Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The cutting starts after the ice. Steve's head is all messed up in the cabin SHIELD puts him in and he can feel himself slipping. Everything is too much, and trying to manage his recovery and his creeping subsickness at the same time proves impossible.

He has a pocket knife, one of the only things of his own that was returned to him, and the cutting helps calm things down. He tells himself it’s okay, because he heals pretty fast. The cuts stop bleeding quickly, and most of them are pale pink lines or disappear completely within a few days.

The weight of the knife in his pocket becomes a comfort. He checks for it subconsciously throughout his day, the knowledge that he can use it when he has a moment alone helping to calm him almost as much as the act itself.

He tries not to think about it. He feels crazy enough, waking up in the future and dealing with the anxiety and stress of SHIELD’s reintegration program. He knows his reliance on the knife is wrong. He knows he's drowning.

The seventy year gap would be bad enough, but he’s a sub, and he can feel the stress getting to him. Bucky and Peggy, the two people closest to being a dom for him, are dead or dying. He’s alone, with nothing but a knife and the temporary relief of the pain it brings to fight off his own spiralling thoughts. Maybe that's why he barely fights it when SHIELD decides he needs a contract with a dom.

The idea terrifies him in a distant way that he tolerates by remaining numb to it. If anything else, that is proof of how far gone he is right now. He has a poor history with doms. He could barely tolerate letting himself go down for Bucky and Peggy because of it. If he didn’t feel so sick and empty and lost he’d tell SHIELD he doesn’t want a dom. Tell them whichever poor sod they get to contract won’t want him.

But he’s tired, and his thoughts are slow and foggy. His skin prickles and he can’t sleep and the only way he can make it through the day without shaking apart in panic attacks is with secret cuts on his arms and thighs.

He will admit, when SHIELD introduces him to Brock Rumlow and draws up the final contract, part of him hopes that somehow, someway, this will actually work. He will be able to be a good sub this time. Brock will be able to make him feel better. Anything must be better than staying like this.

Subbing is different now then when Steve was growing up. Brock explains things patiently to him. They know more about what subs need nowadays, so that means Brock knows how to help him.

Steve tries his best, and he can see Brock trying too. He’s patient and gentle for their first few sessions, like Bucky and Peggy were. He doesn’t even push for sex. Still, his old demons raise their heads and Steve has difficulty with subbing. With his subsickness rising and his anxiety over trapping Brock in this contract closing in, he finally breaks down after several unsatisfactory sessions and tells Brock about his past history with doms.

Sometimes he wishes he never did that.

The one good thing is Brock promises not to leave. He isn't going to abandon Steve no matter how rubbish he is as a sub. That's what a contract means. Steve, who has been rejected by more doms than he can count, and who's only friends who ever truly helped him are dead or dying, clings to that for all he is worth.

Brock has plans, ways he wants to try to help Steve, ways to train him to be a better sub. He’s certain Steve can do it with enough practice. Steve has had doms like that in the past, ones who stuck around longer to try to ease him into what was expected of him. Inevitably they all left, frustrated and unsatisfied.

They have a contract though. Brock isn’t going to leave. All Steve needs to do is let him help him.

The term ‘safeword’ wasn't exactly a common phrase when Steve was growing up, but concept itself existed. With Bucky or Peggy he could just say stop, and they would, even if all they were doing was touching his hair. But he understands why some subs might need a different word depending on their scene. When he was signing his contract with Brock, there was a line there to write down an official word.

After he tells Brock about his long failure with doms, he says he will help him.

"But safewords are a crutch. We can't have you backing out every time something gets a little uncomfortable. You'll never learn that way."

Maybe that was the problem with his past doms, but it's hard. Sometimes when he's down and scared he can't stop himself, and he tries to safeword anyway.

Brock gagged him for their next three sessions after that. When he asked the next time if Steve had a safeword, he knew the answer to that question.

A good thing about the contract is it stipulates they aren’t in a relationship outside of scenes. Steve doesn’t need to try to force himself to be comfortable with kissing or dating or romantic affection. They don’t do public scenes, and Brock treats him like a coworker while on missions.

