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Afternoon city was drowning in haze heat rising from the asphalt. Distant voices, little rags of conversations in unknown language, shouts of children playing in the street were echoing as if from a well of tall buildings coming through an open window. Wooden blinds were rattling on the window frame swinging from weak drafts of hot air. Somewhere in the trees cicadas managed to buzz louder than the never ending traffic flow.
A fan whirred in the room but it was standing too far away, near the sofa, leaving Rogers sweating in the sultry air. He tugged at his collar trying to loosen the tie a bit. A drop of sweat came dripping down his temple.
In moments like this he felt like a pawn in some political game; an indispensable and valued but utterly powerless pawn. He would prefer to talk about the price before a deal is made not after but nobody asks him. Just the same as no one asked him when giving an assignment in a country where he didn’t even know the language. Damn, did they even look at his profile? It says Chinese, Chinese not fucking Japanese! And now this – go and rule out a payment for services rendered. They can ask for whatever they feel like, and even if it is his kidney or something he probably wouldn’t be able to refuse. Shit.
“So what’s your price, Stark-san?” Because of the tiring heat Rogers wasn’t trying to sound polite anymore and shifted his weight from one leg to the other impatiently.
The man on the sofa didn’t answer, just took hookah mouthpiece out of his mouth surrounding his face with a cloud of smoke. He only gazed lazily at the agent standing across the room. It wasn’t the first time Rogers thought how unusual the man’s face was: typically Japanese were only his eyes. Probably a half-breed. And he will never get used to the strange Japanese mafia fashion sense. Yakuza was wearing a black silk shirt with embroidered purple peonies, three upper buttons unbuttoned, tugged into expensive fabric pants. Rogers took a deep breath, desperate for air that miraculously reached him with another draft from the outside; though it couldn’t be called freshening – too warm and bringing the sickly sweet smell of hookah smoke to his nostrils.
All of a sudden Tony Stark made a small gesture to his two bodyguards that were standing in the back by agent’s sides and they left the room. Rogers glanced at them over his shoulder but his face didn’t show his surprise.
“Sit down, Steven Rogers, and we will discuss the price.” Stark spoke almost without accent and only brusque barking intonations gave away him being Japanese.
Springy leather surface sagged heavily under agent’s weight. On the sofa, closer to the open window, the air was more breathable and even mostly useless fan seemed like helping a bit. Stark handed him the hookah pipe. Smoking hashish during a tense business meeting in an overheated room seemed like the last thing to do but Rogers knew that Stark doesn’t take no for an answer. He took a drag and almost instantly felt its dizzying effect.
“I want you to do something for me, agent Rogers.”
‘Does he want me to kill someone for him?’
“To be more specific, I want you to do everything I tell you for the next hour or so.”
‘That’s weird, he has an oversupply of thugs of his own, why does he need me? Or is it something tough and he doesn’t want to risk his people being killed? But what can be possibly done in an hour? Hah, robbing a bank? Well, I shouldn’t really care, without the info he provided, me and my men would be already dead.’
“My contract obliges me to do whatever you tell me, Stark-san.”
A smug smirk grew on Stark’s otherwise unreadable face, his big dark eyes gleaming sharply under unusually thick eyelashes.
“Great.”
With flash-like speed Stark moved. In a second Rogers found him in his lap straddling his thighs, his face right next to agent’s. It was hard to catch Steve Rogers off guard but now his blue eyes flew open and full lips parted in question. Starks face was still unreadable and Rogers couldn’t tell if yakuza was going to start strangling him or…
Stark grabbed agent’s tie knot, other hand tugging at dark-blond hair at the back of his head, jerking Steve’s face upwards.
“Kiss me.”
With the same swiftness Stark’s lips came crushing down on his, tongue licking unceremoniously its way into his opened mouth. It took some seconds before Rogers remembered that he is supposed to cooperate, and his lip and tongue started moving in response. Agent was always being used for money in return, that was his job after all, but sure he wasn’t being used that directly ever before. Tough this might be better than risking life for a mob boss or losing a kidney. Might.
Judging by the harshness and aggressiveness of Tony’s intrusion on his mouth Steve was already sure he was about to go ‘all the way’ and it was crystal clear who was in charge. A bit indecisively he put his hands on Stark’s waist. Surprisingly enough the etiquette section in his training course did not include how-to-politely-let-a-yakuza-fuck-you-part so he wasn’t sure if he should do anything without a direct order.
Was it for exhausting heat, hashish haze or something else but Steve suddenly realized that his body is actually responding to the kiss. His face felt flushed, breath started coming in rasps and a sizzling wave shuddered down his insides. Stark bit painfully agent’s full lower lip and broke the kiss. Lifting his head he commanded:
“Get the shirt off me.”
