Work Header

top of his field

Work Text:

Steve really doesn't wanna go to the conference. It's on a February Monday morning, starting at crisp 8:00 a.m., and while it's not the earliest Steve has dragged himself to a work thing, it's certainly not his favorite time to try to rub two brain cells together, either. The only upside will be the complimentary breakfast listed on the schedule, which hopefully this time means as much bacon and bagels as he can stuff into his maw with good conscience, instead of a green smoothie and a single macadamia nut on whole wheat toast.

Steve isn't even certain what the conference is about - it's ominously titled 'Are You a B or T Leader: Finding Your Optimal Position' which honestly makes him wonder. Are they supposed to choose between being butt people or tits people? Is 'both' an option? Does he have to view a row of Leadership Butts at 8 a.m. on a Monday?

But off he goes, with crusty eyes, a healthy dose of self-pity, and a shirt that thankfully isn’t too wrinkled despite him forgetting to iron it. His tie is strategically hiding a coffee stain down the front because apparently he had also forgotten to wash it.

His coffee is definitely a Tits Leader, because that's where it always ends up.

Technically it should be Sam attending the conference, but the lucky bastard had gotten an impromptu business trip to New Mexico. So that leaves Steve standing miserably in the lobby of a Best Western and waiting for the doors to the auditorium to open, wearing a name tag that says SAMUEL WILSON in a font that thankfully isn't Comic Sans.

At least the breakfast buffet was excellent, and there was an incredibly good-looking guy wearing a very nice shirt and extremely well-fitting slacks, smiling when he caught Steve's eye over the toaster oven. He hadn't even seemed appalled by the four bagels Steve was busy toasting.

Yeah, Steve thought as he watched the guy roll his shoulders back and chest forward as if to correct his posture, flash Steve a stunning, pearly smile, and turn to go, giving Steve a good look at his perfectly round ass. I'm definitely a both B&T guy.

When the doors finally open, the hot guy is standing right next to them, giving out notepads and seating instructions. His professional smile widens into something more genuine when he spots Steve, and it lights up his whole face.

"Welcome," Toaster Oven Babe says in a low voice, and his fingers brush Steve's as he takes the offered notepad. "Hope you enjoy the conference."

James, proclaims his newly appeared name tag. Conference Manager.

Right next to the tag, pressing against the dress shirt James is wearing, is what can't be anything else but the imprint of a nipple piercing. James has a nipple piercing. Mentally, Steve adds one more reason on the Tits Leader side of his personal scale.

"Thanks," Steve manages after an awkwardly long break, his throat suddenly dry. He tries to pretend it's because he hasn't gotten free stationery in a while and not because he’s experiencing a vivid fantasy of how James might look in a breast harness. "Oh, nice, a, uh, free Breast West-- I mean Best Western notepad! With. A pen!"

It’s bordering the amount of excitement bullet journal people probably feel about a brand new Leuchtturm journal, but judging by the knowing curl of James's mouth, Steve's fake enthusiasm isn't very convincing and the awful slip of tongue didn't go unnoticed.

James gives him an extra pen, anyway.


The speaker is a white guy in his forties, who looks like he starts his day by running twenty miles on a treadmill and then cycling to work from the Hamptons while chowing down coconut water and two macadamia nuts on a spelt toast. He has the borderline manic look of someone who calls himself a Leadership Culture Designer and has 32,666 LinkedIN connections. Steve slumps into a half-reclining pose in his chair as soon as Mr Self-Branding Coach bounces up to the stage. God. Maybe he can just huddle here in the third to last row and doodle James's face for the next three hours like a fucking creep.

"GOOD MORNING GOOD MORNING GOOOOOD MORNING!" Mr CEO Of His Own Life bellows into the micset. "The change starts today! Hope you're all feeling bright and great about this week! I'm loving the energy in this room, you guys are really rocking it this morning!"

There are some half-hearted cheers from the more awake part of the audience. Steve hunches down deeper and wishes he'd had the foresight to bring earbuds.

"Today we'll be tackling some really interesting concepts and spurring each other towards better leadership! Our theme for today is…" The screen behind Self Made Man blinks into life. "Top and bottom leading strategies!"

Steve looks slowly up and nearly spits out his coffee alongside the inhuman sound he makes.


"Are you okay?" hisses a guy sitting two chairs down from Steve. "Please don't choke, I really wanna hear this, my boss is all about the bottom leading energy."

Steve wheezes out an affirmative and bites his cheek hard to keep the hysterical laughter in. When he casts a wild glance around the conference room, all he sees are intrigued expressions and thoughtful looks, except for one.

James is standing at the side of the room, observing the slideshow with the most self-satisfied half-smile Steve has ever seen. After Steve stares hard enough to drill a hole in James's shirt with his eyes - look, there is a nipple piercing, sue him - James looks his way, and his expression turns positively angelic.

Steve glances back at the screen as the next slide proudly proclaims, ARE YOU THE BITCH OR THE BOSS IN THE 'BOSS ASS BITCH'? THIS IS ABOUT US AND HOW OUR TOPS HELP US BOOST OUR BOTTOM SUCCESS FROM BEHIND, and suddenly he knows who made the presentation.

