Steve had never expected to lose his virginity that way - not to another man, not to someone under his command, not while trapped under a collapsed building and in dire need of rescue. Not any of those ways. But he couldn’t say he regretted it. Maybe there was a reason those nice girls Natasha had set him up with had left him cold. Maybe it wasn’t that he held a torch for Peggy, or that he was too busy and preoccupied to worry about dating.
Maybe Brock Rumlow was just that sexy.
Unfortunately, Brock Rumlow was also incredibly infuriating.
After the rescue, there had been a short lull between ops, and the two of them hadn’t seen much of each other. Only then did Steve realize that he didn’t even have Brock’s phone number. Nor did he know where he lived, or anything about what he did when he wasn’t working.
The next time he ran into Brock was in the elevator. He smiled at him, and the other man gave him a nod, and his usual greeting: “Cap.”
And that was it. Brock turned to look at the numbers on the display and the elevator rose in silence. There had been three other STRIKE members on the elevator with him, so Steve hadn’t said anything or done anything more, but he watched the other man get off the elevator and leave without a backward glance, and tried not to feel hurt.
I won’t be good for you, Cap, Rumlow had said. No, that wasn’t good enough. Steve wasn’t going to just leave it at that.
Three days later, Steve passed Rumlow in a hallway on the armoury level. There was no one else around, and it seemed the perfect opportunity - finally - to talk and figure out what was going on, what had really happened between them and what Brock wanted so they could take things to the next step - whatever that next step happened to be.
Steve put out a hand to stop him. “Hey, Rumlow, I was wondering—”
“No time to chat, Cap,” Rumlow said, brushing the arm aside and continuing on his way, if anything, at a quicker pace. He grinned as he glanced back over his shoulder at Steve. “Got a hot date with some blowhard from the UN I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on so he doesn’t die messily, as if that would be a tragedy. I’ll take a raincheque, okay?”
And before Steve could do anything else, or even try to call him back, Brock had caught the elevator doors just before they closed, and was whisked away.
A week after that, they had been called into one of the many board rooms in the Triskelion for a briefing on a new, growing threat that seemed to loom on the horizon. Nick Fury had summoned them to get them up to speed about a cult that had risen, worshipping a creature they called a true demon, but which appeared by all accounts to be nothing more than an errant AIM research subject, loaded up with Extremis. That was dangerous enough, of course.
Steve contrived to sit next to Rumlow at the table. He listened intently as Fury lectured and showed them infrared satellite images showing the bright spot of heat where the cult leader was, but as he did so, he let his hand sneak over to brush against Brock’s knee. He felt as much as saw the other man’s eyes flick to look at his profile, and for a moment he thought it would be ignored. Then he felt a rough hand slide over his thigh. That would have been enough to tell him what he wanted to know, but then Brock grabbed between his legs and gave a squeeze.
Steve had to work hard not to leap right up out of his chair.
Natasha shot him a curious look, and Rumlow smirked as he withdrew his hand. Steve struggled the rest of the meeting not to start blushing.
At the conclusion of the meeting, Nick mentioned that they were putting together the information to run an op and would send in STRIKE with Captain America and the Black Widow to take care of the threat and break up the cult.
Steve spent the next few days pondering whether there would be some way he could get Rumlow alone during the operation without blowing the mission, but then word came that the cult leader had gone critical sooner than they’d anticipated, taking out fifteen of his cult members in the explosion.
When they were called to Nick’s office to hear the news, Rumlow was already standing in the room when Steve arrived. The STRIKE commander was leaning against the wall, a silent shadow, his eyes dark and impenetrable. But when Nick had delivered the news, Rumlow smirked at Steve. “Tough luck, Cap. Could be we could have had a little fun.”
And without another word, Brock left the room, leaving Steve wondering what exactly he meant by that.
He was twisted up in knots by now. Rumlow was playing with him, that much was incredibly obvious. It wasn’t that the other man didn’t want him. That much, at least, he was sure of. So he was done with playing nice. He had to know what was really going on, and the only way he could do that was to run his own private operation.
He didn’t ask Natasha or Clint for any help, even though he knew that subterfuge and spying weren’t exactly his forte. He knew he couldn’t pretend to be like them and not fail miserably. So instead, he tried to consider how Captain America might gather information without being too terribly obvious about it.
He chatted with people, being friendly, and casually mentioned STRIKE and Brock when it was natural. Eventually, through his talks with various SHIELD agents, he figured out where STRIKE spent their time when they weren’t on duty. With a little more sleuthing, loitering around in different spots in the building and even following Brock at a distance a few times, he learned that he went to the firing range alone at the same time every day.
The next day, he arranged to be there, practicing his own marksmanship without bothering with hearing protection, just a few minutes before Brock was due.
Sure enough, right on the dot at his usual time, Steve heard the door open and the heavy tread of Brock Rumlow’s boots tramping down the row of shooting alcoves. They were alone, finally, and Brock couldn’t pretend he was about to rush off somewhere. The moment had come, just as he’d hoped.
He lowered the gun as Brock came near him, and was just in the middle of turning to confront him when he felt a hand grab his ass and grope him hard enough that his hip hit the counter in front of him. Brock murmured into his ear. “Finally caught up with me, huh?”