Rogers looked into his face a bit sheepishly and started unbuttoning his shirt. Stark didn’t let go of his tie, just sliding the hand lower holding it like a leash. Steve’s fingers revealed smooth white skin in between parting silk. Pulling the shirt down from his shoulders he saw the white skin being only a narrow stripe framed by traditional tattoos. Colorful ornaments disappeared on his sides beneath the pants, covered his body and arms entirely up to his wrists. As most Japanese men Stark wasn’t heavyset comparing to Rogers though his body was strong and muscular. Working with Asians for some time agent knew better than to judge his opponent by body build, often dealing with quite unexpected strength and stamina. When shirt slid to the floor Stark stood up from the sofa, agent’s thighs between his legs, tugging at the tie to pull him closer.
“Now take my pants off. With your mouth.”
Steve glanced at him again looking confused. There was a wide smirk on Stark’s face. Agent placed his hands on yakuza’s thighs grasping the belt in between the metal clasp with his teeth. The belt gave way slowly and Tony barked impatiently:
“Hurry up.”
Rogers exhaled angrily and got rid of the belt. It wasn’t the first time he had to help himself with his mouth (usually having his hands tied up) though he had never before had a chance to remove someone’s pants in this manner. To unbutton the fly was unexpectedly easy. He snatched the zipper and opened the fly involuntarily nuzzling at black silk of Stark’s underwear. Rogers was somewhat surprised to find Tony’s cock still soft under the fabric.
‘Probably eastern composure and stuff… he might as well order his own dick too when to stand… such a control freak as he is’ Rogers amusingly thought to himself pulling Stark’s pants down to knees with his mouth.
“That’s enough” Stark stopped him and kicked out of his pants pushing them sliding aside on the varnished wood floor. They both were with their shoes and socks removed as was the custom for walking indoors, Steve even didn’t forget to turn his shoes politely around, toes facing the door.
Tattoos covered Tony’s body up to the middle of his thighs ending in beautiful wing-like circles.
Stark pulled the tie again – forcing Rogers to stand up only to fall to his knees under the pressure of yakuza’s hands on his shoulders – and sprawled on the sofa with agent on the floor between his legs.
Appearing out of nowhere there was a gun in Stark’s hand pointing at agent’s face. Steve stared at the gun then looked at Tony, a question on his face. He heard the safety-lock clicking as yakuza pressed the barrel to agent’s lips.
“Open your mouth.”
Swallowing nervously Steve obeyed and his lips took shape of an “o”. Stark pushed the gun in slowly, a hint of a sneer in the corner of his mouth. Rogers breathed heavily tasting the cold metal on the root of his tongue, eyes focused unblinkingly on Stark’s face. A drop of sweat dripped down his temple. What the fuck was that? Security check? Just a game?
Stark pulled the gun out leaving Steve’s lips glistening wet with saliva. The hand still holding the gun came resting on the sofa, the other hand pulled agent closer. Without a word Tony grabbed Steve’s hair at the back of his head and practically shoved agent’s face into his groin. Rogers didn’t quite grasp if he was supposed to remove Starks underwear and if so, should he use his mouth or his hands. He looked indecisively at Tony but the man just narrowed his eyes saying nothing. So Steve pressed his mouth to the sleek black fabric moving to Tony’s cockhead and massaging it with wet lips. Tony gasped dropping his head back on the leather of sofa’s back piece. Steve licked the silk making the dark stain grow across the cloth, feeling the flesh beneath it stir and fill.
“Stop.” Stark’s voice sounded hoarse. “Take it off. You can do it with your hands.”
Tony lifted his hips helping agent to yank the underpants down.
“You can take your shirt off, too.”
Steve’s hands rushed to his suffocating tie. He didn’t even try to hide his joy at untying the damn thing. Tony watched him with a smirk as the shirt flew to the floor revealing smooth planes of muscle. Rogers took a deep breath taking in the warm air along side with faint smell of hashish and heavy aroma of some flowers standing in a tall vase behind the sofa. His pectorals shifted, muscles rolled under slightly tanned skin and Tony licked his lips. Then he made an impatient gesture with his gun for Rogers to continue.
Agent’s big hands came resting on yakuza’s thighs – just where the tattoos ended. It wasn’t really hard to figure out a blowjob, since he was many times the direct recipient. With liquid lewd sounds he pushed his mouth down on Tony's cock, full lips stretched on smooth white shaft with distinct blue veins. Judging by the intense stare of half-closed glistening dark eyes this must have looked good.
“Your lips are just meant for a blowjob” used to mock him his gay friend. Christ, what is he thinking about... Fucking hashish.
