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A cold breeze hits Steve and he starts to shiver. He pulls the baseball cap deep down to cover his face, shoves his hands inside the pockets of his jacket and watches the street carefully. Although he’s positive he got rid of the two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who followed him the second he left his house, like, 90 minutes ago, he wants to make sure. Very sure.
Now would be a good time to overthink this. He should leave. Like, yesterday. This thing got too risky. He should be thankful they didn’t catch him and go back to his sad, little apartment to spend the rest of the night alone in his bed, while jerking off to cheap porn until he falls asleep. If Fury finds out--if anyone finds out, really, it wouldn’t matter how much times have changed since the 40s--Steve’s ass would be fired, before his new job even started.
And he needs this job to keep him sane.
Steve looks up into the sky, but there are no stars to see. The air is filled with the sweet, sharp smell of rotten meat and piss. He shuts his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed with misery. What the fuck is he doing here?
By coming here, he could lose his reputation, his dignity, the little rest of his miserable life. Everything that’s left, which isn’t much to begin with. Not anymore.
Oh, but he’s so close. He’s already here, isn’t he? Might as well go with it. No one saw him, he made sure of that. Nobody would know. It’s the last time anyway, he thinks. He promised himself. It has to be, it can’t go on like this for the rest of his life. He knows that. He knows.
What Steve also knows is, he could do better than this. S.H.I.E.L.D. gave him a whole file about the sexual revolution of the late sixties. He read about clubs, and dark rooms, and glory holes, and those movie theaters that show nothing but porn day and night, where people like him meet up these days.
It doesn’t have to be here, of course not, but somehow to Steve’s surprise people still keep coming to this dirty places. They’re still doing it in stinking alleys and public toilets, Steve knows, because he checked this out himself, covering it up as one of his morning runs. You don’t even have to look very closely to spot the used condoms and empty tubes of lube (or the needles, needles everywhere, there’s a lot of them too).
A lot has changed over the past decades, but somehow this has not, and that’s grounding him. It’s consoling, but also deeply terrifying.
So, he’s here, he’s back, but it’s a farewell, one last time and he would be good. He knows he can stop, because he’s better than his unspeakable urges. He’s in control. Most of the time. It’s the start of a new life when this night is over. He can do this one last time, one last treat and then he would do, whatever the fuck they want him to do--join the Ultimates, fight for his country, find himself a fine woman, marry her as soon as she lets him, build a house with a white picket fence and have a bunch of kids. Sounds good to him. It’s not a bad life, really.
It’s going to be fine. It’s not like he needs to do this. He would hate himself in the morning like usual, but that doesn’t matter right now. That thought is already distant and clouded with building excitement. Not important at all.
It’s past midnight when he arrives at the park. Steve’s heartbeat picks up. He enters through the main gate as if he’s a normal visitor, though visiting this place at this hour is kind of reckless, considering the only people bold enough to come here at night are thugs, drug dealers, junkies, drunks, and whores.
Well, people like him, of course. He’s a junkie himself, here for his fix. Some might even argue he’s a whore too, even though he takes no money for his services. It depends on Steve’s mood, but most of the time he completely agrees with them, because there’s no denying that he’s doing what men in stained raincoats would pay for.
The night is moonless and freezing cold. Steve follows the main trail with quick wide strides deeper into the park, straight to his goal, like a man on a mission. No more detours. He’s close now. There are very few people here, and those who are stay away from the light and prefer to hide in the shadows. Steve can see them anyway. There are eyes watching him-- some of them warily, some with a certain kind of interest--but most of them just acknowledge his presence fleetingly.
Steve ignores them all.
He goes on for another few minutes, before he leaves the path and walks up to a tree line. It’s February, so the branches are bare and don’t offer much cover, but it’s dark enough and far away from any lights. He steps further into the small forrest, every footstep accompanied by the rustle of dry leaves that crumble under the weight of his boots.
His mind feels detached. Everything that scares him in the light of the day falls away from him with every step he walks forward, into the deep. It's like he's becoming another person. But that's not true, not really, not entirely.
The truth is, he feels more like himself here, than any other time in his life.