That’s a relief. He doesn’t know what he would do if he had to respond to hands around his waist or pecks on lips all the time. As it is, they have a schedule. He goes to Brock’s apartment for a scene every week, or, if that doesn’t work, they do one in one of SHIELD’s session rooms after a mission.

His sessions with Brock are...

He tries not to think about them during the week. The first few ones done in the SHIELD facility he was initially placed in were close to what he did with Bucky and Peggy. Similar too to some of his other doms who took things slowly at the beginning.

He should be grateful for that, but even then, he struggled to relax, because he knows what will come eventually. It always comes. Only with Bucky and Peggy did he eventually become convinced that they weren’t going to ask for sex, or punish him when he couldn’t do it. But then again, were they even his doms in that case?

The thing about his scenes with Brock is, he’s gentle about it, even when he’s hurting Steve. He tells Steve what he wants at the beginning of the scene, and he tells Steve the punishment he will incur if he can’t do it, and even as he’s pulling out a paddle, or whip, or ordering Steve into a position, he’s apologetic about it.

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts. Just a few more. We just need to drive home the lesson a little more, okay?”

Steve has never liked being hit, or hurt, or reprimanded by his dom. Brock isn’t the first dom who’s tried to use physical punishment to curb his behaviour. The promise of pain just makes Steve panic. It makes it harder for him to comply and do what Brock wants.

But Brock doesn’t want to hurt him. He says so, over and over again, cooing over him when it’s over and reminding him that if Steve could just relax and let Brock take care of him, they wouldn’t have to do this.

Steve tries. He tries every time. But it’s so hard.

Sometimes, Steve hates being a sub. Actually, most of the time Steve hates being a sub.

Before the war, he gave up on finding a dom who would want him, and who he would be able to please. He knows what the issue is. It’s easy to spot. Every time sex comes into the equation, he starts to falter as the good, obedient sub who is supposed to let their dom help them, and give their dom what they want.

He wants to want it, but every time he has to use his mouth or body, or let himself be touched, even simply kissed, he feels nauseous and rife with panic. He fights back in his scenes, pulls away, flinches, loses his composure, cries. The punishments and corrections from some of his doms just make things worse.

Gradually, he could barely tolerate even regular sub things, like kneeling or going into subspace, because of the looming inevitability of sex and/or punishment.

He thinks the only way he survived up until the war is because of Bucky, and eventually Peggy. Neither of them ever asked for sex. They never touched him in places he didn’t want, and they never hurt him for his shameful inability to tolerate it.

But Bucky and Peggy are gone now. He’s still a sub who has needs, even if he hates them. He’s supposed to want this, and he can feel his mind and sanity fraying apart at the seams as it is. Bucky and Peggy’s gentleness didn’t fix this part of him, and the knife he keeps on him is a constant reminder of how messed up he is.

He doesn’t know what he needs, that’s what Brock says. Brock knows how messed up his head is from the war, and the ice, and his past doms. “Everything is tangled up inside,” he says. “You think you don’t want things, but it’s just a mistake. You’re a sub, it’s basic fact what you need.”

He’s heard that before. He hates it. He hates every moment of it, but that’s probably exactly what Brock is talking about.

He tries to look on the bright side. He’s in a contract now, and as miserable and difficult as it is making it through the scenes as Brock tries to train his body, tries to succeed where every dom has failed before, at least... At least Steve isn’t alone.

(Everyone he knows is dead.)

Brock uses padded cuffs when he locks Steve down onto the bed. He's careful that way. He doesn't hit Steve or injure him in places other people could see.

"We wouldn't want other people to see what a bad sub you are, now would we?”

He probably means it teasingly. Or maybe he means it truthfully, reminding Steve of his kindness in not broadcasting to the world how worthless the sub he’s tied to is. Either way, Steve tells himself he should be grateful. Brock is still being very patient with him as he tries to train him. Steve is lucky he doesn’t want marks for other people to see.

The cuffs aren't reinforced. Steve could break out of them if he tried. He doesn’t. He broke them once accidentally, flinching during sex, and Brock beat the bottoms of his feet bloody so he couldn't leave until they healed.

"I guess we need another way to keep you in place," he said, before telling him he needed a firm hand.

It took two days for Steve's feet to fully heal. Two days of only crawling when Brock let him up from the bed. Two days trapped in subspace as he tried to learn Brock’s rules. Steve is careful not to pull against the restraints after that.

