Steve’s place is nice, for a random condo across from the hospital. Decent living room, cosy dining nook, fancy supergraphic wall art in strategic places. Better furniture than he’d expected, though it’s not like he knows what a restaurant blogger gets paid. TJ used to think if he ever started a review blog, he’d talk about interior design experiences from Grindr.
“Great loveseat, high back, perfect for cowgirl. Unfortunately, afghan 2/10. Pea green w/bad stains; like fucking next to Linda Blair.”
This space gets high marks though, not the least of which is Steve behind him, radiating heat like a miniature sun. TJ’s eyeing an overstuffed couch because fuck there is nothing hotter than getting bent over a nice wide chair arm, except then Steve’s hand is on his elbow and hallelujah, they’re heading to a bedroom. Steve closes the door and TJ’s dick pays attention.
“Just in case my roommates get home early. You okay with that?” Steve says as he slides a deadbolt home. His voice is already deep, a little scratchy like he’s just woken up. TJ wants to take his pants off with his teeth.
“‘S cool. Pretty sure you’re not an ax murderer,” TJ grins, because it’s true. His mom’s security already ran a background check. Steven Grant Rogers is cleaner than he is, his only arrests from protests and bar fights.
Steve nods and leans back against the door, somehow expanding to take up most of it. He’s a tiny streak of piss, but he’s got this way of being larger than life. Those hands alone. Big, strong fingers, rough with pencil calluses. Steve hooks his thumbs into TJ’s belt loops, and it’s all TJ can do not to imagine them shoved up inside of him.
“You ever done anything like this before?” Steve asks.
TJ licks his lips.
Yes. No. Not really. There’s been guys who slapped his ass sometimes. One dude who got off on calling him “Princess”. None of them stayed once the coke ran out. And he’s one hundred percent sober now, which is a whole new miserable experience. Sober is one of Steve’s rules though, he won’t fuck without “uncompromised consent”.
He offers his very best photoshoot smile.
“Yeah,” TJ says. “I’ve had some partners who were into kink.”
Steve pads over to a wooden box at the foot of the bed. It looks like somebody’s hope chest, antiquey and chipped with wood carvings all around the outside edges.
“Any toys you prefer?” he asks, bending into the chest.
God, he’s so tiny. He looks like he could crawl inside and still have room to shut the lid, and yet his voice is so steady and his touch is so commanding and TJ is so into it.
TJ shrugs. “Whatever you want?” He can probably make it work, whatever Steve comes up with. He just wants Steve to touch him.
“You like stingy or thuddy?”
And damned if Steve doesn’t pop back up with a stick as big as he is - a huge piece of bamboo with actual knots at regular intervals. TJ thinks about being smacked with that, and his ass clenches up so tight it gives him a charley horse.
“Sting...y?” TJ guesses. He is so fucking out of his depth. “It - look it wasn’t often. I mean. It was mostly hands.”
Which probably makes him look like an idiot, but whatever. He’s curious, and anyone who’d blame him for being curious is an asshole.
The little smile-lines are back around Steve’s eyes, though, and he puts the cane back in the box.
“We can take it easy,” he rumbles, and TJ squirms because no, no, he didn’t mean for Steve to back down. Easy is what he is, not what he does, and he’s about to say so when -
“How about we try a couple toys and see which ones you like, okay?”
Oh thank Christ. “More than okay,” he says.
Steve reaches down beneath the bed, draws out a sheet from a plastic storage box.
“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable,” he offers. “You okay starting face down?”
“However you want me.”
Steve flips the sheet out over the top of the comforter and gestures for TJ to lay crossways on the middle of the bed.
“Gives me a better target,” he says. TJ wiggles his ass back and forth mockingly in response. It’s a little uncomfortable to put his weight on his front right now, truth be told. He’s still so full from Steve’s dinner review, family-style ravioli with brown butter sauce, sopped up with god knows how many dinner rolls. He’s going to get so fat hanging out with this little dude. He does not remotely fucking care.
“Lemme get you a pillow,” Steve says. “Here, come up on your elbows.”
Strong hands draw his hips up and a pillow slides beneath his hips. A second presses under his chest. TJ clutches it dutifully and wiggles until his weight is spread out across the bolsters.
“That’s better,” he says. He looks down at the one in his arms. “Oh my god is this seriously an American flag pillow?”
“My roommate bought it for me,” Steve says gravely. “Because she’s a dick.”
“Cause you were ‘boooorn on the Fourth of July’,” TJ sings. He can’t see Steve rolling his eyes, but swear to God he hears it.
