin on his face as if he’d gotten through to Steve, as if he’s used to getting his way. Swiftly, Steve grabs the back of Tony’s head and slams it into the oak desk in front of him.
Tony groans and lifts his head, revealing blood dripping from his nose down to the top of his lip. Immediately he lifts out his hands, energy beams seem to be forming in his robotic suit from the palms of his hands. Steve grips him by his neck and lifts him off the ground without hesitation.
“You made several mistakes, but I’ll tell your biggest one," his voice is calm as he speaks. "Coming into this facility and pretending it’s yours. I built this place. I tore it to pieces and rebuilt it in my image, successfully.” He grips tighter, feeling the crunch under his fingertips.
Tony gasps, trying to catch his breath or possibly his last shred of dignity. Steve keeps watch of his face, the blood now creating a sleek, red line down the side of his lip. It’s hypnotic, and in that moment Steve realizes he wants to see Tony bleed. He’s not sure if it’s metaphorical, but there’s a sense of submissiveness Steve’s finds in bleeding. He feels himself get excited, so he drops him.
“Take off the suit,” Steve says after dropping the man.
Tony falls on his knees, catching his breath and looking up with those same glowing eyes. This time it’s malicious, and he doesn’t expect Tony to heed his demands. He’s probably repeating ‘be superior’ like a mantra in his head. Unsure. He’s unsure and curious and so beautifully confused. The excitement only heightens and his eyes are glued to the seemingly unbreakable man.
“Excuse me?” Tony's voice is beautifully schooled, but still betrays a waver of doubt. Self doubt.
“You heard me.”
It’s almost like a standoff, only Steve wonders what Tony's contemplating. He could up and leave, he could attack, he could try and talk his way out of it, probably getting punched in the mouth again for his efforts, but he could damn well try. Yet he’s silent and still.
Minutes pass, but then Tony’s suits melts off of him, liquid silver and blue lights hanging off of his skin, the garish thing is soon gone. Steve stares intently, watching tan skin flex and a body that’s surprisingly smaller than the suit, yet is still lean enough to give off the illusion of strength. Steve knows better.
He’s not sure why Tony's complied to his demand. He hadn't argued, and he looks downright eager, awaiting further commands. Steve sits back in his chair, but swivels it towards the man currently in his black boxers and nothing else.
“Come to me,” he says smoothly. Tony hesitates, but follows the direction given after only a brief moment. Steve wonders what Tony’s true goals are. Direction? Attention? Is he looking for someone to see him in a way he refuses to see himself? Steve wonders how long it's going to take to crack Tony piece by piece until he’s a literal weeping mess on the floor.
When finally in front of him, Steve thinks about possible scenarios, all degrading and horrific, but he settles for buildup. “Take off your boxers, sit on the desk and jerk off. When you get close, stop. if you come, I’ll slit your throat.”
Tony looks horrified by the threat; he clears his throat and, despite the obvious fear, nods his head, undressing himself and murmuring something underneath his breath about this being ridiculous. Steve doesn’t care, he’ll learn. Tony’s already half hard, and he strokes the base of his dick slowly. It doesn’t take but a few to get him fully erect. Steve watches, scrutinizing, his hand rested on his chin and watching over each crease of skin and twitch of emotion. Tony seems to be aware of himself; aware of the show he’s giving and aware of his own pleasure.
Tony twists his hand on the upstroke and seems to hold a firm grip, his toes curl and legs tense. He bites his lower lip and lets his free hand grip the edge of the desk to hold position. Steve takes out his cock from the confines of his stealth suit and works himself over slowly, watching and thinking about how he wants Tony to take his first load.
He's proactive, obviously used to being in the limelight and it comes off as fake, no matter how enticing. Steve wants real emotion, but he has to bide his time. Tony throws his head back and groaned, brash and showy just like the suit he’d sported.
“I’m close.” Tony groans.
Steve snorts. “I don’t give a damn. Come over here and get on your knees.”
Tony slides off of the desk and sinks down on his knees in front of Steve. To Steve’s surprise, he doesn’t immediately start touching his cock--he looks contemplative, and Steve just watches for a moment, wondering what Tony might be debating. Is he ashamed at how deep he's gotten into this? After a moment passes, Steve grabs a fistful of Tony’s hair, with his free hand he traces a finger around his partially opened mouth and as it opens wider, he removes his finger and pushes Tony’s head down on his cock. He loosens his grip on Tony's hair and lets him suck. Steve has to admit the man has a talented tongue; he swirls it around the head of Steve's cock, then licks the underside of it, simultaneously keeping his lips locked around it.
Steve reaches towards the drawer at his desk and plucks out a cigarette and his lighter. He lights it and inhales deeply, then exhales--letting his eyes fall close for a second, reveling in the pleasurable combination. Steve thrusts his hips up to get more, using his free hand to shove Tony's head down further to take his entire length down his throat. Hearing Tony gag sends a chill running up and down Steve's spine, drool runs down his balls and he can feel Tony's throat encase his cock. Steve grunts and inhales once more, fucking Tony's face rougher and listening as he chokes.
"That's the only thing you should be used for: choking on cock." Steve hisses.
Before Steve can finish, he pulls Tony’s head up and off of his cock, and comes on parts of his uniform. With easy strokes, he gets out the last bit of come, then wipes his fingers onto Tony’s lips. “I want every drop of my precious come licked up.”