He doesn’t know why, but the pain from Brock’s punishments doesn’t give him the same relief as the pain when he cuts. That hasn’t gone away. He tried to hide it initially, but Brock saw it soon enough after he started taking Steve’s clothes off every session.

The first time he sees them he rubs his thumb over the pink lines of almost healed flesh on the inside of Steve’s wrist. Steve doesn’t pull away. Flinching away from Brock when he touches him is against the rules.

“You do this?”

Steve nods, his heart pounding. He doesn’t know how Brock will react and shame seeps into every vein in his body. Here is concrete proof for Brock of how messed up he is. He’s a sub who hurts himself, and he doesn’t even want to stop. He hopes Brock doesn’t make him stop, If he takes away his knife—

The thought fills him with a flare of panic, but he needn’t have worried, because when Brock speaks, he isn’t angry.

“Well, I guess it isn’t a surprise given how unstable you are,” he says, blowing out a breath. “I suppose it’s inevitable.”

Steve flinches, then flinches again when Brock pets his cheek in apology.

“Aw, don’t be like that, sub. It’s fine. Besides, you heal fast, right? So it’s not even a big deal.”

“Right,” Steve croaks.

After that, Steve doesn’t bother trying to hide the cutting. Brock doesn’t seem to mind, even when the frequency starts leaving faint scars on the skin cut most often. Sometimes, in the middle of a rough session, Brock will run his fingers over the scars, a look in his eye, like he’s admiring them. It’s a soft touch, which despite all of Brock’s gentle words, is beginning to feel like a rarity, so Steve tries to let it feel good.

He wants it to feel good. Mostly he just feels empty.

It isn’t always punishment, or the rough play that Brock seems to prefer. After it’s over, Brock will release his wrists, remove the gag if needed, and massage the tension out of his jaw. He rubs cooling cream into the welts on Steve’s back and on more intimate areas. He lets Steve lay next to him, a hand in his hair. And even though they usually still don’t have clothes on, and there’s always some final sexual service Steve has to give (it’s only fair, Brock says), these moments almost make the beatings and restraints and unwanted touches worth it.

Which makes it even worst when Brock takes it away.

Brock says he isn’t going to give up on Steve, but sometimes, when he gets especially frustrated with him, he leaves. He delays the wind down part of the session, leaving Steve on the bed to ‘think about what he did’, cold and alone.

Steve is— He gets bad in his head being alone. Down in subspace he struggles to keep from panicking. He’s alone. Everyone is dead and Brock is disappointed with him and no matter how hard Steve tries he can never be a good enough sub for him.

It’s hard to remember, but he thinks that is the first time he punished himself while in subspace. He was lost in his head, scared and aching from the scene and spiralling after failing again and being left alone.

Brock tells him later that he threw his head back and hit the headboard. Brock’s fingers are careful and gentle as he feels Steve’s head for the lump, checking his pupils for a concussion.

Steve can’t think of much beyond the relief of Brock’s return. He always comes back. They’re contracted. He always comes to finish off the sessions and sooth the sting of his various punishments. Steve’s hands are shaking so hard he can’t button his own shirt and he bit the inside of his cheek when he hit his head.

“You’re okay,” Brock tells him, tapping his forehead with his index finger. “You just gotta overcome that brain of yours. The wiring’s a little screwed up in there, but we’ll get there.”

His scenes with Brock are supposed to help him. He’s supposed to have an easier time now that his needs as a sub are being met, but he still feels like a walking zombie when he moves into the Avengers’ Tower.

He still feels numb most days, like there’s a wall in his mind that separates him from the other Avengers. They laugh at shows, grimace in disgust at regrettable take-out, shout in anger, and cheer for a mission well done, but his own emotions always feel distant.

There’s something wrong with him. Something Brock can’t fix no matter how hard he tries. Something no one can fix. He’s going down more regularly than he ever has in his life, he has a dom contracted to him, who is dedicated to trying to help him and Steve feels—

Sometimes it feels like he’s dying. When he wakes up with no air in his lungs, or works himself into a frenzy of circling thoughts and shaking hands. He still can’t sleep much, and his stomach churns with nausea on the daily, making it hard to eat. He’s struck with flares of panic out of the blue, bolts of anxiety nearly crushing him in the middle of a meeting with Fury, or a group meal with the team, or crossing the street for a run.