“What? You blogged about it. It’s fair game.”
A bony hand claps down between his shoulder blades, pinning him in place against the pillows. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to let him know it’s there. A promise.
“This okay?” Steve asks.
“Yes,” TJ groans, because he can’t fucking help it. Steve’s voice is hot as hell, huskier and deep, the kind of sound TJ usually associates with sucking cock.
“You familiar with the stop light system?”
TJ nods. “Green, yellow, red?” He’s been on the internet long enough, he’s not completely clueless.
Steve’s fingers trail down along the curve of his spine, splay out at the small of his back.
“What does green mean to you?” Steve asks gently, and fuck. No one ever told him kinky sex came with a quiz.
“Um, keep going?”
“Go slower? I’m not stupid.”
He can’t handle this clothed anymore. Steve’s hand is burning on him and he needs action, skin. TJ pushes up on one elbow and tries to wiggle his shirt up but Steve is already pulling back. Moving away.
“It’s not about being stupid,” Steve says from the toybox. “It’s about being safe. I don’t want to push you faster than you’re ready for. If you say either yellow or red I’ll check in with you. Red I’ll cut it out immediately. Okay?”
“‘Kay.” TJ whips off his shirt and flips it off the side of the bed. He struggles a little more with the pants. Normally it’d be a tease, a sexy little shimmy to peel off the skinny jeans. He’s too nervous and not high enough to put on a show though, he just needs it done. He thrashes them down to his knees and tries to kick off his socks at the same time. Nobody looks hot fucking in crew socks.
Steve pads back over and catches him by the back of the thigh, helps him stabilize before he wriggles backward off the bed along with his jeans. His laugh is beautiful too - a little wheezy but it’s real.
“Easy! Easy. I got you.”
He drops a pile of toys on the bed and helps TJ the rest of the way out of his jeans. Even peels TJ’s socks off, one at a time, and rubs TJ’s feet. Callused knuckles massage a spot at the center of TJ’s instep and he shivers all the way up the back of his leg.
“Fuck yes,” TJ sighs. He lifts his hips just enough to let Steve get his hands beneath the waistband. His CKs are tight these days, especially when he’s already rocking a semi. He whimpers when they catch and tug on his cock. Whines louder when Steve gropes him under pretense of freeing him.
“You’re gonna scream for me, aren’t you?” Steve rasps right in his ear. Steve’s fingers are caged around his cock like a vise and TJ can feel it filling into Steve’s hand. “You’re loud when you don’t have a dick in your mouth.”
“Jesus Christ.” TJ sucks in a breath and bites down on his lip because he is not going to beg for it right out of the gate. Steve gets his underwear off and tosses them onto TJ’s back, teases him with the silk of his own goddamn briefs before setting them aside.
Something rustles in his blind spot, and then Steve is laying out the toys next to TJ’s face so he can check them out. Nothing he hasn’t seen in porn before - a leather strap, a couple slender rods. A nasty-looking, thick wood paddle with holes in it. And a couple random household items too, a long-handled bath scrub brush and a sanded-off paint stick. It’s kind of comforting to know that his newfound...whatever-they-are isn’t a completely polished God of Tops.
“See anything you like?” Steve asks. “Or don’t like?”
“I dunno?” TJ squirms against the pillows. “I’ll try anything once.”
“Few strokes with each, then. We’ll see what gets you loudest,” Steve says, and, and. Fuck. It should not be so hot to have someone decide for him; TJ’s had handlers his entire life and he fucking hates them, but when it’s Steve’s voice his insides melt.
One of Steve’s hands returns to his back. The other glides over his right ass cheek.
“Going to warm you up with my hand first,” Steve rumbles. “Just relax.”
He kneads at the base of TJ’s spine. “Deep breaths. You like being surprised?”
“My continued existence is a surprise to reasonable people,” TJ says. He’s barely finished the final word when a hand cracks against his ass. “Ow!”
“That okay?” Steve asks him.
“Yeah! Yeah,” TJ grumbles. He feels like a fucking tool for flinching on the very first stroke. “Wasn’t actually that bad.”
“Just surprised you, right?” He does not need to see Steve’s shit-eating grin to know it’s there.
"That would be the point,” TJ says, and earns another, much harder slap across both cheeks at once. “Damn it!”
Steve holds off for a moment, rubs at the stinging spot. It’s tingling and sensitive right where Steve’s spanked him in a way that makes TJ’s dick twitch. Steve hauls back and starts up a steady rhythm up and down over each cheek, and it’s starting to bring a rush of heat down TJ’s belly.