Steve doesn’t have to look for very long. He bends under another branch, that’s when he sees them:
They are standing in a loose circle, a group of five men. Most of them are dressed like Steve in unobtrusive clothes--colorless, dark, either wearing a cap or a hoodie to hide their faces. And most of their dicks are already hanging out their pants. They’re groping themselves, or each other with lazy pulls and strokes.
Steve stops in his tracks and simply watches them for a while from the shadows of his hideout like the pervert he is, mouth suddenly dry, mind fogged with blinding want, and he thinks it could be any of them, it doesn’t even matter. He never looks them in the face anyway, it’s for the best after all. All he cares about is what’s going on below the belt. It’s easier that way, that’s a lesson he learned a long time ago.
There’s not much talking going on, there never is, it’s almost always rushed, and quiet, and quick--a straight to business kind of thing. Sometimes, when the guy is done and Steve’s face is splattered in cum, he gets an awkward pat on his shoulder, or his head, but most of the time just a curt nod, before the guy is gone, and that’s fine. A deeply buried part inside Steve is convinced he doesn’t deserve better.
The group discovers him, so Steve decides it's time to step out and join them. He feels lightheaded, ready to go down on his knees for the first one who asks. He's never been picky; he'll take whatever he's going to get, thank you very much.
One of the guys looks Steve up and down, as he approaches, and Steve takes it as the invitation it is. The man is small, bulky, and bald. Completely unimpressive. His cock--on the other hand--stands tall and proud, slightly bowed towards the belly. It’s red, glistening with wetness and Steve’s mouth falls open, watering.
It wouldn’t take much.
Bald-guy’s balls are drawn up tight. A tip of Steve’s tongue is all it needs and he would spill over. Well, if that’s how it’s going to be, it’s better worth Steve’s while. So he steps closer to get a better look at what the man is offering, measuring size and shape in his head, speculating if and how he could swallow the whole length down in one smooth go, but just as he’s going to bend down, he gets interupted.
“Look at you”, someone purrs in a low, deep rumble. “I’d have to say, you’re the prettiest lad I’ve seen in a while.”
Steve frowns. He hasn’t been called pretty since he was nine years old. He doesn’t know what to do with that statement. He’s used to people giving him compliments for his looks since the serum, but he always feels like a cheater taking them, because his body is a thing of science he wasn’t born with.
Steve turns around to take a look at who’s talking to him--and stops to breathe. He simply forgets.
The man before him is beautiful. His face has the features of a movie-star, his eyes are bright, framed by long dark lashes, curved upwards like a woman’s. His hair is dark too, black, cut short, and his well-trimmed beard gives him a devilish look. Even his clothes are outlandish--from his suit and tie all the way down to his tailored dress pants and expansive shoes. To top it all, a black raincoat sits loosely on his shoulders.
Everything about this man radiates wealth. Guys like that don’t go to places like this, usually they have the money for more… discreet meet-ups in safe and clean environments.
But maybe that’s why he’s here, Steve thinks. Maybe he likes to get dirty too, from time to time.
“You’re pretty swell yourself”, Steve says and winces immediately. What a lame response. Conversation isn’t required, usually. He considers to try again, but everything that comes to mind seems to fade in comparison to what he’s seeing before his eyes. Besides, someone this attractive must’ve heard it all.
So, Steve shuts his mouth, thankful for the darkness, which should hide the massive flush blooming on his cheeks.
Steve fears he messed this up, before it even started, but the stranger smiles--revealing sharp, white teeth--like he never heard a better come-on in his life.
“Thank you, darling.” He pulls a flask out of his pocket and salutes Steve, before he’s taking a few long sips. Whisky spills from the corners of his mouth. Steve watches, as a drop drags his way down the man’s chin.
Steve swallows.
The man finishes the flask with a sigh and throws it away over his shoulder. He straightens his coat and declares: “You’re going with me.”
He reaches out and grabs Steve’s wrist, dragging him along, and Steve is so flabbergasted he just lets it happen.
Bald-guy--the one who was supposed to get his dick sucked off by Steve a minute ago--is not amused. “Who the fuck are you?” he snarls, and the level of aggression in his voice surprises Steve.