He also falls a little in love.


After the initial speech that lasts almost three quarters of an hour, there is a workshop. To talk with others about topping the whole team. There are going to be simulations. The speaker is calling it an orgy of ideas.

At that point Steve is sure he has ruptured a vein in his eyeball from holding back the tears of laughter, but then he walks up to the side table with the role-assigning tags for the workshop, and nearly howls again.

On the table are four rows of name tags titled TOP, BOTTOM 1, BOTTOM 2, and BOTTOM 3, from which he is supposed to choose according to how he sees his own role in, uh, team dynamics.

He stands there for a few long minutes, battling his urges to livestream the whole fucking conference on Instagram for all his friends, or maybe record it and upload it to PornHub titled 'Teams of Bottoms Getting Bossed Around In A Business Seminar Orgy'.

"Trouble choosing?" asks a husky voice, and when Steve looks up, James is leaning his hip against the table, tilting his head towards the role tags.

He's wearing a tag that proclaims BOTTOM #1.

None of the other tags have the # in them.

"No," Steve says as calmly as he can, because it's not considered normal conference etiquette to rip off his shirt and get down on his knees in front of the smuggest, prettiest, most ingenious man he's ever met, and pledge servitude.

He holds James's eye as he picks up a TOP tag and clips it onto his tie next to his bi flag tie pin.

"Good," James says sweetly, his gaze briefly flicking down and up again like he's checking Steve out. "It is a leadership conference after all, and being assertive is a true leader characteristic, isn't it, Mr… Wilson?"

"What," Steve says before he remembers the stupid name tag. "Oh no, um, uh, eh, um, I'm Steve. Rogers. Sam had urgent business elsewhere so I'm subbing for him."

"Oh, really?" James's expression goes sly, and then he glances up from between his long lashes like the epitome of coy. "I do quite enjoy… subbing, myself."

Steve's brain shorts out for a few seconds because ain't that some news.

"Really?" he finally manages, delighted by James's… well, everything.

"Mhm," James agrees, lifting his chin up in a way that exposes the long column of his neck, dotted with freckles. Steve swallows audibly. "It can be very… Educating."

"I bet," Steve says, his voice an octave higher than usual, because his brain is feeding him the image of James in a harness again, spread out on the nearest flat surface.

He's going to kill whoever it was that decided Sam should attend this Top/Bottom conference, unless he dies from arousal and laughter first.

"You better hurry," James says innocently, rearranging the tags on the table. "You have an orgy to attend."


When the conference finally, finally ends three excruciating hours later, Steve needs to pee solely from trying to hold his laughter for such a long time. Still he lingers, sending a text that's just a row of angry emojis and question marks to Sam, and pretending to collect his crap very slowly, because James is bidding the attendees farewell at the door, and Steve is determined to catch him alone.

"Thanks for attending, Mr Rogers," James says when Steve finally rolls up, the last to file out. "I hope to see you come again."

"Thanks for organizing," Steve says smoothly, having found his footing somewhere between the orgy workshop and his fourth coffee. "I'd definitely love to hear more about your… bottom strategies."

James's smile widens, and he steps a little closer. Steve buffs up without thinking, and then James brushes his long fingers against Steve's chest. The touch is light, innocent, but for some reason it leaves Steve feeling the same wildly arousing mortification he felt when he once got a boner at church because there was a new and particularly fetching painting of Jesus with one tit out.

"That can be arranged," James promises sweetly, unclipping both Steve's false name tag and the TOP tag and placing them on the table behind him. "And I'm very keen on learning from, hm, the tops of our field. I'm sure we could find mutually beneficial ground."

Up close he smells very good, and there's a delicious flush on his high cheekbones. It's a little cold in the conference center, and when Steve glances down, James's nipples are tight and perky against his shirt. Steve thinks how nicely his hands would fit around James's pecs, thumbs set on those piercings, rubbing in slow circles to see how James would react.

"That sounds good," he murmurs and lifts his hand to pluck invisible lint from James's shirt, the heel of his palm 'accidentally' brushing against a nipple.

James's back curves helplessly, pushing his tits out a bit. Interesting. "Give me fifteen," he says. "I need to go give that oblivious leadership idiot his Jamba Juice coupon and shoo him out. Meet me back here and we'll… see about those bottom strategies."

Steve grins giddily, nods, and steals the TOP tag back before he goes.


Twenty minutes later in the nearby single stall bathroom, James's shirt has been slowly unbuttoned and discarded, and Steve's pants are somewhere around his knees. As Steve closes his mouth around James's pierced nipple, pawing at James's ass with both hands to lift him up onto the counter, he decides that he owes Sam a fruit basket for fucking off to New Mexico and forcing Steve to attend this dumbass conference.

"You gonna help me boost my empowerment from behind?" James asks breathlessly, squirming under the devout attention of Steve's tongue on his tits, sliding his hand down into Steve’s briefs to cup his cock. "Give me some of this big responsibility?"

"Yeah, baby," Steve says, squeezing James's ass. "I know all about that, I just took a seminar."