Chapter Text
Steve glanced down at his watch for the umpteenth time, leaning against the brick wall to his back, shivering slightly in the late autumn breeze that brushed through the thin fabric of his dress pants as if they were nothing. It was late, coming up to eight pm, and Bucky still hadn't made himself known.
If Steve didn't know any better, he'd say he had been stood up.
It was a Friday night, and as they did most Friday nights they had been due to catch a movie and grab some food at the local diner, followed by a few drinks in whichever bar Bucky thought he might have the most luck in. Bucky would usually manage to pull, Steve wouldn't.
And Bucky was never late. Or, at least, he was so rarely late that it may as well have been 'never'. His watch again, and Steve let out an irritated huff. It wasn't as if he could even contact the man to find out what had happened, why he was late, or even if he was coming at all. Ten more minutes, he thought, and he'd head home on his own.
A scuffle and raised noises to his left had Steve's attention, and while he knew he shouldn't, he simply could not help going to see what the commotion was about. It was a fairly rough part of town, and fights happened often, though usually with Steve rightt smackbang in the middle. This time, though, the 'victim' was a tall, sharply dressed man with slick black hair, as black as midnight, his pale skin near enough luminescent in the low light. As Steve watched, one of the thugs surrounding him, someone Steve recognised from one of his own encounters with the local gangs, threw a punch which should have connected with the stranger's jaw and somehow did not. It was the outraged shout of "Faggot" and the inevitable convergence of the rest of the gang upon the man that spurred Steve into action, throwing himself into the fray with little concern for his own. Even the smallest of the gang members was near enough twice his size, and he didn't have Bucky at his back for this one, but that mattered little as, with some measure of satisfaction, he felt the nose of one of the gang splinter beneath his fist, blood spraying down his dress shirt. He missed the look of amusement from the stranger as he lithely dodged the fists and feet that tried to hurt, to maim, looking on in interest at this new arrival who seemed so adamant that he would help, without even bothering to introduce himself first.
Steve, of course, stood no chance against the barrage of blows, and he was down almost embarrassingly fast. The gang converged on him, baying for blood, and each time he tried to scramble to his feet he found his limbs knocked from under him. He felt his shoulder pop out of place and his wrist shatter, crying out at the pain, his shout cut painfully short by a boot to the back of his skull and Steve knew no more.
The smell of something warm and baked was enough to rouse Steve from his slumber, and he cracked one eye open, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. He groaned, his head pounding, as memories from the night before started filtering through his sleep-fogged brain. He had been down and out, the tall stranger left to fight alone, and then...and then nothing, he could not recall anything past that. He had expected to wake up dead, or in the hospital, not in a comfortable bed within an immaculate bedroom with no idea where he was or who had brought him there. He expected to be in pain, he vividly recalled the way his arm had broken not to mention the inevitable bruising from the fight as a whole, but aside from his headache he appeared to be entirely unscathed. Had he dreamt the whole thing? It didn’t feel as though he had, though the fuzziness behind his eyes made it hard to think.
Pushing himself up from the bed, Steve found that his clothing had been stripped off, replaced with a fresh pair of boxers and a clean vest, the thought of another seeing his bare form enough to make him flush heavily. Glancing around, he found a clean shirt and pair of pants upon a nearby chair, both folded neatly and decidedly not his. He pulled them on regardless, buttoning up the shirt before padding barefoot from the bedroom to find out what happened, where he was and, most importantly, what was creating that divine aroma.
“You decided to awaken, then?” The stranger from the night before glanced up from his book as Steve found his way to the kitchen, offering the blonde a small smirk. “I had thought breakfast might rouse you, it appears I was not mistaken.” It was clear from the look of him that the man was not a native, his strangely elaborate way of speaking only serving to reinforce this assumption. England, perhaps, though Steve pushed all thoughts of the man’s origin out of his mind as a plate was pushed in his direction.
“I-” Preparing to refuse the kind offer, Steve’s stomach decided at that point to release a loud rumble, causing him to flush a little in embarrassment. “Thank you.” He finally settled on, taking a seat opposite the well dressed gentleman and biting into the warm pastry, humming in pleasure at the taste of apple and cinnamon. The thing was soon gone, replaced with another and joined by a fresh mug of coffee, the stranger all the while watching him in amusement.
“I am glad they meet your approval.” Steve had the feeling that he was being mocked, but as he looked up he saw no malice in those bright green eyes, or that slight teasing smile, and despite himself he found he was smiling back.
“They’re great, thanks.” Finishing the last of his pastry, Steve turned his attention on his mug of coffee, the heady hit of caffeine enough to clear much of his headache. “Why am I here, though? I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but you could’ve just dumped me at a hospital and been done with me.”
