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Super Bass

Summary:

Steve swallowed, gulping where Rumlow’s finger touched him. “Thanks,” he said, voice shaky. Rumlow wasn’t meant to touch him. No one was meant to touch him in here. But he didn’t say. He didn’t say as Rumlow’s fingers slipped down, over his chest, all the way down, down - “You sell private dances, trade?” - down until they were resting on the edge of his tiny briefs.

 

 “Yes,” said Steve. “Yes, I do.”

Notes:

Thanks to Lingua Mortua for the beta on this.

There’s Stucky in this story so I’ve tagged for it, but this is not really a Steve/Bucky story. In this story Steve and Bucky are in a relationship, but it is not going well and is full of angst and frustration.

Most of the interaction is Steve/Rumlow. Just so you know.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter Text

It felt like the walls were closing in - red plush and shiny brass and plastic champagne glasses and baby oil and night after night the same. It was only two. It felt like four. Steve hated shifts that dragged like this. His feet hurt and the washing instructions label of his glittery briefs was chafing at the crack of his ass. He was tired and he was irritable and he’d never felt less sexy in his damn life.

Bucky had texted an hour ago asking what time Steve’d be home. Steve was annoyed about that. Bucky should know what time. If he paid attention to Steve’s shift pattern, he’d know. Steve was on lates all week. When he texted back “6” there wasn’t even a reply. Bucky never swung by to see him at the club anymore.

Thursday nights could go either way. Sometimes folk would just say ‘hang it’ and act like it was the weekend already, drinking way past the time it was sensible. Some Thursdays were the best nights. For a lot of folks, once they’d made the decision to order another bottle of fizz after midnight, a private dance from the guy you’d just seen fucking himself upside down on a pole, seemed like the best idea ever. Maybe they’d even break out a whole eighty bucks for a backseat suck job. But other Thursdays never came alive, and meant working all night for two dances, barely covering parking and the take out grabbed on the way home.

Steve had sold three dances tonight, but he hadn’t had a sniff of any side action. He’d done his act and didn’t have another spot on the pole for a couple of hours. He always felt awkward walking the floor. He had good game face, but all he could think about was the bell that would ring at five, the drive home to his bed, the moment he got to wrap himself around Bucky for an hour until the alarm went off and Bucky unpeeled his body from Steve’s and went to shower. Bucky worked long hours at the precinct, Steve worked longer ones at the club. When their shift patterns were out of synch like this, they sometimes didn’t see each other for weeks.

As Steve turned around to walk back across the club, someone beside him pressed an icy glass into his hand. Usually, if a customer bought you a drink it was because they wanted to sit with you a while, have you flirt with them, make them feel attractive. And Steve was down for this, down for any distraction from the fact he was stuck in this hall of mirrors and pulsing bass for hours and hours yet before he could be home with Bucky. But the person who had bought him the drink had just handed it to him and turned away. All he saw was a plume of dark hair moving away through the crowd. Steve sniffed the drink. It was vodka. Fucking neat vodka. He slid the glass on the bar, untouched, and decided he’d go find Sam. Sam would cheer him up.

But as he turned away from the bar, he heard someone shout out - Sam.
By the time Steve got across the floor to where Sam was, Natasha was already there, putting her body in between Sam’s and a trick Steve had never seen before. Dark hair. Handsome, but, somehow, not in a good way. Both Sam and the trick were breathing a little heavy.

“Okay,” said Natasha, arms folded. “What’s the problem here?”

Sam’s face was twisted up with anger. “This slimeball grabbed my ass and put his hand down my fucking panties,” Sam said. Sam was wearing a tiny pair of silver briefs. In the whole place, only Steve’s were tinier. The shape of Sam’s dick was pretty visible.

“Okay, okay,” said Natasha, turning to the trick, palms out. Steve almost hoped the guy was going to be an ass to her. It was always fun, the look on their faces when she broke out her funbag of moves. Steve hated almost everything about this place, but he loved that in this room full of Marys with gym-pumped bodies, the person you’d most want on your side in a fight was Natasha. “The thing is, sir,” Natasha was saying, “we have a strict ‘no touching’ rule. You will have seen the signs in the lobby.”

