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Claiming a Fallen Prince

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Steve Rogers sat on still-warm throne. Regent King Obadiah’s lifeless body lay on the ground by his feet, throat slit and gushing with blood. Finally, months after they first laid siege Stane’s abuse of power, the old monarchy has fallen and with it came a new kingdom’s dawn—one led by the people and by the people.

“Commander Rogers!” One of his knights rushed into the bloody throne room.

“Good. You found him.” Steve’s lips twitched into a smirk. He leaned heavily on one knee and gestured two fingers for the knight to come closer. “Whose chamber did you find him in?”

The young knight swallowed. “My Lord, the prince wasn’t—Stark wasn’t in the castle.”

“Oh, really?” It peaked Steve’s interest. “Then tell me where you found him.”

“In the battle field, sir, in a suit of armor.”

Curiosity gave way to intrigue. “He was fleeing.”

However, the knight shook his head. “No, sir, he was fighting.”

“And where is he now?”

“Captain Carter awaits your orders, sir. He is ready to be delivered to your new rooms once you’re chosen one.”

Steve thought about this for a good few minutes before deciding. Of the many lavish apartments in the castle, he only really wanted to see one.  “Take him to his old chambers. I suppose it’ll make him feel at home. And, tell Captain Carter to ensure that he’s properly prepared.”

“Yes, sir!”

Too long, the heir to the last reigning family allowed for the towns and outer villages to suffer. He licked his lips and watched the knight scamper out of the chambers to do as told.


Victory was bittersweet. Night fell over the conquered kingdom. With the castle secured, Steve allowed the survivors g their dead with dignity. They raised a large fire in view of the bordering villages for the corpses to burn. Too many died in the onslaught of battle. The Howling Commandos tallied their dead, and the figures weren’t easy to stomach.


Commotion near his new bed chambers welcomed Steve. His knights had their round shields up and their weapons drawn. From inside came a racket of voices, shouting and cursing, followed by the clang of silver and metal.  

“What is the meaning of this?” He demanded with a voice that made grown men jump from their boots. “What in heavens name is happening in there?!” He tore through the group with blind determination, intent of gaining passage one way or another.

“My Lord,” they instantly bowed then they saw him.

“It’s the captive.” One said.

“He is being… disobedient.” Said another.

Steve dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “Stand guard. I will handle the matter myself.”

“But, my lord…” the man nearest the door opposed. “The prince is no delicate flower.”

“Neither am I.” He growled, pushing the man aside. “No one is to enter without my explicit instructions. Am I understood?” All his men nodded.

Inside, the dim room was lit only by the weak fire. Logs lay heavily on one side of the small alcove. The rest of the room hid greatly in shadows. Movement from the bed caught his eye, and jangling of thick chains reached his ears.

“I fold to no man.” A voice crept from the darkness. Steve let the silence prolong. He casually strode further into the space, collapsing of a large wooden chair draped in thick pelts. There was a growl and more clanking. “Stay out of my room!”

He heard the swish of something thin cutting through the air. Too far. Too weak. Too easy. He never flinched as it embedded into the wall just behind his head. Or perhaps, he miscalculated. Something stung. Raising his hand, he touched the top of his ear and it came away red. The irony was too great; a clean injury-free battle and yet he bleeds in his own chambers—he laughs.

“Lucky shot.” He grinned, bringing the bloodied fingers to his lips. He licked them clean while staring into the abyss. He could feel the fallen prince’s eyes glaring at him, refusing to look away. Once done, he gripped the hilt of dagger and licked the blade clean.

“Tony,” he said, breaking the pregnant tension. “You can throw everything away. Sooner or later, you will run out of things to throw, and then it shall be my turn.”

Tony took it as a challenge and soon objects of random shapes and sizes came hurling from the bed. Steve blocked them all with the dagger in hand without bothering to stand. It was over in an instant. A frustrated yell came from the shadows. Chains rattled against the bed posts, frantic and wild like an animal seeking to escape.

Steve’s lips curled into a smile. “Finally,” he bared his teeth, “it’s my turn.” He stomped to the bed with powerful strides and climbed onto the plush mattress without hesitation. He shoved the heavy chains away, uncaring for the yelp of

“No.” His captive fought. “Don’t touch me.”

“Should you have behaved; I would have been more benevolent but you insult my kindness by acting like a spoiled brat.”

“I am no brat. I am a prince!” It came with such ferocity that Steve could bare the dark no more. He tore away the curtains which blocked then from the fire. Light flooded onto the pelts and he could see.

Tony Stark, heir to the throne, a boy at the cusp of youth, spread out bare as the day he was born. He inherited the last queen’s beauty: long black hair darker than the starless night, skin delicate and soft like it had never seen the sun, lashes which could create gusts of wind with every flutter, and eyes—deep brown stormy eyes burning with fire. Steve yearned to get burned.