“What’s your color?” Steve asks.
“Green,” TJ calls back. It’s solidly green. His ass tingles a little, like an incipient sunburn, but it makes him want to rub on things. Like Steve. He grunts and flexes his hips against the lower pillow, trying to get the angle right to hump it.
Steve’s hand cracks down and stays there, cupping him right at the crease where his round butt meets his left thigh. The residual touch makes his whole leg light up with fire.
“Hold still,” Steve growls, and oh god that’s going to make it twenty times harder. “Gonna try the rods now.”
Steve slides one up so TJ can get an eye on it again. It’s a long, neon plastic rod with a black leather grip. It looks a hell of a lot like a skinny light saber.
“They should make ‘em light up,” TJ says.
“The big one does,” Steve confirms. “You wanna see if you can take it?”
“Hell yeah.” TJ shivers as the rods slide back into his blind spot.
He hears it this time, the exact moment Steve brings the strike down. The rods make an ominous woosh when they move through the air, and he jerks even before it makes contact. A solid line of pain blooms across both cheeks and Steve makes a noise that ought to be illegal.
“Yeah,” Steve breathes. He sounds the way he does on his knees, when he’s hard as nails and ready to eat TJ out all night. “You like that?”
“Fuck yes,” TJ moans back. “Green.”
The rod lands again right next to the previous blow, then again, higher up. Up, up, up, down, down, down, traversing the full curve of TJ’s ass. There’s a pulsing rhythm to the strikes, one-two three BAM, and TJ is helpless to do anything but gasp and hold on. Each stroke echoes through his groin and his full belly, making him tremble as his body tenses tight, tighter, too tight.
The whooshing pauses and Steve’s hand is on his ass again, digging into the smarting skin. Steve’s nails are five points of fire.
“You mark so nice,” Steve sighs. He kneads his knuckles in right where TJ is thickest and TJ can’t can’t help it, he jumps.
“You want some more?”
“Yes,” TJ gasps. His ass is starting to throb and it’s like he can feel that same pulse in his dick. Something clatters softly beside him and he shifts aimlessly between the pillows, stuck halfway between anxious and horny.
A staccato tapping starts up at the back of his thigh, something light and wooden and fast. He barely notices it compared to the rod, though the sound makes him want to rock his hips in time. Fuck. He didn’t realize he was this kinky, like he knew he enjoyed having his ass smacked, but it’s never been so immediate before.
“That not doing it?” Steve asks.
“Not so much,” TJ says.
“All right...” That’s all the warning he gets before something huge comes out of fucking nowhere and catches him right across the crack. His body jerks up like there’s a string in his spine.
“Holy shit!” he yelps.
Jesus, it still smarts. “Green!”
He gets another for his trouble, high on the side of his left cheek, and it makes him squeak. He can’t tell what the fuck this one is, only that it’s goddamn huge and feels like an instant bruise. It lands again and the shock races all the way down to his feet, until he’s flipping his feet uselessly like he can swim away from it.
“Fuck me, you are so fucking hot,” Steve says and TJ flails again, because Steve never starts cursing like that until he’s ready to come, and just the thought that Steve’s this turned on makes him feel like the baddest motherfucker alive.
Steve could come all over his ass, paint him up with welts and jizz. Red and white and black and blue on top of this ridiculous fucking American flag pillow, and TJ cannot stop whimpering.
“There you go, come on, I wanna hear you…”
Three more strokes in rapid succession, each one harder than the last, right on the crest of TJ’s left cheek. By the third one he’s jerking off the pillows again; by the fourth, he makes a wretched little cry.
“You like that?”
“Yes,” TJ gasps. The radiant heat off his ass feels like it ought to be visible from space, Jesus-Mary-and-Joseph. “Oh god yeah.”
Four more cracks right at the crease where his right cheek meets his thigh, and TJ’s biting into the flag. Whatever-it-is stings more each time he takes it in the same place, until he absolutely cannot stop wiggling to get away from it. Steve just chases after him, smacking him one more on the area he’s trying to protect, then switching to another spot and whaling on that one.
“Jesus Christ,” TJ moans. He’s starting to feel like sparks down into his fingers and it has never been this intense before. Even the dull ache in his belly is starting to feed into it.
“I’m going to set a timer,” Steve tells him. “See how many we get up to before the alarm goes off.”
“Please,” TJ pants. His entire body is one drawn out burn and he wants - fuck he wants everything. His ass is on fire, his dick is a solid ache, and any second he’s going to lift up and fly away.