“Fucker grabbed my fucking dick,” Sam muttered, looking down at the floor.

Natasha glanced at him and sighed, annoyed. “Okay, Sam. I got this.”

The trick smiled. “Let me clarify things, sweetheart.” He reached into his top pocket and drew out a warrant card. As it flapped open, Steve caught the name under the badge. Rumlow. Officer Rumlow. “This one’s under arrest. He tried to sell me sex.”

“You motherfucking liar!” Sam shouted and went to lunge at Rumlow, Natasha moved like a blur to hold him back, pinning his arms behind him before he could do anything. Rumlow just smiled, hadn’t even flinched. It felt like the whole club was looking at them and Steve saw Natasha’s eyes widen in panic. She glanced up at door on the mezzanine over the stage. Nick’s office. Not that you could never even be sure if he was in there; the only way you found out was when something like this happened and he thundered down, fired everyone involved and bought the entire club a round of drinks as compensation for the inconvenience.

Sam saw Natasha’s eye line and dropped his voice. “I did no such thing. He’s lying. He’s a fucking shade.”

The cop held up his hands, palms to Natasha. ”Okay, no need for that. This can all be settled very fast. No fuss. I’ll just take chocolate here in and-“

“What?” Natasha spat. “What the actual fuck?” It was like she’d been electrified. Like her talons had just come out.

“Sorry.” The cop smiled. “That came out wrong. All mean to say was, look, none of us want any trouble, do we?”

Sam looked at Steve, and Steve thought he might be slightly wired. He couldn’t be sure. All of them caught a buzz sometimes to get through a long shift. Steve, though, Steve knew he was clean. And the way this cop was looking at Sam… the way he’d grinned at his own lazy racism. Like it was a warning.

His smile was the kind of smile that, if a trick smiled at you that way and asked how much for a real nice time, it would be better, always better, to say that sort of thing wasn’t for sale. Sam would have spotted that nasty smile too. Never would have put it in the table for a guy like this, even high. That was how Steve knew Rumlow was lying. And that he was the same guy who had pressed that cold glass of vodka into his hand earlier.

“It was me,” Steve said.

Sam and Natasha both looked confused. “What?” said Natasha. “What was you?”

Steve swallowed. “I think you made a mistake officer. It wasn’t Sam who said he’d suck you off in the parking lot for eighty bucks, was it, sir? It was me. People get us confused all the time.”

Rumlow looked from Steve to Sam and back again, the smile spreading over his face like an oil spill. Natasha said, “Steve?”

Rumlow stepped closer to Steve and touched his bare chest with one finger. “You know, I think you’re right, sugar. It was you. And that’s a crime. I think I’m going to have to take you in.”

Steve shivered. “Yes, sir.”

Rumlow didn’t look particularly strong, but his body was hidden under a black shirt and jeans and stood beside two guys in their underwear who were all built and muscle, but when he took hold of him, Steve went down fast. Rumlow grabbed his shoulder and flipped him, slamming him face down onto a table of empty glasses. Before Steve had caught his breath, Rumlow was hauling his arms behind him cuffing them in the small of his back. “Wait,” Steve said, “You don’t need to…” but it was too late.

Being handcuffed, when he was dressed like this, in almost nothing, made Steve feel sick and vulnerable. And the tiny trunks he was wearing hid nothing as Rumlow yanked him off the table and started to man-handle him out of the club. He heard Natasha say, “Alright, fellas, nothing to see here.” And wondered whether she was referring to how obviously hard he was.

As the cop got him out into the lobby he whispered in Steve’s ear, “Interesting reaction you got to handcuffs there, trade.”

 

*

When the cop put Steve in the car he was pretty sure they weren’t going to the precinct. No rule-abiding cop would put him in the passenger seat like this, half naked and handcuffed. It was a lot of effort to go to for a freebie suck job. Steve was almost flattered. If this cop, this Officer Rumlow, had a uniform on, he’d be getting off on it.