He makes it through with his knife. His hand finds it in his pocket and he hangs on until he can find somewhere private and then he lets everything go, slipping into the calming rhythm and stinging pain of one cut after the other.

JARVIS doesn’t approve, but he can’t tell anyone unless it becomes a major injury, so Steve is able to continue the habit in the Tower unhindered.

Sometimes it’s hard to think without his thoughts going in circles. Sometimes he feels like he’s going crazy.

If he thinks about it, he might admit that he feels like he’s gotten worse since Brock became his dom. With Bucky and Peggy, Steve had progressed enough to tolerate kneeling, hands petting his hair, and being held even without a blanket barrier sometimes.

With Brock, he’s able to control himself most of the time. He’s able to kneel, and hold himself in the positions Brock wants. He can force his mouth to open, and hold himself still. But his mind is a mess.

He’s started having panic attacks before his sessions with Brock. The anxiety of the approaching date looms over him for most of the week as it is, but as the day gets closer and closer, he gets even worse. His sleep is practically non-existent the night before. He spends half the morning hyperventilating on his bathroom floor while JARVIS tries to talk to him. His hands shake the whole trip to Brock’s apartment. He has to stop in the subway terminal bathroom to throw up.

Still. He’s there. He’s trying. That’s good, right? It’s the effort that counts. He’s never given up on a fight, and sooner or later his body will get the message, right? It’s just faulty wiring. His brain needs to be retrained. This is all just part of the process. Growing pains.

Brock greets him with a smile at the door, and Steve’s face feels taut, his mind already being overrun by the foggy emptiness that washes over him for most of these. It isn’t subspace, at least, he doesn’t think it is.

It doesn’t feel like it did in his best sessions with Bucky or Peggy. That felt light and floaty, safe. This is like a heavy exhaustion that weighs down his thoughts and dampens his emotions. He doesn’t know how to explain it to Brock, who seems to take his glassy-eyed expression and apparent apathy as signs of his headspace.

Then again, Steve could be wrong. He acknowledges that to himself as Brock pulls him into the bedroom. Steve stands blankly as Brock begins to undress him, watching his own limbs moving like he’s some sort of doll.

Maybe this is subspace. He probably doesn’t have a lot of reference. Most of his doms have failed to get him to, or keep him in subspace, and a lot of the time with Bucky he was going into a drop because of a bad scene. Maybe he really doesn’t know what subspace feels like with a proper dom that sticks around for more than a few weeks. Brock knows so much about scenes and domming, he’d know when Steve is in subspace, right?

But, a tiny voice in his head pleads, so faint it’s more of a feeling than a thought. If it was subspace, shouldn’t I feel better than this?

Maybe this is just another sign of how broken he is.

Whatever state he’s in, be it subspace or something else, Steve remains only half-tethered to his body for most of the session. Brock lays him down on the bed, guiding Steve’s wrists up into familiar restraints on the headboard.

He doesn’t explain their scenes much anymore. He expects Steve to know by now.

He leans over him, his body touching him in ways that has Steve blocking out those parts of himself in his mind. Brock leans down, crowding him, grabbing his chin. Steve’s breath hitches and Brock kisses him. Steve can’t make himself kiss back, but Brock doesn’t seem to mind as long as Steve doesn’t fight it.

He can be good. He can be good. Just let it happen.

He hates it. He hates it. He can’t get the feeling off his mouth. He wants to claw it off. He wants to pull away, press his head back into the mattress. His own lips disgust him. His mouth wants to flee off his face. His throat is swelling shut. It doesn’t stop. He can feel it. He can feel Brock’s tongue and taste it and hear it and every touch and sound grates on him. He wants it to STOP.

He's shaking, his whole body vibrating on the bed. Tears slip out of his eyes, rolling down the sides of his face.

Usually this is the point when his past doms would push away in frustration or disgust or pity. Usually by this point the scene would be ruined for them. Brock doesn't stop though. He never does. He says he isn't giving up on him.

"Good job, sub," he says, voice low, and Steve tries to focus on the praise rather than the hand running down his chest, trailing lower, promising more. Revulsion twists sharply in his gut. "I know this is hard for you."