How the fuck did he ever survive this high? If “Princess” guy had worked him like this, he would have gone to pieces.
Steve’s hand braces at the small of his back again, hot and powerful. Grounding. It draws all TJ’s attention directly to Steve’s fingers, and what else is he supposed to do but beg?
“Please, oh my god, fucking -- give it to me, c’mon!”
Steve shushes him -- actually shushes him, like they’re in a goddamn theatre -- and wipes a runner of sweat off TJ’s back.
With his sleeve. Christ, Steve never even got undressed.
“You’re going to count,” Steve informs him. “You lose track? You start over, with five extra from the big guy.”
“Okay. Okay, just. For fuck’s sake.”
TJ’s aware on some level he’s babbling but it doesn’t feel important right now. He aches so nice and he wants Steve to hit him harder. The stinging gives him focus in ways he hasn’t felt in years, and he needs it so fucking much. To focus.
He catches the barest flicker of motion as Steve draws the toy back far enough to enter his peripheral. It’s the goddamn bath scrub brush. A regular stupid ass stick with a loofah on the other side, and he cannot figure out why that is so hysterical.
The back of the brush comes down and stays right against his left cheek. TJ yelps and twists.
It rapidly turns into a blur after that, blow after blow right over throbbing skin. TJ sobs into his pillow, calling out the numbers as they just keep climbing higher. His fingers keep curling, his legs keep twitching, and Steve is relentless, a motherfucking machine. Somewhere around fifty he loses track completely, and what comes next feels nothing like he’s ever experienced.
“Oh my god!” he wails, overwhelmed by the sting of a goddamn giant’s hand smashing across his entire ass at once. What the fuck is that. What the fuck is that.
“Count it,” Steve rumbles.
“O-one,” TJ pants. It is still stinging. He twists his head back to look over his shoulder and holy fucking shit, that huge paddle. Right, “the big guy”. It comes down again and he flips up onto his hip, screeching.
“There you go,” Steve says. “Good, you’re doing so good.”
It doesn’t stop Steve from shoving him flat and smacking him harder.
“Three,” TJ says. He’s starting to feel wobbly, like the world is spinning too fast. Means he should probably chase with a downer, except he’s not flying right now, is he? Steve smacks him again and he’s shaking, shaking all the way down to the core.
“So good for me,” Steve says. His voice is so deep, so very fucking beautiful. “One more, you can do it.”
Somewhere high in the background he hears a weird high pitched beeping, but it’s not worth noticing. The paddle smashes down again and stays there cupped against his ass, and TJ proves Steve right.
He is screaming.
Time doesn’t stop or slow down or any of that bullshit, but it does feel like an eternity between the moment the beeping stops and Steve joining him on the bed. Steve’s hands sweep up and down TJ’s back, smoothing out the residual shudders.
“And that’s time,” Steve says, low and soothing. “Shh. Shh. I gotcha.”
“Yellow?” TJ asks. Christ. His face is a fucking mess, snot and drool and a few tears. He grinds his eyes against his arm, trying to pretend he’s not a gross wreck.
“I think we’re done for tonight,” Steve tells him. “Shh. You want a hug?”
TJ nods into his arm, still not trusting himself to sit up. He feels utterly drained, like he’s just run ten marathons without a single break. It’s not entirely a bad feeling though. Just…a lot.
Strong hands carefully push TJ up and onto his side, then tug him flush against Steve’s chest. Steve doesn’t seem to care that TJ brought the flag pillow with him, just wraps it and TJ up into his arms.
He’s so fucking warm, a tiny little furnace. TJ never, ever, wants him to let go.
“How are you feeling?” Steve asks him. There’s a hint of worry in his face. TJ closes his eyes against it.
“Good,” he mumbles. “Kinda woozy.”
“Endorphins,” Steve tells him. “I’ll get you some water.”
“No. Well. Inna minute?” TJ asks. He squeezes his pillow tighter against his chest, leans in closer to Steve’s bony body. “This is good.”
Steve rubs a hand along TJ’s side, pauses a moment to knead at his flanks. TJ wiggles into the touch like a cat.
“I like it,” TJ whispers. “Brings everything kind of...into focus.”
“Good,” Steve purrs. “Cause I like giving it to you. I like you.”
And there’s a million things he ought to say, lewd or funny or self-depreciating, but for the moment he swallows it all down and nods. His ass is throbbing, his dick is still half hard, but TJ’s content just to lie still and accept the affection.
If Steve notices TJ’s eyes prickling again, he doesn’t say a thing.