Rumlow leant over from the driver seat and pulled the seat belt over Steve, caressing his thigh as he fastened it. “Nice body,” he said and he stroked Steve’s leg again with the back of his hand. He said it so quietly Steve wasn’t sure if he was meant to respond.

“Thanks,” Steve said. It came out on a breath.

Rumlow slapped Steve’s thigh hard. “Vain fucking whore,” he said - and Steve couldn’t hide the way Rumlow’s words and Rumlow’s slap had made his breath hitch.

Steve felt slightly sick when Rumlow started the car. He was still horribly turned on, and the capable way Rumlow started the car didn’t help any, stretching an arm across the back of Steve’s seat and idly reversing out of his parking spot. They only went around the corner. There was a filthy alley behind the club, almost as if by design. Steve licked his teeth and said with fake surprise, “Why are you stopped here? This ain’t the precinct.”

“Beauty and brains,” said Rumlow, snapping off his seat belt, turning to smile at Steve. “Changed my mind about taking you in. Gonna let you off with a warning. Ain’t I nice? Don’t I deserve some gratitude.”

“Sure,” said Steve. “Sure, sure. Gratitude. You want me to do it with the cuffs on, because, trust me, I’ll do a much better job without them.” He shrugged. “But if that get’s you hot, I can get it out with my mouth.” Steve looked at Rumlow’s groin. His erection was almost as obvious as Steve’s own. Steve felt his dick get a little wetter at the thought.

Rumlow reached over and took Steve’s chin gently. His thumb grazed the corner of Steve’s mouth. “Greedy whore,” he said, his voice dropping low, almost a growl. “You want my dick, do you? Fuck, look at you, you’re fucking burning for it.” Rumlow looked at Steve’s own cock, his squirming hips. “If you want my dick you’re going to have to ask me much more nicely than that.”

“You want me to beg for your dick, sir?” Steve’s breath was coming heavy, suddenly. “I can do that. I can do whatever you want.”

“You can, can’t you?” Rumlow squeezed Steve’s face tighter and adjusted his chin higher and higher until a whimper slipped from Steve’s mouth. “Whatever I want? Anything anyone wants, right?” Rumlow’s lip curled into a little sneer. He moved his head close, his mouth close. “But I want you to come to me. Just to me. Only to me. I want you to come to me and beg to be used.”

“I don’t think -” Steve managed, struggling to steady his breathing. “What?”

Rumlow leant nearer, closing the last breath of space between them. He was so close Steve could feel the heat of him, could smell the sharp scent of his sweat and aftershave. Steve’s breath was hitching over and over. Rumlow looked at his mouth. Steve shivered. “You want to kiss me, trade?”

Steve’s dick was hard. Not just hard, leaking. He thought Rumlow could probably smell it. Smell his arousal. His fucking desperation. He stared at Rumlow and he knew his thighs were shaking. “I don’t kiss.” He swallowed the thickness in his throat. “I don’t kiss tricks.”

Rumlow licked his top lip. “I didn’t ask that, whore. I asked if you wanted to kiss me. Do you? Do you want to kiss me? Are you fucking aching to kiss me, you piece of fucking shit. Sitting here in my car, naked, you fucking whore. Do you want to kiss me?”

Steve swallowed, sick with shame. And knew that he did, oh, he did. “Yes,” he said, so quietly there was almost no sound at all. “Yes, sir.”

“Then it’s a real shame that you don’t kiss, ain’t it?” said Rumlow and he snaked an arm behind Steve. “Now,” he breathed, “get out of my fucking car, trade.” He’d unlocked the handcuffs.

“What?” Steve was so stunned it took him a moment to bring his wrists back in front of his body. Rumlow reached over him and popped the lock. The car door swung open.

“I said, get out of my fucking car.”

*

When Steve got home Bucky was at the table eating breakfast. Oatmeal and honey. The kitchen was sunny and Bucky was wearing a suit and a tie and he looked so happy and pretty and clean. Steve almost felt like he didn’t want to touch him. He’d showered at the club, changed into clean sweatpants and a hoodie. But he felt tainted and gross. Like he often did lately, when Bucky smiled at him, so sweet and good and pure.