"Such a strange little bird." The man chuckled, sipping on his coffee, his gaze never wavering. "I merely wished to ensure that you had not been harmed at my expense, and to thank you for your assistance in dispensing of the rabble that had thought to corner me, nothing more."
“Looks like you’d have managed just fine without me, pretty sure I just got in the way.” He shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable, not looking up until the clack of porcelain against wood caught his attention.
“Not at all. In fact, I fear there may have been bloodshed had you not arrived when you did.” The way the man was looking at him, devouring him, Steve knew that the blood of which he spoke was not his own, and he knew better than to question it. There was no doubt in this mind that this man was more than capable of defending himself.
“I should probably get back.” Downing the last of his coffee, Steve moved to stand, noting how the stranger moved with him, watching, always watching. It unnerved him, his apprehension seemingly a subject of amusement for the man and he wondered what sort of game he was playing and what the rules were.
“So soon? Well, if you insist little bird, though I doubt you’ll get far with no shoes.” He was like a snake, sliding around the table, long slender fingers trailing over the wooden surface almost lovingly as he moved. No, not a snake, a cat, long and lithe and beautiful. It was enough to send a shiver up Steve’s spine, the air in the room suddenly heavy.
“Good point. Where are my shoes, anyway?” Glancing around, heart drumming a frantic pace in his chest, Steve found nothing but spotlessly clean worktops and a half-empty pot of coffee sat upon the side. The door was now behind the stranger, so running was out of the question, and while his mind was screaming at him to run, his sense of common decency and unbridled curiosity rooted him to the spot. The man had done nothing yet to warrant such fear, and Steve was not the type to run from any sort of situation, so he remained.
“I wonder.” The man had moved around to stand before the blonde, towering over Steve, and it suddenly clicked with him. Kneeling, he glanced up at the man, hands upon slender hips and thumbs running circles against sharp hipbones. So this was what the man wanted, this was a familiar dance. He knew how to do this. Much to Steve's surprise, he felt gentle fingers tracing his jawline, as amused but still soft eyes gazed down upon him. "When I wish for you to kneel before me, I will ask for it." The man hummed, not unkindly, pulling him to his feet.
“Well what is it that you want?” He was trembling, realising for the first time just how much taller the man was than he, towering easily a foot above his head. Thinking back on it, the stranger had towered over his attackers as well, perhaps what had drawn their interest to begin with.
“What I want is of little consequence and less interest.” The man waved dismissively with his free hand, not yet releasing Steve’s arm from where he held it in a loose grip. “What is an interesting concept to me is what you want, little bird. I do, after all, owe you for your assistance, and I do not class two croissants and a mug of coffee as adequate recompense.” Steve felt as though he was being mocked, but with the man so very close it made it hard to think, as though in the presence of something more. A nervous tongue darted out to moisten dry lips as wide blue eyes stared up into vivid green ones.
“What I want?” He wasn’t certain who had moved first, or how, but all Steve could think of as their lips meshed together was how unfair it was that he had to stand on his tiptoes to kiss the handsome stranger. A strong arm hooked around his waist, holding him in place as a talented mouth all but consumed him, drawing tiny whimpers from deep in Steve’s throat, the sound quickly swallowed up.
“Is this what you want?” Kiss-swollen lips mouthed at his cheek as they pulled apart, the stranger apparently less affected than Steve had been, who was breathing hard and holding on tightly to the man, arms wrapped around his neck.
“Yes.” Part hiss, part whimper, Steve twisted his head so he might capture those lips for one more taste. The man did not seem to mind, kissing back eagerly, scooping Steve up with ease and carrying him back upstairs to the bedroom, depositing him gently upon the covers.
“I am yours, to do with as you wish.” The man was enjoying this game, there was no doubt about that, and as Steve watched him sprawl across the bed he wondered how he had ever desired anything else. He thought to ask a name, but a look from the stranger told him not to, and so he kept his tongue, instead focusing on unbuttoning the shirt the man wore, trembling fingers struggling somewhat with the small buttons.
The shirt was soon tossed to the floor, Steve’s own soon following it, and as a talented mouth closed over one of his nipples he seemingly forgot how to breathe. A low moan was dragged from him when, without warning, the man bit down on the tender pink nub, rolling it between his teeth before pulling back to lave a hot tongue across the abused area, soothing it.
Pulling back, the man smirked up at him, tugging Steve down for another heated kiss, moving until the blonde was straddling him and loosing a sinful moan as Steve’s ass brushed against the unmistakable hardness within his pants. This was a dance they both knew, though Steve suspected that the stranger mistook his shyness for inexperience and, with a small smirk of his own against the dark-haired beauty’s mouth, he located both of the man’s nipples, flicking at each of them before giving a light twist. It wasn’t enough to hurt, just sting, and the man arched off the bed against him with a loud cry, breaking the kiss as, wide-eyed, he stared up at the grinning blonde.