He watched with perverted glee as thick chains held Tony down, wrists and ankles encircled by cast iron with long brawny chains. The prince fought against them to no avail. It moved against him now that Steve gracefully fell over him.

 “Tell me, prince, what good are you without a kingdom?” He asked, leaning in to breathe the words on top of Tony’s lips. He felt the sharp intake of breath from the torso between his thighs. “My troops have laid siege and we have won. Do you really believe that your allies would go to war to save you? When they can enter new alliances with me?”

“You—you—!” The words never finished. Instead, thick bubbly spit struck Steve’s face, making Tony smirk. “There is no honor in stealing a throne. You don’t that crown.”

At that, Steve boiled in anger. He gripped the prince by the neck, restricting the passage of air. The body stopped fighting from beneath him. “You speak so highly of yourself, Stark. What honor lies with cowering behind a greedy old lecher when you could have saved your people?”

Tony chocked but it did not stop his response. “Fuck you, Rogers, fuck you.”

Steve licked his lips one more time, easing his hold. He held Tony by the weight of his stronger body—thighs straddling hips, and hands holding wrists. It was the wrong more. Given even a fraction of freedom, Tony took an acre. He swung his legs, aiming to knee Steve’s back. It failed miserably and served only to anger the taller man.

“Fine.” Steve barked sharply. “I had intended on taking you gently tonight. But, as it is, our first time will be tomorrow at the claiming.” He said it to see the fear in spark in Tony’s eyes. He grinned predatorily. “Oh yes, my prince, I intend to take you for myself—and, as it is, I’m going to enjoy myself.”

 “No, don’t—” Tony whimpered upon realizing his position. His cries reached closed ears. The curtains sealed him once more in darkness. Steve marched out of the room with a triumphant grin, satisfied for tonight.


Morning brought new promise. Their customs came from those they now called barbarians. In order to oust the previous regime, a public claiming must be made of the remaining household members. There hasn’t been a claiming for the past fifty years that the Starks have ruled. Now, they must pay the price for the kingdom to rebuild from the ashes.

Steve sat on the king’s throne. He wasn’t king, not yet, not until he impales the last heir on his cock. Then, and only then, could he be called the new ruler of the land.

They planned the war for years, fought in battle for months, and waited day for the perfect window of weakness. He can easily wait a few more hours. He viewed with mild disinterest as old court members filed beside the stage, claimed one by one by his commanders, his knights, and his gentry. Men and women, but children were spared, wore nothing but their tattered clothes.

It was early afternoon when the trumpets sang, announcing the final slave to be taken.

Steve rose from his perch and walked slowly down the steps, eyes glued on his prize. How he wished that he could have prepared the soon-to-be slave himself instead of waiting under the heated sunlight.

Tony stepped out of the castle with his chin pointed to the sky. He looked at no one, spoke to no one, as he made his way to the platform. He walked in the same manner as if he was the one claiming instead of being claimed, like he still wore the luxuries of his thick pelts or royal armor—except he was naked and bare for all of the people to see.

Unlike the others, he was adorned in jewelry as a symbol of his status. Gold, gold, and rubies, from the tips of his ears to the spaces between his toes. Steve gazed at each embellishment with unabashed want.

Tony bore a thick golden collar encrusted with rich red rubies around his neck. It rested just at hallow of his neck with fine golden mesh draped around his shoulder. His wrists and ankles had solid gold cuffs. His dark brown nipples were pinched taunt by ruby bejeweled clamps. Steve’s eyes travelled down to the chain which held the Stark Medallion dangling close to Tony’s navel.

His eyes ventured lower to what he wanted the most; Tony’s small boyish cock was caged with a jeweled urethral sound which doubled as a cock ring. It stood high and proud between the royal’s legs.  If only they were in the safety of his chambers, Steve would gladly take that in his mouth.

Tony’s eyes were as fierce as last night. He blatantly glared at the soon-to-be king but wisely said nothing. Steve smirked to himself as Tony maneuvered into place—hips over a tall bench, neck and wrists into the pillory, and legs spread by a bar at his feet. Something red and shiny winked from between the prince’s cheeks.

Steve licked his lips and shamelessly spread the cheeks wide, earning his very first sound from the silent Tony. At the crease, oil glinted with the light and slipping down Tony’s thighs. Steve traced the trickle with a finger before touching the base of the plug. He pressed on it gently and another mewl came from the fallen prince.


Steve broke.

“Look at them, Tony.” He hissed, forcing Tony’s head up with a fist-full of hair. “They are the people you failed when you hid behind Obadiah Stane. All these people used to believe in you and for what?” He pulled the plug free and it dangle between Tony’s legs. Beads, Steve realized, were still inside. He shoved his fingers through the loose ring of muscle.