“Hey baby,” said Bucky, taking a mouthful of coffee.

Steve moved to the counter and poured himself a mugful. He turned around and leaned up against the worktop. “Hey Buck. You look good.”

Bucky laughed. “You freaking don’t. You look fucked out. Late shifts still biting, huh?”

“Kinda.” Steve brought the mug to his lips.

“You shouldn’t drink that then. You should sleep. Go to bed.” Bucky tipped his head towards to door.

Steve stepped up behind Bucky and stroked his hands around Bucky’s jaw. “Maybe I don’t want to sleep. I wouldn’t mind going to bed though.”

Bucky tipped his head back and looked up at Steve, smiling. “Babe, don’t. It’s nearly eight. You know I gotta go.”

Steve pouted. “Don’t go. Say you’re sick. Not even a lie. Come and be sick in bed with me.”

“You know I can’t. Things are really intense right now.” Bucky cocked his head as Steve pushed his bottom lip out further. “Anyway, you’re back late. Aren’t you normally back from lates at 6? If you’d got back at the usual time, you would’ve had an hour in bed with me.”

Steve looked at Bucky and took a breath. He felt guilt wash over him. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. Odd kinda night.” He took his hands off Bucky’s face and stepped away to lean back against the counter again. He took his coffee mug. When he’d slipped back into club to wash up and change, he’d run into Sam, who’d wanted to know everything. Steve had shrugged and made an excuse, but Sam had waited around and, in the end, got the full story.

“Weird,” Sam had said, finishing up a V and T, the mostly-melted ice chinking.

“I know, dude, I know. He didn’t even touch me. Not really.”

“He will though.” Sam looked down at the table. “That guy’s gonna be back. I don’t think he wanted me at all.” Sam drained his glass. “It was a trick to get to you,” he said, gargling round ice. “I reckon.”

*

Steve was half asleep when the bedroom door opened. It was dark in the room and, as Steve rolled over into Bucky’s arms, he had no idea what time it was. “Buck?” he whispered into Buck’s belly, then noticed the fabric his face was pressed against. “Buck?” Steve lifted his head. “Buck are you wearing…?”

“Guard your eyes a minute, babe,” Bucky said as he snapped on the bedside lamp, and Steve gasped. Bucky was in his blue shirt, his peaked cap. Steve craned his neck to see. Oh god, his fucking boots.

“You’re in your…” Steve had to swallow to make his throat wet enough to speak. “You’re in your uniform. Did you…? What happened?”

Bucky laughed, climbing up onto the bed. “They ain’t demoted me, babe, don’t worry. I just thought, for you. Thought I’d wear it for you. You know I miss you when you’re on nights.”

“Bucky!” Steve said it on a breath, rolling onto his back as Bucky swung one leg over Steve’s body, caging him down on the bed.

“What do you want me to do?” Bucky whispered, ducking his head down to nip Steve’s ear lobe.

Steve arched up into Bucky’s mouth, dick hard, Bucky’s blues reducing him easily to a desperate keening mess. “You know what I like,” Steve gasped out as Bucky bit his chin. “You know what I like, Buck. Officer.”

Bucky’s chuckle in response had a growl to it. “Yeah, I do, you little fucking punk. You want me to read you your rights?”

“Oh god, Buck, yes. Yes!”

“You done something wrong? You need correction? Penal correction, you piece of shit?”

“Yes, officer.”

“Okay, scum. Maybe you’d better start by licking my boots. Show me you know how to behave and treat your betters with some respect.”

“Yes sir, sorry sir.” Eagerly, Steve slid, naked onto the floor beside the bed. Bucky’s black boots were shiny, slick to his knee. Steve kissed the leather edge where the boot met Bucky’s blue pants. As he pulled his mouth away a tiny moan spilled from his lips - a sweet twist of shame and desire. He pressed out his tongue and he licked, rocking his hips.