Steve wants him to stop. He wants to safeword. He wants to pull against the restraints holding his hands down. He wants to throw up. He wants to cut. He wants—

Brock leans over him again and Steve slips away in his head. He’s pretty sure it isn’t the same as subspace, but it makes everything numb, blurry, far away. It's easier.

He sits curled up against his shower wall for a while, warm water beating down on him. JARVIS will make sure it stays warm. His eyes are unfocused, staring at blurry fixtures beyond the glass door.

He has his knife in his fist, pressed against his palm. He hasn’t cut yet. He can’t move yet. He can’t even find the energy to focus his eyes. This happens sometimes. He’ll come back to himself eventually. At some point, he’ll be able to draw in a deep breath. He’ll be able to pull his focus back to his body. He’ll be able to use his knife to anchor it.

For now though, he lets his mind be nothing. He lets himself be empty. He lets the water wash away the sweat and pain and things he’d rather not think about from the session.

Six days until he has to go back for his next scene.

Brock says he isn’t going to give up on Steve. Sometimes he wishes he would.

Sometimes at night, when he can’t sleep, or when Brock texts him a reminder for a new training idea he has for their next scene, Steve thinks about ending the contract. It’s always a knee-jerk, instinctual thought, born from the urge to run, to hide away from his situation.

He knows contracts are easier to break nowadays. He learned about the push for better protections for subs in the decades after the war.

There are ways to break contracts now, but what use is that to him? SHIELD made it clear he needed to be scenening regularly as a sub if they were going to trust him in the field. Even if he broke his contract with Brock, he would only find himself in another contract.

He needs to stay on with SHIELD. He doesn’t know what he’ll do without their missions. Running missions is the one thing he isn’t messing up. He may be a terrible sub and falling apart at the seams, but he’s still useful as Captain America.

Not only that, but SHIELD is how he’s on the Avengers. If he leaves SHIELD, he’ll probably have to leave the Avengers too. He’ll be alone again. He’s gotten used to living with them in the Tower. It’s so much better than the lonely apartment he was first put in. He likes waking up to JARVIS talking, and finding Clint making pancakes in the kitchen, and listening to Tony plan equipment upgrades.

He isn’t alone in the Tower. He’s got a team, he has people who are alive and know him. He can’t lose that.

So breaking the contract with Brock will do nothing, because he will only find himself in another contract to appease SHIELD, and he’s certain he will not find another dom as patient as Brock.

As much as he hates the sex and roughness, and as difficult as the punishments are to bear, Brock is still probably the best dom he could get. Who would want a sub like him besides someone forced into a contract like Brock was? Who would be willing to stick it out and try to teach him over and over how to be a good sub? Who would still nurse his wounds afterwards and tolerate Steve’s continued breakdowns during scenes?

(Who, besides Bucky, who is dead, and Peggy, who doesn’t remember him.)

“You’re lucky to have me,” Brock tells him. “No one else would want a sub like you.”

oOo

Steve doesn’t expect anything to ever change. When he looks into the future, all he sees is a bleak horizon of pain and numbness. Little did he know though, an Avengers mission completed just shy of a year after he contracted with Brock will turn everything on it’s head.

He misses his regularly scheduled scene with Brock because of it. That’s how it starts. Brock is miffed and grumpy about it, his irritation coming across perfectly in his texts. He’s been grumpy for a while, so it isn’t a surprise. Brock keeps bringing up the idea of him moving to D.C. But Steve would have to go with him if he did, and Steve doesn’t want to leave the Tower. To appease Brock’s touchy temper, Steve promises to tell him when they get back from their mission. Privately though, he’s relieved to be given a few extra days without being forced down again.

The mission goes well, lasting almost a week. They return exhausted to the Tower and Steve texts Brock as he promised.

He should’ve expected it, but his stomach drops in horror when Brock makes it clear he expects Steve to come over right now for a session. He’s tired, drained from the fight and looking forward to a shower and a proper night’s rest. He hasn't even changed out of his uniform yet. He is not at all in a place to make it through a scene right now. He needs to brace himself. He needs time.

He doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want to go.