Tony chocked but didn’t scream. Steve could see his hands, how they clenched and unclenched at nothing but empty air. Empty like the hopes of their once great kingdom in his hands.

“So you can keep your pretty little head away from reality?” He against the beads between the soft wet channel. He couldn’t wait to sink his cock inside the heat of Tony’s body. “Beg, Tony.” He ordered, pulling out his cock and rubbing it on the pink pucker. “Beg them, Tony, and I’ll fuck you full of their forgiveness.”

Tony kept silent.

It enflamed a fury inside Steve that he’d almost forgotten.

“So prideful, my prince.” He snarled before biting cleanly on the top of Tony’s shoulder, making the skin with a perfect circle of his teeth. “Beg!”

Steve, please…

“Beg!” He yelled with a force that echoes the plaza. He pulled out his cock from the confines of his breeches. Tony had started to whimper but otherwise said no word apart from his name. He couldn’t take it, couldn’t hold it, couldn’t keep his sanity together when Tony kept whispering his name like it was a prayer.

He gathered the fallen slick from Tony’s ass and lathered up his cock.

Tony sobbed as Steve pressed in, momentarily forgetting his litany of Steve, please, and curses.

Steve draped over Tony’s back, burying his face in Tony’s nape and smelling the floral and fruity bath salts that must have come with the bath.

In by agonizing inch, he staked his claim. He held Tony’s shaky hips, feeling the tremors against the front of his thighs. He didn’t say anything now and concentrated on a slow tormenting rhythm. The longer this lasted, the better; he wanted the whole kingdom to know that the fallen prince belonged to him.

Tony continued to quiver, his muscle pulsed around Steve’s cock in a vacuuming heat.

Steve wanted—how he wanted—to have taken Tony apart, piece by piece, wreaked under his finger for any other lover in the world, last night. He wanted the privacy of the bedroom, the intimacy of a familiar space, and a memory of past they’ve long forgotten.

Everything about this felt so familiar and so wrong. There was no love between them now but merely a conqueror to his conquest. This was an act, a ritual, a rite of passage to take over the crown. But he didn’t want this—he wanted Tony.

He wanted the prince sleepy and smiling and sated in his arms, but the stubborn boy remained unyielding. Steve focused all of his pent-up frustrations into hitting Tony’s sweet spot. The prince would break in his arms. He would see to it. Everyone would see how Tony submitted to him, and him alone.  

Yanking the sword from its sheath, Steve broke the metal lock with a mighty swing. The metal clattered to the floor in piece. He speared the sword beside his feet and pulled Tony’s torso towards his in a single motion. It made him go deeper into the prince’s body.

“Beg,” he said one more time, sounding like he was begging instead. “Beg me, Tony.” His hands dug into Tony’s hips. His face fell in to the middle of Tony’s sweaty shoulders. He licked at each knob of spine that he could reach. It tasted like salt and honey and Tony underneath everything. It tasted the same like it always had. He reached around, pinching the top of Tony’s cock before tugging the medallion.

Tony fought and squirmed but Steve held firm.

“Steveeeee,” Tony croaked out with a broken voice, hard like gravel and glass.

Steve grinned beside his ear. “Submit to me and beg, Tony.” He pulled on the ruby clamps, making Tony arch his back. He thrust hard.

Tony cried out—panting and weeping but still unbroken. It wasn’t enough.

Steve stomped onto the board between Tony’s legs and broke it. Not like this. It wasn’t right. He flipped the slighter man with ease, such that his weight balance precautious on the bench. He pushed without waiting for Tony to adjust, all the way to the hilt until his balls rested on Tony’s cheeks. Arms and legs wrapped instinctively around him.

Like this, he could see Tony’s face, every expression and every emotion in those brown eyes. Tony was a sight to behold, flushed and sweating and panting like he’d never been fucked before. Except, Steve personally knew that he had.

He gripped Tony’s legs and brought them to his shoulders, bending Tony in half. Tony wept. Tears freely fell down his face, dripping to the wood below them. His mouth opened in a silent scream as Steve hit his insides with precision and perseverance.

Steve possessed the stamina of a war-hardened knight. When he came, he filled Tony’s ass with his seed until the edges of the puffy ring lined white and even then he kept thrusting. Tony’s own impending orgasm stopped by the cock ring and the sound like he was made for Steve’s pleasure alone. The king-to-be didn’t stop for his cock remained solid until his second, his third, and fourth ejaculation into Tony’s used hole.

Tony had gone limp by Steve’s second orgasm.

“Beg, Tony.” Steve whispered softly against Tony’s neck. “Please.”

Only then did Tony move. He wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders weakly. His lips at the perfect height of Steve’s ear. “I’m sorry, Steve.”