He licked his way down Bucky’s shin, feeling the hard flesh inside the soft, musky leather of the boot. He made a long, soft guttural sound as he did it, desperate to reach the toe, to lick Bucky’s feet, while Bucky sneered at him and told him he was disgusting and should be ashamed. His dick was hard between his legs, leaking, throbbing with desire.

He looked up as he slid his wet tongue over the top of Bucky’s foot. Bucky was looking at him - all flushed cheeks and heavy, hooded eyelids.

Bucky was still one of the hottest guys Steve had ever seen. They’d met when he’d pulled Steve over one night for a smashed back light on his bike. What followed was still the hottest thing that had ever happened to Steve - Steve who’d had a cop fetish for as long as he’d had a dick. Bucky, in his blues, catching Steve’s erection and risking his badge to give him a sudden, filthy, perfect kiss and his private number. Bucky had said since it wasn’t a risk. That the risk would have been letting Steve go.

“You don’t even know, babe. You then. What you fucking looked like on that bike. And I knew you wanted it. Blushing as soon as you saw me.”

You were wearing your fucking uniform and a pair of aviators.”

“Yeah. Guess I was. You’re so kinky for that shit. I sometimes think you smashed that back light yourself.”

When they first got together they’d reimagined the night Bucky pulled Steve over again and again. Always there go to. Their solid gold, unsinkable mutual kink. With Bucky in his uniform, with Steve naked. Steve on his knees. Steve in handcuffs. Steve stammering, “Sorry officer, please, I’m sorry, please don’t arrest me, sir,” and kissing Bucky’s boots over and over. Licking them. Making the leather slick and glossy until his cock was drooling all over the floor.

“You’re fucking filthy,” Bucky would say, crouching and sipping a finger into the mess on the floor, pressing it to Steve’s lips so he could lick. “Fucking filthy.” He’d say it laughing, laughing and hard, and he’d smile.

Bucky wasn’t laughing - or more than half hard - now, but he was looking at Steve indulgently as Steve lapped at his boot. Steve knew he looked good like this, naked on his knees, muscles flexing as he cupped Bucky’s heel…

The sudden, shrill sound snapped Steve out of his breathless, eager worship. He lifted his lips from the boot. “Don’t,” he said softly. “Don’t, Buck.”

But Bucky’s face had changed. He was all serious business and he lifted his phone from his pocket and swiped at the screen - mouthing a quick sorry as he pressed the phone to his ear and clipped out, “Yeah. Barnes here.” A slight pause and then, “oh. Oh Jesus. Okay, where is he now?”

Steve looked down at his own hard dick and his heart was heavy and cold in his chest. As he started to get up from the floor, Bucky cupped the receiver. “Don’t,” he hissed at Steve, “don’t go, babe. I’ll be two minutes.”

Steve shook his head. “It’s okay, Buck. I gotta go to work.”

 

*

Steve swung his hips on the podium like he was desperate to get fucked. He wasn’t even faking it.

He stripped out of khakis, popping each stud of his tight shirt to some Rihanna track he’d never even found out the title of. He didn’t choose it. He never chose the music. Or the clothes. Sometimes he’d get up on stage to find they were playing a different track and it might be a mistake or a change he’d not been told about.

He’d been in the khakis - and then, on Friday’s and Saturdays when he did a second set, biker leathers - for months now, but he could easily come in one day and find some other outfit in his locker with no notice or explanation. It wasn’t worth complaining about. He was hardly irreplaceable.

Tonight’s Friday crowd seemed kind of split. Men in business suits, looking bored, or just furtive. Not everyone was here for Steve’s body. There were people for whom this place was just somewhere to come when their usual post-work bar closed. The attraction was that it was open all night, serving liquor. Steve taking his clothes off on the stage was of little consequence. And some people came here because other people didn’t. The anonymity of a run down gay strip club. Cops, criminals, various lowlifes liked it for that. And there were always few hookers in, driving the prices down, letting Steve and his friends do all the wet work then offering up a cheaper hole in the dark.