Last time, Brock used a gag that kept Steve’s mouth open. He left him like that for hours, not letting him close his mouth so he could use him for as long as he liked. So Steve could learn to accept him in his mouth.

Steve’s fingers are sweaty as he texts Brock. His plea to be allowed to rest first before their session is little more than a beg, but he’s too strung out to come up with anything else.

Fine, Brock replies. I’ll come over there then. Be ready for me.

Steve is a frozen statue, staring at the words. His mind is a kite, being torn apart in high winds. He can’t think, he can’t breathe. He can’t feel anything beyond abject horror.

He doesn’t want Brock to come to the Tower. He never thought about it like that before, but now with the threat of it looming so close, that truth could not be more clear. Brock is not supposed to be in the Tower. The Tower is— It’s somewhere Brock isn’t.

Steve’s hand is numb around his phone as he stares around his room. He doesn’t want Brock here. Brock can’t be here. He can’t have a scene with Brock in his room. In his bed. This place is supposed to be— It’s supposed to be safe.

He isn’t ready. He isn’t ready for this. He can’t today. He just can’t. He needs— He—

He can feel himself panting, feel the gag Brock used on his mouth. Brock is going to be so mad if he finds him like this. Already falling apart.

That’s the last coherent thought Steve has. His terror overwhelms him. The phone falls from his hand. He needs somewhere safe. Not the bed. He’s hiding. Curled up under the desk. His mouth hurts. He’s being a bad sub. He doesn’t want to open his mouth.

He doesn’t know how much time passes. His head is hazy, his thoughts dripping slowly through layers of fear.

There’s someone in his room. Brock? A spike of terror. But no. Someone else.

The figure crouches down in front of him, his face lit up by the phone screen. Tony.

If he were in a better state of mind, Steve might wonder how Tony got here. He might wonder what Tony thinks of him, finding him crouching like some rabid dog in the dark, alone in his room.

But mostly he watches Tony’s eyes watching him. His eyes are soft brown. Kind. Worried. They flick over Steve’s face, then down to the phone, then back up again.

“Steve,” he says. His voice is quiet. Steve likes that. It isn’t sharp or demanding, doesn’t dig into his head like a fire poker stabbing him through. “Are you afraid of Brock? Is that what’s happening?”

Steve flinches. His mouth hurts. His hand is by his mouth. There’s blood on his tongue. Did Brock do that? No. Steve bit his tongue, maybe. Or the gag cut into his cheek. There’s a sharp pain on his lips. Oh, it’s his fingers. There’s a gag on his mouth that he needs to get off. Or, no. Not yet. But Brock is coming.

That thought flares bright with clarity. Brock is coming. He’s going to hurt him.

“Please.” Steve barely even realises he’s speaking. “Please. I can’t today. I can’t. Please.”

He doesn’t want to go down for Brock. He hates it. He can’t— He’s being a bad sub. He needs to—

Tony is talking. “—doesn’t have to be here. JARVIS will tell security not to let him in, okay? He’s not coming.”

Steve’s eyes drop away from him, shame filling him. He shouldn’t be like this. Now Tony knows what a bad sub he is. He shouldn’t be relieved Brock isn’t coming. His nails cut deeper into his lips.

“I just can’t today.”

The excuse is weak and pathetic, but Tony doesn’t get mad.

“That’s okay, I promise. But you’re dropping, Steve.” Oh. Steve flinches before he can stop himself. He doesn’t want to be in subspace. Especially not a drop. He can’t get out of a drop by himself. He can’t get up unless Brock lets him. Nausea presses against his throat and he barely hears Tony’s next words.

“I can stay here,” he says, his voice so gentle it hurts. “I don’t want to leave you like this. I promise I won’t hurt you. We won’t do anything you don’t want to do.”

Steve begins to rock back and forth. He can’t stop it, just like he can’t stop the whimper that escapes his lips. He can barely think. His head is full of static. He’s being a bad sub. He’s supposed to be happy to service his dom.

His dom isn’t here. It’s Tony. Tony is— He doesn’t know the rules with Tony. He doesn’t know what he wants. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

He tries to be a good sub. “Yes, sir,” he manages. He just hopes— He just hopes Tony doesn’t hurt him.