“You are not what I had expected.” The man chuckled, the sound low and heady, dropping back against the covers in a display of false submission.
“And what had you expected?” Steve dipped his head down to kiss a trail of hot kisses down the long, pale neck of the stranger, down over his chest, repaying tenfold what the man had gifted him as he nipped and sucked at one nipple, then across to the other for the same treatment. The writhing body beneath his own was enough to tell him his ministrations were no less than welcome, and the little whines and hummed sounds of pleasure from his bed partner only served to reinforce that fact.
“A meek, shy man who would permit me to take the lead in this, as in all things. I am pleased that I was wrong, little bird.” Steve wasn’t permitted to dwell on that for long, as insistent hands tugged him up from where he had been lapping at the man’s belly button. He marvelled in those strong arms for the moment, before he found his pants swiftly removed and kicked away. For the first time since he found himself engulfed by the beautiful stranger, Steve felt himself flush, his naked form revealed finally to the man.
“This seems unfair, I’m naked and you’re not.” A try at amusement to cover his embarrassment, but if the stranger noticed it he said nothing of it, emerald eyes roving over his body.
“Then let us balance the odds. Strip me, my pet, lay me bare for you.” Almost reverently, Steve unbuckled the thick leather belt, tugging it free before unbuttoning the man’s pants and sliding the zipper down. They were quickly discarded, and Steve had to sit back for a moment to take in the vision before him.
“Beautiful.” He was barely aware that he had breathed the word, staring down at the man, no, at the god that graced the bed before him. The man was all lithe muscle and long limbs, pale unmarked skin and, between endlessly long legs, a thick shaft jutted up, pointing towards the stranger’s belly, hard and hot and very interested.
“Am I?” It wasn’t really a question, or at least not one that required an answer. Reaching out, nervousness forgotten in favour of the burning, surging need that coursed through him, Steve gripped the heavy cock before him and stroked it twice, three times, pausing only when the man bit down on his own fist to stop the needy little noises that were spilling from his lips. To hold such power over someone so strong, so very beautiful, the very idea of it was almost enough to tip him over the edge, his own cock giving an interested twitch between his thighs.
Not knowing precisely what the man expected from him, fully expecting to be flipped over and ridden mercilessly at any moment, Steve was surprised when he found himself once more pressed against that firm chest, unable to suppress the thrust of his hips as he found a slick hand wrapped around his dick, and when had the stranger managed to find lubricant? He found he didn’t much care to know the answer, the man having taken both of them in hand, stroking in time with his thrusts and arching up into him. Lamenting his height for not being able to reach the man’s lips, Steve settled for mouthing and biting at that flawless chest, his own hands scrabbling at the sheets as the sensations became overwhelming.
With a breathy shout cut short from a lack of air in his lungs, Steve spilled over into the man’s hand, twitching and convulsing as he rode out his orgasm. His bed partner quickly followed suit, letting loose a low, keening moan as their seed mingled upon his porcelain skin, the sight of the man coming undone burning its way into Steve’s brain as one of the most incredibly beautiful things he had ever seen.
Finally, Steve’s arms gave out, and he found himself sprawled across the god-like beauty, panting heavily as his body desperately tried to quell his racing heart and replenish the oxygen it had lost, his asthma threatening to flare up and ruin the moment. Soothing arms around his chest seemed to help, though, and as a firm hand rubbed at his back he found his breathing evening out, the hint of pain vanishing, leaving him to wonder at the sensation as he took several long, impossibly clear breaths. Before he could put voice to his thoughts, though, the man was kissing him again, long and slow and languid, enough to make him forget his own name for a while, enough that he was not at all concerned about dozing off upon that strong shoulder, firm lips pressed against his hair, lost to the world for a time.
Staring down at the man sleeping within his arms, head pillowed upon his chest, blonde hair fanned out over the pale skin stretched over lean muscle, he could not help but marvel at the fragility of it all. They were such a contrast; this man was weak, sickly, his bones near enough protruding from beneath his skin. The blonde’s chest rattled as he breathed, a sign that all was not well within his chest, and as he trailed slender fingers over each vertebrae and down onto a jutting hipbone, he pondered not for the first time on how simple, how easy it would be, to reach up and snap that tiny neck. As he wondered on this, the man shifted against him, bed-warm and sated, loosing a small sigh and curling closer. No, he liked his little bird too much for so simple an end, if only he could keep him for just a while longer.
Loki stared out of the bedroom window, watching the retreating form of the man he had neglected to ask the name of, twirling a pencil between deft fingers. The grin that stretched across his face would not have looked out of place on the Cheshire Cat. By the time the blonde had turned back to look up at the window, expression dazed and with a small golden trinket clasped within his fist, Loki was gone.