Steve turned his head to look at Rumlow, who dropped back down to his heels. He’d had to go up on his toes reach his ear. “Yeah well, you come here every day at this time. Did you think I wouldn’t figure that out eventually? I’m not a spy, but I’m not totally bad at this.”
Rumlow’s fingers dug into his ass again and he smirked. “Did you really think I’m that much of a fucking dumbass that I normally keep a predictable routine?”
Steve’s jaw dropped. “I…wait.” He stared at that smug face, with its self-satisfied smirk, and did the only thing he could think of to do - he kissed him.
Brock didn’t kiss him back so much as attack him. He removed the hand from Steve’s ass, but the next thing Steve knew, there was the cold barrel of the Glock in his other hand pressed hard into his belly, while Rumlow’s free hand shoved him back into the counter. Their teeth clacked together and Steve almost bit his own lip with the ferocity with which Rumlow kissed him.
He shifted up to sit on the counter, wrapping his arms around Rumlow to draw him close. He was caught between an instinctive impulse to take his time and soften things, and the desire to return the gesture in kind and give as good as he got. Rumlow didn’t give him much of a chance to consider it, pushing his knees apart and insinuating himself between them, still up on his toes to continue the rough kiss.
“Why are you so tall?” Rumlow growled between harsh kisses. “I’d fuck you right now, right in this room, but I don’t have a goddamn step stool.”
“S-Sorry,” Steve managed, crooking a hesitant smile.
Brock bit Steve’s lip hard enough to draw blood, then smirked at him. “Never forgiving you.”
Then Brock broke away and reached for the fly of Steve’s jeans. “Took you long enough, too, you damn idiot,” he said, tugging one-handed at his zipper. “My balls are red, white and blue as shit.”
Steve was breathless from the kisses, and now his heart speeded up with anticipation. Even still, his eyes jerked towards the door, then back to Rumlow’s face. He had wanted to get Rumlow alone, but this wasn’t quite what he’d thought they’d be doing in this remarkably public place. Yet the fear of discovery only made him harder, it seemed. His jeans were uncomfortably tight, and he wished Rumlow would hurry up and undo his fly.
“You gonna put the gun down?” he asked with a quirk of his lips. It wasn’t exactly safe, and with two hands free they could probably get down to business faster.
But Rumlow responded by jamming the pistol into the hollow of Steve’s jaw and smirking. He tugged open the fly at last, and curled his other hand around Steve’s cock. “You mean this?” He gave Steve’s cock a tug, just for emphasis. “I’m not planning to let it go until it goes off, Cap.”
“Oh god,” Steve gasped, grabbing for the edge of the partition. He felt the metal bend slightly in his fingers, but if he let go, he was sure he’d fall right backwards and land right in front of the target.
He tilted his head backwards as Rumlow pushed the gun a little higher, his breathing coming faster with every minute that passed. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this, that it was not only dangerous but would be humiliating if he was found. But in that moment, he couldn’t care less.
Rumlow worked his cock with merciless efficiency. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, almost conversationally. “With that serum, you’ve got superhuman stamina. I bet you could go for hours, huh? I mean, once you stopped being such a fucking virgin and blowing your load in ten seconds.”
Steve’s breathing was coming even faster. He moaned and squirmed on the counter, lips parted and eyes squeezed tightly shut. “I… uh,” he gasped.
“Or maybe you just could keep coming, over and over, for as long as I can keep you going,” Rumlow continued. “I wonder what would happen first - my hand falling off, or you losing the ability to come?”
“Brock…” Steve managed, though he didn’t have the first clue how to answer that question. He had no idea what to say to any of this.
“No need to say anything,” Rumlow purred. “In fact, why don’t you just go ahead and suck on this.”
The gun barrel suddenly pressed against Steve’s lips. He shuddered and opened his mouth obediently, and the metallic tang of gunmetal invaded his tongue, the sight scraping against his teeth as the gun was forced into his mouth.
His heart beat so fast that he felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. He trusted Rumlow completely. He was a SHIELD agent he’d fought beside dozen times. They had saved one another lives over and over again. He felt no threat from this - if he had, he knew he could have taken Rumlow down easily. Instead, the excitement of all this was overwhelmingly arousing.
In fact, no sooner had the gun been pushed between his lips, but he jerked and cried out around the obstruction in his mouth. Rumlow laughed and squeezed hard, choking off the orgasm just as it began.
“Fucking newbie,” he said, his voice almost warm even though the words were rough. “I’m not done yet.”
Both of Steve’s hands were occupied just with clinging, one of them denting the partition, and the other gripping the edge of the counter he was sitting on. He whimpered, shuddering as Rumlow gentled his grip and once again began to stroke his cock. He lifted a hand with thoughts of responding, touching Rumlow in return, but the other man spoke up sharply. “Don’t. Just leave that hand where it is.”
Confused, Steve gripped the counter again. He was pushed back slightly, feeling off balance, the oily flavour of the Glock thick on his tongue and his body trembling from the denied orgasm.