Stark’s breath came in rags, hand buried in agent’s sweat-damp hair, clenching at it, forcing him to take his cock deeper and deeper. Rogers wasn’t at all excited about the perspective of having his throat being fucked but it didn’t seem like he had a choice. So he tried just to relax and fight the gag reflex as the tip of Tony’s cock started pressing at the back of his throat. It wasn’t easy, but they used to have even more annoying stuff on the psychological endurance training. Stark moaned harshly, hips jerking forward uncontrollably. Rogers closed his eyes shut fighting the involuntary tears from the ache in his throat and painful stretching of lips.
“Stop” yakuza commanded suddenly, letting go of agent’s hair. Steve let his hard cock slide out of his mouth and swallowed painfully, waiting for another order.
“Strip.”
Rogers stood up, undoing his belt. Tony sent a pleased look at Steve’s swollen lips gone an obscene red, still gasping for breath.
“Lay on your back.” Stark rose, gesturing to the sofa when Rogers finally was completely naked. Leather stuck unpleasantly to his hot damp skin, the floral aroma was dizzying. Yakuza was above him placing his knees by agent’s sides, seizing his chin with one hand and looking smugly into his blue eyes. For Steve’s relief the gun has already disappeared from his hand.
“You know, making love takes two…”
Rogers was already taken aback several times today but he really didn’t expect this. He stared at Stark eyes wide open.
‘Making love? Was his English bad after all? Forcing someone into prostitution, that’s what it’s called, not making love..!’
He swallowed hard, his throat still sore.
Tony brought himself closer leaning for a kiss. This time his movements were incredibly careful, he caressed Steve’s lips with his tongue, entering his mouth gently. Rogers would never have thought that this self-centered cold-blooded killer is even capable of something like that. The contrast was overwhelming for agent’s overloaded and overheated brain. He felt the haze overriding him, his insides starting to melt, heat building up in his stomach.
Stark broke the kiss slowly and looked at Steve’s flushed face – eyes drunk with desire, long golden eyelashes flickering, as he gasped for air. Tony shifted lower, grasping Steve’s hips and taking his half-hard cock in his mouth. Rogers let out a surprised gasp, his cock straightening quickly after a few movements of Tony’s lips around his tip. Stark started taking him a bit deeper, but not too deep, moving down in spiral movements, cocking his head to a side. When Steve was moaning shamelessly, bucking hips up and grabbing desperately at slippery leather of seat cushions, Stark let him slip out of his mouth.
“Lick your fingers.”
“What?” Steve was rather stupefied by lust and pleasure.
“Put your fingers in your mouth.”
He did as he was told, licking and sucking at two digits with little wet noises.
“Stretch yourself.”
With a hint of annoyance a thought appeared at the back of his mind ‘Haven’t he heard of lube?’ but the hand went down may be a bit too eagerly, one finger pressing in. Still panting he added the second one. To make things slightly more interesting Stark wrapped a hand around Steve’s cock and he moaned, scissoring his fingers wider.
“Now turn over.”
Detaching himself from sticky leather Rogers turned over heavily, groaning hoarsely as his cock rubbed on the sofa seat. Stark guided agent’s leg off the couch making it hang down to the floor for better access. Then he licked his palm and slid it down his arousal.
“Relax,” said Tony huskily, placing his hands on beautiful curve of Steve’s ass.
He sank into him slowly, feeling the tight heat clench around him and Steve muffled a sharp cry against his arm at the burning pain. It wasn’t as bad as he expected though. Giving him a moment to adjust Tony started moving, slow at first, then rolling his hips faster, letting out harsh groans. Stark changed the angle and Steve started moaning much louder, shuddering from icy-hot waves of pleasure coming up his spine and sweeping though out his whole body. He jerked his hips upwards, deepening Tony’s thrusts, groaning and whimpering like a slut, but he couldn’t really care at this point.
When Stark’s slams became frantically hard and arrhythmic, his fingers digging bruisingly into agent’s hips, Rogers shoved his hand down between his tensed abdomen and the sofa.
Tony rammed into his body particularly hard and Steve let out a choked cry, his vision washed white, spilling hot between his belly and the leather. Muscles clenched around Stark and he came inside Steve with a groan.
He pulled out a bit too quickly, causing agent to wince at the unpleasant sensation and collapsed on Steve’s broad back rather unceremoniously. They stayed like this for a while, leveling their breath. When yakuza finally shifted, rising up, and Rogers could only think about his hotel room, which had AC and a shower, Stark surprised him one more time. Steve felt gentle touch on his waist, then hot breath on his skin. Tony planted a light kiss on the dimple on the small of his back and stood up from the couch. Steve turned around, bemused, and saw a red dragon twirling on yakuza’s back.