“I’m going to help you, Steve. It’s going to be okay.” Despite himself, the tone soothes something in Steve. It’s almost like it will be okay. He just needs to trust Tony. That’s what subs are supposed to do, right? His mind just keeps getting hazier, and he drags a nail over his lip again, trying to focus.

Tony’s next words throw everything into the air. “Do you have a safeword?”

Steve jerks back, breath squeezing from his lungs. His head is full of angry hands and sharp words, and his own whimpering and the bite of a whip and the sting of a gag in his mouth and his all-consuming desperation to just be good so it will stop—

“No.” He can’t get the words out fast enough. “No, sir. I promise.”

That isn’t what Tony does with his subs though. Steve listens uncomprehendingly as Tony explains his own rule. Steve has to have a safeword. Tony asks if he has one, and Steve thinks of one, a word to make him safe, but he doesn’t dare say it. Instead Tony teaches him a safeword system. Red for stop, yellow for slow down, and green for good.

It’s hard for Steve to follow his words. His mind feels like it’s stretching and contracting through molasses. He has to fight to pay attention and understand Tony’s words as he guides him through the safewords again and again. It doesn’t make any sense, because this is not how he’s supposed to be a good sub, but this is what Tony wants. Steve just wants to be good, so he tries.

“Good, you’re doing good,” Tony says, and Steve sighs in relief. It’s so hard for him to be good. At least this time he’s managed not to mess up.

He keeps trying to be good as Tony guides him out of his hiding place, leading him over to the bathroom. The lights are glaringly bright, but Tony dims them almost right away, before getting Steve to sit down on the toilet lid.

Steve’s mind is already drifting away to somewhere else, but he drags himself back down when Tony leans in to meet his eye.

“I’m going to go get your clothes,” he says, and then there’s a warm towel in Steve’s lap. It’s so distracting that Steve almost misses the next part. “I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Then Tony is gone, and Steve’s breath hitches. He was bad already. Tony is leaving him. He won’t come back for hours and hours and he’ll leave Steve cold and strapped down because he was bad—

Then Tony comes back, and the warm towel is still across Steve’s thighs, leeching warmth into his bloody fingers. His mouth hurts.

His eyes are stinging and he can’t stop himself from beginning to rock unsteadily again. “Don’t go,” he rasps, fighting back tears. “Please, don’t go.” He’s so pathetic.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, Steve. You’re okay.” Steve can’t reply. His lips tingle and he is bringing his hand up to claw at them again before he knows it. Tony’s hand catches his wrist, and Steve expects it to pinch tight, squeeze him to the bone, but it stays gentle, only holding him.

“Ah, ah, sweetheart.” Tony’s voice is gentle too. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Oh. Steve’s thoughts get a little floaty. Sweetheart. Brock doesn’t call him that. Brock doesn’t call him anything, except sub. Bucky and Peggy had sweet words for him though. Peggy called him darling, and Bucky called him doll.

He barely registers when Tony asks if he can change his clothes. Steve remembers then that he is still in his suit, the rough, heavy fabric grating against his skin. He doesn’t want to get naked, but he doesn’t want to stay in these clothes, and Tony is looking up at him so kindly as he asks for his colour.

“Green,” Steve manages. It’s what Tony wants. He’s being good. And Tony will— Surely he will be gentle. He’s been so patient so far.

Tony begins to take off his top and gets a warm cloth to wipe down his skin of sweat and grime. Brock never did this, even when they scened right after missions. It’s... really nice. Steve’s body and mind go limp. His thoughts have never been further away. His tongue is weighed down by something unseen in his mouth. His head feels heavy and part of him just wants to lean into Tony’s chest and close his eyes.

Bucky did this, he thinks. The memory feels far away. A mix of stress from a battle, but then relief as Bucky’s hands guide him out of a bloody uniform and wash blood off his face. The gentle touches leave Steve gooey, melting on the inside. He feels... he feels deep in subspace.

This is how it feels. That’s important, but he can’t remember why.

Tony is wiping down his forearm. Steve watches him with half-lidded eyes. He could sleep right here, maybe. He’s really tired.

“Did you hurt yourself, sweetheart?” Tony’s voice is kind and it takes Steve some time to figure out what he’s talking about. His eyes finally drop down to his arm, where he sees pink lines on his wrist, marks from... before now. He can’t remember when. Not long ago.