The other man, who still holds Steve’s hand, doesn’t even look at bald-guy--which Steve considers a mistake--, as he replies: “Back off.”
Steve sees it coming, before bald-guy makes the conscious decision to do something. A fist flies, trying to hit the beautiful face of Steve’s kidnapper, and Steve doesn’t even think; thanks to years and years of training his body reacts, before he knows what’s happening: Steve catches bald-guy’s arm and twists it around, until bald-guy screams out in pain and goes down, crying in agony.
The other guys--more than alarmed by the unfolding events--are cursing and tucking their dicks away. They leave in a hurry without looking back. Steve blinks, irritated, as he watches how his potential opportunities vanish before his eyes.
“Let him go, now."
Well, right. Almost all.
Steve kind of forgot he’s still holding bald-guy’s arm. He releases his hold and the poor man scrambles away from him in panic, struggling to get to his feet, fleeing like the other ones.
Steve thinks, he used too much strength, maybe. Possibly. Definitely.
“You saved me."
Steve wouldn’t put it that dramatically. He turned around to say so, only to find his breath catching in his throat, because he’s met with the most dazzling smile, so bright and brilliant it's blinding. Steve resists the urge to shield his eyes. He freezes, as the other man looks up through his eyelashes, leaning in closer and closer—close enough to kiss, Steve’s mind provides unhelpfully—and oh god, he hopes that’s not what’s happening, he couldn’t handle a kiss, he avoids kisses.
They tend to stir a yearning inside him which he’s fighting hard to ignore.
But the man doesn’t go for Steve’s mouth. He wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling him close, until his lips are brushing Steve’s ear, whispering like he’s sharing a secret: “My name’s Tony.”
Tony.
It vibrates through Steve’s skin and echos in his head.
Tony smells of Whisky and expensive cologne, and his nose is cold where it’s pressed against Steve’s neck. Heat pools low in Steve’s belly, his cock--only half awake until now--is filling up rapidly, twitching with interest, growing thicker and thicker, already tenting his pants. The level of Steve's need is embarrassing, getting hard from a little closeness and a few mumbled words. There it is, Steve thinks, dread weighing him down. After decades frozen in ice he kind of hoped the long cold sleep magically cured him from his desires--he was wrong.
“Oh”, Tony says, while he’s pushing his thigh between Steve’s leg, rubbing, feeling for it. Steve closes his eyes and bites his tongue, swallowing a moan that’s threatening to escape his mouth with all of his willpower. “You’re quite ready, aren’t you?” Tony says, and it comes out far too affectionate.
"Do you want to suck my cock?"
Steve nods. "Yes," he says, embarrassingly fast and eager. Sometimes it’s hard to believe he’s this kind of man.
Tony pulls back, eyes half-lidded, biting his lip. “Lucky me,” he says breathlessly and Steve is relieved to see, that he isn’t the only one affected by this.
Tony tugs at Steve’s sleeve, drawing him closer to the nearby wall, which separates the park from the streets. The light is brighter here and the traffic noise louder, the outside world more present, nearer, and Steve is surprised by the thrill he feels knowing people will walk by oblivious to what’s happening behind the wall right next to them.
Steve shoves Tony into the cold wall, fumbling blindly for the buttons of Tony’s pants. Tony’s breath hitches, when Steve’s hand slips behind the waistband of his underwear, exposing Tony’s swelling cock to the crisp air. Tony’s fingers curl at Steve’s neck, nails scraping his skin slightly, sending a shiver down Steve’s spine. Steve hides the tremors going through his body by dropping down to his knees.
He’s pleased to see, that Tony isn’t shaved. It’s one of the many things he doesn’t get about the the 20th century--the aversion against body hair. Hypnotized by the dark trail leading down to Tony’s cock, Steve allows himself to bend forward, nuzzling his face against Tony’s crotch, diving his nose into the dark, curly hair he finds there.
Steve inhales deeply and revels in the heady smell of sweat, musk and desire. He hears Tony’s swearing somewhere above him, gripping Steve by the shoulder, but Steve’s heartbeat is beating far too loud in his own ears, and his mind is far too adrift to put the words together.