A bunch in the corner seemed into it, though. Middle aged men in tight jeans and tees. But it was hard to guess who was gonna buy. After seven years Steve still got surprised. At least once a week someone who’d barely glanced at him on the stage or on the pole would come over and buy everything he’d got.

He took off the shirt to reveal the vest underneath. It was khaki, too, but spandex, so it was tight as shit and showed all his muscles. He dropped his shirt and ran his hands over his chest, teasing his nipples a bit and letting his mouth fall softly open like he was fucking into it. He was into it tonight. His dick was stirring. He looked out at the crowd and wondered if Rumlow was out there.

I want you to come to me and beg to be used.

And once he’d thought that, Steve was fully hard. He popped the trick seams of his commando pants and ripped them off in time with the musical crescendo, enjoying the ripple of reaction, thinking of Rumlow. Thinking of Rumlow enjoying his body.

Under the pants he wore tight khaki trunks. His erection was obvious now and the fact everyone could see it turned him on. He teased the vest off next, biting his lips as he showed his tits; dog tags swinging between them. The tags said ‘cumslut’ and ‘fucktoy’ on them.

Steve wasn’t sure why anyone bothered with this level of detail. No one was near enough to see, even when they reached out and used shoving bills into the crack of his ass as an excuse to touch him. ‘Cumslut and ‘fucktoy’ were pretty indicative of the level the place played at. This was not the classy strip joint of Steve’s adolescent fantasies. This was a fucking dive. One time Steve had come in early and found, hanging on Sam’s peg with his hot cop outfit, a jockstrap with a fucking banana over the dick. Steve had hidden it before Sam saw and replaced it with a plain black one.

He lost the trunks. Underneath he wore a tiny thong patterned with the stars and stripes, the reveal of which was met with a chorus of applause and whistles. Steve smiled as he took a couple of bows in his thong and tags and army boots. Then left through the red curtains at the back of the stage.

Backstage, Steve changed into a pair of glittery camo-patterned briefs, spritzed himself with baby oil and wandered back out onto the floor. He’d usually sell a couple of private dances off the back of the floorshow.

He wasn’t even fully through the curtains when he saw him, leaning against the bar in a short-sleeved black shirt - nice forearms. Officer Rumlow.

Steve paused right outside the curtain and nodded a hello. His mouth was dry. Rumlow pushed himself off the bar and walked over, came too close and said, “Hello again, sugar.” He reached out and touched Steve’s throat with a long middle finger. “Nice show.”

Steve swallowed, gulping where Rumlow’s finger touched him. “Thanks,” he said, voice shaky. Rumlow wasn’t meant to touch him. No one was meant to touch him in here. But he didn’t say. He didn’t say as Rumlow’s fingers slipped down, over his chest, all the way down, down - “You sell private dances, trade?” - down until they were resting on the edge of his tiny briefs.

“Yes,” said Steve. “Yes, I do.” His voice was half lost.

“How much?” As he spoke Rumlow pulled a wallet out of his back pocket. It was thick, bulging with worn notes.

“Fifty.” Steve said. “Five minutes, no touching.”

Rumlow nodded once as he leaned close, a fifty in his hand. He reached around Steve and slipped the note into the back of Steve’s briefs. His mouth was at Steve’s ear and he whispered, “Yeah? You’re gonna beg me to touch you, slut.”

*

Steve took Rumlow into one of the private rooms and nodded to the long couch where he was to sit. “Do you have a track you want me to dance to?” Steve said, opening a cupboard and pulling up a playlist on the laptop inside.

“Anything,” Rumlow said, sitting down and spreading his legs wide. “Play me your favourite.” He glanced over. “I wanna know just what you’re into, sugar. What you like to bend over to.”

Steve shrugged and picked out a Nicki Minaj track, then turned and stalked over to Rumlow, stood himself between Rumlow’s spread legs and let his tongue touch his lips. He lifted his arms behind his head, paused a moment to feel the bass line, then took a sharp breath and jerked his hips, thrusting into Rumlow’s face, rolling his head slowly back.