Rumlow jerked him off roughly, and Steve felt so sensitive he was sure he could feel every callous on his fingers. Minutes passed, filled with sparks of pleasure and the rush of blood in his ears, before Steve began to feel his second orgasm rising inside him. His whimpers increased just a bit as his body tightened. He didn’t know if Brock was going to let him come this time, or cruelly choke it off once again. Had Steve done something wrong? He couldn’t quite understand why Brock wouldn’t let him touch him. And with the gun in his mouth, he couldn’t even beg Brock to let him come.
He cracked an eyelid and snuck a look, and saw Rumlow grinning from ear to ear. Steve made a soft, desperate noise, and the grin only widened. “Don’t cry, you baby. You’ve endured a lot more than this.” And Rumlow squeezed him, eyes bright with mischief. Steve cried out around the gun in his mouth, the partition he was holding onto crumpling even further under his fingers as he shook and squirmed under Rumlow’s delicious torture.
As Steve came down from the brink of orgasm for the second time, Rumlow withdrew the gun from his mouth and pressed it to his temple instead. Steve felt the warmth of the gun barrel against his skin, slightly moist with his spit. He panted for breath, working his jaw and licking his dry lips. “What now?” he asked. He was sure Brock had a plan.
And he was right.
Brock smirked. “Get your ass up and turn around, Cap.”
“You are so… so weird, Rumlow,” Steve panted, but he slid obediently off the counter and turned.
“Just assume the position,” Rumlow said, giving him a smack on the ass. Steve blushed slightly and rested his hands on the counter, leaning forward slightly. He stared at the paper target at the other end of the track, a small cluster of holes dead centre in the chest. Rumlow grabbed his hip with one hand, and pressed the gun up against his back, just under his ribs.
One-handed, Brock tugged down Steve’s jeans, pulling and twisting them until they were tight just above his knees and his ass was bare, then he opened his own fly and pressed himself against him, grinding his dick in small circles against those tight globes. Suddenly, Steve felt like panicking. He wasn’t sure he was ready for this.
“Shut up,” Brock said, and Steve wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but it almost sounded affectionate. “I’ve got you right where I want you. Now trust me and enjoy the ride.”
He reached around, beginning to jerk Steve off again, and slid his own cock between Steve’s thighs. He ground there, rocking forward and back, fucking himself between his ass cheeks. Steve gasped and squeezed his eyes shut again as Rumlow’s hand stimulated him.
He was finally able to move, and it was a relief. He jerked his hips hard with each thrust Rumlow made, grinding himself back against the other man, and pushing his cock harder through his fingers. “God, Brock… please don’t leave me hanging again.”
“Don’t beg, you’re better than that,” Rumlow snarled. “Gonna fucking gag you next time.”
“Promise?” Steve said, joking, then sobered a little when he realized that Brock might not be.
Their bodies moved rhythmically, the sound of flesh slapping together filling the air. It didn’t take long before even Rumlow’s rhythm was beginning to stutter and jerk, and Steve felt his own orgasm starting to rise inside him for the third time. He panted for breath, his breathing harsh and ragged, and he felt Rumlow’s own breaths coming hot and moist against his shoulder. The STRIKE commander pressed his forehead against Steve’s broad back as he snapped his hips forward again and again, rubbing his cock against the under side of Steve’s balls.
Then finally, Steve cried out again, the orgasm moving through him like a wave, even more intense than the first two times. White fluids splashed against the counter. Rumlow gave a soft, heartfelt groan a few moments later as semen spattered the inside of Steve’s thighs and ran down, sticky and warm.
Steve dropped to his elbows on the counter, head hanging down, panting for breath. Rumlow pulled back and tucked himself in, the quiet purr of the zipper reaching Steve’s ears even over the sound of his own breaths in the wide, echoing room. Steve turned around quickly, grabbing for his jeans before they could fall, his heart racing.
Brock was looking completely together, maybe a slight sheen to his skin, but didn’t look in the least bit like he’d just had intense, messy sex in public. He was smirking. “You afraid I’m going to just walk away and leave you?”
Steve tugged his jeans up, feeling awkward, his fingers fumbling on his fly. His thighs were sticky and his body was flushed with heat. He felt like a wrung-out towel, but in a completely good way. “Well… yeah. You’ve been avoiding me ever since - you know.”
Rumlow rolled his eyes and leaned back against the wall. He still had the Glock in his hand, and he holstered it under his arm in a smooth motion, then hooked his thumbs in his waistband. “Isn’t it more fun if it’s not too easy?”
Steve stepped closer, and lifted a hand to cup the other man’s face. “I want to do this right, Rumlow. I know you want to be with me, too, but why do I keep getting the idea that you’re playing games with me?"
Rumlow’s eyes narrowed slightly, and then he relaxed and his lips pulled to one side sardonically. He lifted his hand, mirroring Steve’s move, and cupped his face in return. “You want to do everything right, Cap,” he said. “But what makes you think there’s anything right about this?”
He patted the cheek, then gave it a sharper smack and ducked under Steve’s arm. “Better clean up the spunk before you go,” he said. “Someone might wonder.” And with that, he simply turned and walked away.
Steve rubbed his face and watched him go. What else could he do?