Steve feels Tony’s fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp, which means he must’ve lost his baseball cap, but that’s okay, it’s fine. It doesn’t matter, if Tony sees his face. It’s one time only, and on the job he would wear the cowl. They’ll never see each other again.
Steve mouths at Tony’s balls, hot and velvet on his lips, while Tony mumbles incoherent encouragements. When Steve grips the shaft, Tony’s hips buckle forward like he can’t help himself. He strokes Tony’s cock to get a feel for it--it’s a beautiful thing, like everything about Tony. Hard, thick, and flushed to the tip, glistening with precome. It’s a hard turn on for Steve, when the man he sucks off is getting wet for him. The more, the better.
Steve laps at the bead of precome at the tip. Tony sucks in a sharp breath, pulling Steve’s hair, and Steve answers with a shuddering sigh. His knees are shaking, he has to grip Tony’s hips to steady himself. Once he thinks he’s good, he finally closes his mouth around Tony’s cock and swallows him down to the root, hungrily.
Tony yelps.
Steve sucks harder.
Oh, he missed this--the feel of hot and heavy flesh in his mouth, the salty-bitter taste, the smell, the pressure at the back of his throat--suddenly he can’t remember why he denies himself the pleasure most of his life. It’s here on the cold, wet ground, on his knees, sucking on another man’s dick, his mind is finally at peace and he realizes dimly, he had been on the verge of going insane.
Steve takes Tony’s cock as deep as he can, moaning around the shaft, choking and gagging on it, tears stinging in his eyes. Then there’s a hand on Steve’s face, stopping his bobbing head for a minute to brush away some of the tears with his thumb.
“Shh,” he says. “Easy, darling. You’re doing so good, I’m not going anywhere.”
In the past when a guy wanted him to go slower Steve got a jerky hairpull, or a thrust forward for faster, and he didn't mind, that's a language he understands. Tony talking in a gentle tone, coaxing him with sweet words, and little touches--Steve knew it would be hard to forget that, to come back from it unharmed.
But he stops then. Tony’s cock--slick with Steve’s spit and his own juices--rests on Steve’s tongue, drawing his lip downwards with its weight. It’s hard not to take action in this kind of situation, but he refrains, even if he doesn’t understand why. It’s what Tony wants, and right now, that seems more important.
“Shit,” Tony manages to say on a breathless laugh. “I’m close already.”
That’s unfortunate, but not unexpected. Steve knew it would be over soon. Obediently he leans his head back, opening his mouth as wide as possible for Tony to use him as he pleases, and Tony gets the hint.
But Tony’s thrusts are careful and shallow, until Steve grabs Tony’s arm and squeezes, encouraging him to go as hard as he likes. After a second, or two, where Tony’s staring down at him in wonder, he starts to fuck Steve’s throat in earnest.
Steve’s own cock--achingly hard and still trapped inside his pants--needs serious attention. He grabs himself through his pants and presses down with his palm as hard as he dares, while Tony’s thrusts are getting faster, and more desperate with every second.
Steve is taking it expertly. He couldn’t come from this himself, but it’s the closest he’s been there since forever. Later, he would use this memory to get himself off and he’s looking forward to it. He knows he will use the memory of this encounter to get himself off for a long time. And thanks to the serum, he would remember vividly.
Another few thrusts, and Tony shoots his load down Steve’s willing throat on a hitched breath. Steve is determined to catch it all. It’s not easy, because Tony is coming a lot, but Steve doesn’t shy away from a challenge. He likes to swallow, it’s one of the most fun parts of this experience, and he knows he’s good at it.
Even after Tony spends all of his fluids, he keeps on going, moving his hips forward, shoving his spend cock in and out of Steve’s mouth, involuntarily, simply because it seems like he likes the feeling of it. Steve is so very happy to oblige, because he likes it too. It does end, after all, like all good things, nothing’s going to last, so Steve doesn’t mind, as Tony’s pulling back, tucking his dick back into his pants.
Steve ducks his head then, while catching his breath. His jaw hurts, but in a good way, like after a satisfying workout. His mind is floating, still. His lips are stretched on a dopey smile and he thinks, he can take it well, when Tony leaves right now, eventually. He’s mentally prepared for it after all.