He did it a couple of times. Rumlow stared up at him with his lips parted, and a gaze that made him feel filthy and degraded. Steve’s mouth went dry. After a moment more, he turned around and bent over, pushing his ass out. Rumlow grunted. The music switched key and got dirtier and Steve ground himself backwards. He was panting hard when he turned back around and rolled his crotch forward.

“Nice,” said Rumlow. “Now beg me to touch you.”

“No touching,” Steve said briskly, running both hands down his slick chest, moving closer and then arching away, rolling his whole body.

Rumlow looked at him and flicked out his tongue. “Didn’t say I was gonna. Rule’s no touching, not no asking you to beg for it.”

Steve moved a little closer. Rumlow spread his legs even wider. Both his hands lay on his hard thighs. This man was dangerous and Steve swallowed something like arousal and fear, to think it. “When you said I was gonna beg, I didn’t think you meant because you’d told me to.” He brought his arms behind him to his ass and cupped it, leaning back into the touch and moaning soft, showing his throat. He saw Rumlow swallow. He liked dancing, liked private dances a lot. He knew that fact he enjoyed them made them better. He knew Rumlow would be able to see how hard he was, see his nipples pulling tight as he touched his own ass.

Rumlow let a steady gaze slide up and down Steve’s body. “You disappointed about that? Were you hoping I’d do something to make you desperate? Is that what you want?” Steve’s legs were shaking. He didn’t respond. Rumlow’s mouth tightened. “I believe I told you to do something, whore.”

Steve kept his left hand on his chest and rubbed the other over the bulge in his briefs. He took a heavy breath. “Touch me,” he said breathy and seductive, just soft. He was aching to be touched, felt sure it was noticeable in his voice. He held Rumlow’s eye.

“That the best you can do? I thought you were a professional.” His voice dropped down to something nasty. “I didn’t say ask, I said fucking beg me.”

Steve swallowed hard. He knew how to beg. He wanted to. “Please, sir, please. Touch me.” One of his own hands was inside his briefs now, fingers teasing around his hole. He pinched a nipple hard with the other. “Jesus, please,” he said, letting his voice crack with desperation. The music kept pounding. He rocked his hips in time, not really dancing anymore.

“Where do you want me to touch you?” Rumlow’s voice was cracking too, low and dark.

Steve pressed the tip of his finger into his asshole and let his head roll back, fucking into himself with the rhythm. He never did this in a private dance, usually. Never fucked himself like this. He slipped inside to the first knuckle. “Oh, sir. Touch my dick. Touch it, or, oh! My ass. Touch my ass. Put your fingers in me, sir. Christ. Please. Fuck me like that, please.”

“Nice. Very nice. You do beg pretty, don’t you, sugar?” Rumlow ran his palms up and down his thighs. “Shame about that rule isn’t it?”

“Rule?” Steve arched his back and pressed his tits into Rumlow’s face. “What rule?”

“No touching,” Rumlow whispered.

“Oh yeah.” Steve rolled his hips. “That’s right, yeah.” He’d forgotten. He’d truly forgotten and the realisation that Rumlow hadn’t, that Rumlow was not going to capitulate and touch him, was heavy, low and sudden in his chest.

“So, if I want to touch you tonight, I have to buy you properly. Pay to use you? That right?”

Steve swallowed. He rolled his hips a final time as the track stopped playing and he stood straight. “Yeah. That’s how it works. You buy my mouth, you can touch me. Not in here though. Outside the club.” As he spoke his heart beat harder. Rumlow was a cop. Telling him this was a crime. But Rumlow was also hard, tenting in his pants and Steve didn’t care what happened next as long as this didn’t end here.

“Do you want me to buy you, whore? Want me to pay to use you?” Rumlow whispered, looking up with lusty eyes. “How much for the rest of the night? To do anything I want to you?”

Steve sucked air through his nose and shook his head. “I don’t… That’s not how it works… I can do you a suck job, or a hand job if you prefer. Outside. Eighty bucks either way.”

“Eighty bucks. That’s a lot of money for a few minutes on your knees. You get to keep all that?”