“That’s disgusting,” Tony argued.
“That’s all you’re worth. You should be grateful I even let you taste my cock.” He pulls Tony by his hair so he’s face to face with Steve’s come. Tony’s tongue darts out to lick his upper lip nervously. He hesitates before licking over the thick black kevlar near his upper thigh. He moves higher up his unbuttoned trousers, sucking on the fabric at his groin to get some of the fluid that's seeped in. His tongue works patterns that let out a strange noise when the texture of the fabric meets Tony’s tongue. Some of the come has landed on his belt buckle, some over his midsection, all of it was lapped up carefully, and with some eagerness behind it. Steve’s glad he’s a man of self restraint because this would drive a lesser man crazy.
Once the uniform is clean, he burns out his cigarette Tony keeps their eyes locked for a moment, as if waiting for further direction and domination—or maybe wondering what he’s gotten into. Regardless of what it was, Steve has plans to use him thoroughly, and he’d rather not waste time. “Up,” Steve says, and Tony immediately lifts himself off the ground and stands. He’s shaking, tremors leading up his thigh and through his fingertips.
“Get on the desk, lie on your back,” Steve tsk’s lightly, the lack of lubrication being a huge problem until a coy Tony Stark clears his throat rather loudly, showcasing a small packet.
“Why do you--?”
“Why wouldn’t I? I gotta live up to my playboy image. And this way, sex in the suit is always be an option. The question is, why would a big bad Hydra agent use lubrication?”
“Because my dick chaffs without it. Be logical here, Stark.” Steve pours just enough onto his cock to make himself slick. After stroking his cock a few times--it doesn’t take him long to get hard again--he’s gripping Tony’s thigh with one hand and guiding his cock in with the other. He enters slowly, teasingly, to give off a false sense of security, but it’s also to see Tony’s face contort into an array of emotions. He looks beautifully overwhelmed, breathing heavily and digging his nails into the wooden desk.
“Oh my god! Y-Your cock, it’s stretching me it’s—oh fuck!”
Steve lets a satisfied grin pass his features, pushing all the way to the hilt in one smooth go, not letting Tony adjust before starting up a rough pace. He anchors one hand on Tony’s shoulder and another digging into his hip, making sure to leave purplish bruises on his immaculately well-kept skin. Tony’s mouth is moving to indicate he’s trying to form words, but he’s only moaning, both of his hands on either side of his face, his pinky finger pressed against his open mouth. He looks ruined and Steve has barely gotten started. Steve stops for a moment, pushing both of Tony’s legs up near his head to get in deeper, which makes Tony shudder and let out a sharp cry. Steve knows he’s hit the man’s prostate directly, and he keeps thrusting at that angle, enjoying the sight of Tony debauched and utterly wrecked. He feels nails rake down his bicep, probably leaving welts, which is turns Steve on even more. Tony is drooling and grinning like a mad man, his toes curl and he’s clenching around Steve’s cock. Right then, Steve decides he wants to milk Tony dry. “Come you fucking cock hungry whore,” Steve demands, digging his fingers into Tony’s skin harder.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Tony repeats, the grin on his face still prominent and his eyes glowing beautifully bright. It takes another few thrust to get Tony coming without touching his cock, he gasps and claws at the desk, and Steve wonders if he knows how badly he’ll be ruined. Steve pulls out his cock slowly. “Your slut hole is gaping,” Tony doesn’t respond. He looks as if he’s been fucked senseless. Too bad.
Steve picks Tony up into his arms effortlessly and places him in his lap. “I’m still hard.”
“I’m not sure if I can take anymore I don’t—“
“I don’t care, Tony.”
Steve reaches over to his desk and squirts a bit more lube onto his fingers, shifting Tony's weight back a bit, so he can lubricate his cock. He then picks Tony up and pushes him down onto his cock, this time not as slow as before. Tony chokes out a sound and clutches his stomach. “S-So deep,” he manages. Steve thrusts up and Tony nearly doubles over, tearing up and trying to talk, but it comes out broken and cracked. Steve moves Tony’s hand, tracing a finger from his pelvis to his tummy then keeping eye contact with the pathetic man on his cock.
Steve fits his fingers to the already blooming bruises on his hips and fucks him harder, making sure every thrust has him in a frenzy. He can feel himself getting close, but he knows he can hold out long enough to get Tony to come on his cock again. Steve moves his grip down towards Tony’s thighs with one hand, the other smacks Tony’s ass harshly a few times just to tip him over the edge. Tony reaches down and strokes his cock, coming into his clenched fist and holding himself up as Steve keeps fucking into him. Steve’s muscles tense, his brain feels as if it’s melting from how hot and how hard he’s coming, filling Tony up. Tony stills himself and grips the arm of the chair, then slouches and rubs over his tummy once again.
Steve watches intently. “Full hm?”
Tony nods slowly, and then whines when Steve lifts him and pulls him off of his cock. “If your legs aren’t going to stay open, you can leave.” Tony is still trembling; come drips down his thigh and his eyes rimmed red, yet his eyelids hang low. He gets on top of the desk and spreads his legs, pushing two fingers into his come filled hole. Slowly he pulls them out then licks over them seductively; his eyes flutter up to Steve’s. It’s filthy, a display of someone wanting to be treated like they’re worthless.
Steve has found the perfect pet.