Then there are hands on his collar, and he’s getting jerked up with unsuspected force, and Tony’s lips are on his--warm, wet, and demanding--pulling Steve into a gloriously filthy kiss, licking his way into Steve’s mouth, and a surprised, embarrassingly high-pitched noise escapes Steve’s throat. Surrender seems the only way, so Steve allows himself to give into the weakness, knowing fully well, he can’t savor this kindness for too long.
It’s dangerous. He needs to protect himself, because nobody else will. Nobody else cares. He knows.
But Tony’s tongue is clever, hot, and slick, quickly outlining the insides of Steve’s mouth. It’s easy to forget about all the ways this is going to hurt him in the future, and right now he relishes in Tony’s attention.
Tony’s hands are inside his pants, and before Steve knows what’s happening to him, Tony’s fingers are wrapped around Steve’s abandoned cock. Tony breaks away from the kiss then, just a fraction, panting into Steve’s open mouth.
“I wish we had more time, beautiful,” Tony huffs against Steve’s lips, while pulling Steve’s hard dick with a rough, calloused hand, mercilessly. “I wish I could take you home. The things I would do to you.”
The promise settles low and warm in Steve’s belly and it awakes fantasies, he barely lets himself think about. Steve squeezes his eyes shut on a loud moan. Tony’s fingers are working, all the while, his mouth on Steve’s neck, bruising his skin, gripping his cock hard, and fast.
“I wish I could fuck you.”
Tony looks Steve in the eyes like he means it--all serious--and in this moment, Steve chooses to believe him, and yes, yes, yes, he knows, even though he’d never done this before, he wants it bad, and he wants it now.
Tony gropes Steve's ass, fingers pressing into the fabric of his pants right above his hole, and Steve's orgasm hits him by surprise--he chokes on a sob, and then he's coming full force, on hard shuddering breaths, face buried deep inside Tony's neck.
It takes a while, before Steve is coming back to earth. He keeps his head down, afraid of the look in Tony’s eyes. The aftershocks of his climax are still shuddering through his body, and he’s sure, his legs won’t hold him, if he tries to get back on his feet.
He would simply wait here, until Tony leaves, to preserve his dignity. Sure, it’s cold, and his knees hurt, and he’s got his pants dirty from kneeling on the ground, but he can wait this out. Can’t be long anymore.
“Amazing.” Steve looks up, watching Tony how he licks Steve’s come from his fingers, like it’s the most delicious thing in the world. Steve never saw anything this erotic his entire life, and he thinks, Tony notices his stare and revels in it. Then he wipes at Steve’s dick with the sleeves of his raincoat, before he’s tugging it back inside his pants. Again, Tony’s laughing short-breathed, and Steve finds he likes that sound. He likes it a lot.
“That’s like the hottest cock-sucking I’ve had for a while.”
Still dazed, Steve simply nods, because he agrees. He enjoyed this himself, evidently.
“You know, I--.” Tony takes a look at his watch and winces. “They’re probably looking for me already. I need to go now.”
Ah, there it is, Steve thinks. A fierce blush of embarrassment is warming his face. He’s trying to hide it by turning away his gaze. He’d hoped--for what exactly? It’s not Tony’s fault for making Steve feel all warm, and cozy, and cherished, and… different? Like this meant something? So, so, so stupid. It’s bad, like, really bad, because he knew better.
But then, Tony takes Steve’s arm, pulling his sleeve up to his elbow. With a pen he's writing messy numbers down on Steve’s skin. He finishes with his name, like Steve could ever forget. Tony looks up, meeting Steve’s eyes, and Steve considers to turn his head away for a second, but he doesn’t, and they’re kissing again, and Steve is melting into it, even if he doesn’t want to.
He's just too weak.
Tony holds Steve’s face in his hands, looking straight into his eyes, determined, but also nervous.
“Please call me.”
“Okay,” Steve answers.
“Okay?”
Tony is searching his eyes and Steve feels a smile stretching his face--only then Tony grins back.
“Okay.”