Steve shook his head. “No. Club takes thirty. That’s how it works.” Steve could feel the flush on his cheeks, couldn’t hide the way his lips had swollen with desire.

Rumlow nodded. The way he was looking at Steve, Steve felt like an animal. A thing. He liked it. “Right. Right. Do you need to get fucked?”

“That’s not for sale.”

Rumlow’s arm flashed out and grabbed Steve’s face. Steve could have pulled away from it, but he didn’t. He let Rumlow take and hold his jaw tight, fingers and thumb pushing hard into his cheeks. It hurt. The pain made him squirm and pant. “You’re always avoiding the question, you stupid fucking whore. I suppose my time’s up, is it? Here -“ He slipped his free hand into his pocket and pulled out another twenty, then reached around and shoved it into the back of Steve’s briefs. “There now, surely i’ve paid enough for you to answer a simple question: Do you need to get fucked?”

Steve pressed his lips together. Rumlow was still holding his face. He shook his head. “No,” he said. “No. No.”

“I see. Okay. I was considering buying you, but if you’re not willing…” He made a soft sound in his throat. “Eager.” Rumlow let go of Steve’s face and wiped the corner of his mouth with a thumb.

Steve shivered. “Wait. You’re considering buying me? What do you mean, buying me? That’s not how this works. You can’t buy me.”

Rumlow grinned. “I can do all sorts of things, sugar. I’m a powerful man.” He shook his head a little like he was speaking to a fool. “You know who owns this place? Alexander Pierce. Owns half the city.”

“Of course I know.”

“He’s a friend of mine,” Rumlow said, idly. “Reckon he’d do a special deal for a buddy. Especially a buddy like me who can cause a lot of trouble. Especially a buddy like me who knows he’s taking a cut from all the side action you and your pals sell outta this place. He’d fire your cute ass if I asked him to. That wouldn’t be good, would it? Can’t see you and your boyfriend getting by on just a cop’s salary.”

Steve’s eyes snapped wide. “My boyfriend? What do you know about my boyfriend?”

“Heh. Plenty, sugar. Your boyfriend’s a cop, ain’t he? James Barnes. Prettiest thing in blues. Except he ain’t wearing them lately, right? Off the street. Fucking desk jockey now, ain’t he? You miss his sexy uniform? Course you do. Fucking sick fuck like you. What do you like best, his big blue eyes, his big hard dick or his hard, hard handcuffs?”

“How do you…? How do you know about James?”

“Because he has a photo of you and him on his desk, you stupid slut. Camping or some sexy shit. Christ. So wholesome it’d keep you regular for a week. Everyone always asks, hey, Barnes is a pretty boy, he single? And the answer’s always, nah, he’s got a boyfriend. Called Steve.” Rumlow grinned and jabbed a finger. “That’s you. Course, there’s nothing telling me that if I know where to go, I can get Barnes’s fucking sweetheart to wrap his lips around my dick for a few dollars. That part took a little research.” Rumlow paused and smiled. “What I’m saying here, sugar doll, is there are plenty of ways I could control you. Plenty of ways I could make you give me exactly what I want, and yet. I ain’t gonna use any of them. I’m gonna wait for you to come to me. And I gotta admit, I’ve been thinking a lot about all the things I’m gonna do to you. When you beg me for control, when you beg me to buy you and own you and use you.” He reached up and touched Steve lightly between the tits. “That’s when I get to do anything. Anything. I. Want.”

“What?” Steve’s voice was breathless. “What do you want to do?”

Rumlow leaned forward a little and looked up at Steve, standing, shaking, over him. “What you want me to do. I know what you need." He smiled. "But if you want it, you’ll need to come to me and beg for it. As we’ve established you know how to do that.” Rumlow stood up as spoke. He shoved Steve casually aside and headed for the exit. Then turned in the doorway. “If you really wanna try and resist for a while, I’m into that. It’s hot when you act reluctant.” he said. And he left.

Steve was alone in the room. His dick was so hard he felt like just one finger grazing it would make him come. He gritted his teeth, closed his eyes.