He hums. He likes the feeling in his chest. He thinks normally he might not like Tony seeing his cuts, the proof of how messed up he is. But right now, he doesn’t care. Everything feels floaty and golden and the cuts aren’t a big deal.

“Hurt,” he says, because he can’t get any other words out. He hurt himself. He hurts.

“Yeah,” Tony says, and his eyes look dark and sad in a way that makes Steve want to reach out and touch his face. “Did you do this?”

Steve nods, and it takes a lot of work to keep his chin from touching his chest. He feels dizzy, but in a giddy way. He almost smiles. Tony doesn’t need to be sad. He feels great right now.

But then Tony is helping him into a long sleeve shirt and taking off his pants. The shirt helps, because Steve isn’t all the way naked, but his chest tightens up again, and the golden feeling starts slipping away. Cold fear is creeping into his heart again. He has to fight the urge to grip at his wrist, the one with the pink scars.

Where is his knife?

Before he can follow that thought, Tony sits back and begins to wash his feet. That’s better than where Steve thought he would touch him, but he can only relax so much.

“Did Brock know about these?” There’s more scars on Steve’s legs, Tony must be looking at them. Steve almost flinches, remembering Brock’s fingers as he touched them, dragging up his body—

He doesn’t have his knife so he bites the inside of his cheek and nods, answering Tony’s question. “S'okay,” he manages, because Tony’s eyes look sad again. “Heals.” It always stopped bleeding quick. It’s not a big deal.

There’s complicated things happening with Tony’s face, but Steve can’t read it like this. He forgets about deciphering his expressions as Tony continues to clean up his legs. Steve can’t stop fidgeting. He tries not to, because he isn’t supposed to fight these things and he doesn’t want to be punished like this. Tony is so patient. He stops and asks for colours again, even though he doesn’t have to and Steve can’t say anything but ‘green’ because maybe this is a test and—

He tries so hard, but loses it when Tony reaches his underwear. One second he’s trying to hold still, the next he’s flinching and almost grabbing Tony’s hands to stop him. He snatches his hands away, head swirling with panic.

His hands are on his mouth again, digging into skin and then Tony is there, telling him not to, and Steve ducks away. He pulls back, whining pathetically as he flinches. He’s such a bad sub. Tony told him not to hurt himself, and Brock told him not to fight it, but he can’t stop. Why can he never stop?

He doesn’t even think about it as his other hand comes up to hit himself in the head. Brock doesn’t get mad when he does this. Sometimes if he punishes himself first, proves he knows what he did wrong, Brock won’t punish him again after.

He just wants to be good. Is that so much to ask?

Then Tony’s hands are on his wrists again. “Don’t—” His eyes are wide and Steve is shaking so much he’s making them both shake. “No need for that, sweetheart, okay?”

Steve’s thoughts are a tsunami, crashing over him and drowning him. Everything is too much. This isn’t how Brock would respond. This isn’t— He doesn’t know what to do. He feels sick. His eyes are wet. His mouth hurts. Where is his knife? He needs—

Tony hugs him. He’s warm, his whole body wrapping around him. Steve collapses. 

His head is too full with static to think about if he deserves this sort of gentleness. He craves it so much. He almost never gets this. He just wants— He just wants this. Please.

His face is in Tony’s neck. Tony’s hand is rubbing his back, and it doesn’t start to drift lower. It just stays there, rubbing soothing touches into his shoulder blades.

“There.” Tony’s voice is even softer than before, his throat vibrating as he talks. “You’re okay. It’s okay.” Steve clings to him. He’s gasping, panting against Tony’s neck. He feels like if he lifts his head he will stop breathing. “What was that, hmm? Can you tell me?”

Steve sobs. All control of his body seems to be lost. His stomach clenches and rolls with nausea. “Bad sub,” he admits shamefully. “’m a bad sub.” 

He knew that already, but now Tony will know. Tony will know how much correction he needs and how hard it is to be his dom. He’ll know he’s not supposed to encourage Steve’s breakdowns with soft touches and safewords and—

He doesn’t even realise he tries to hit himself again until Tony stops him. Instead of letting Steve go, the very least of what he deserves, Tony squeezes him tighter and begins to rock him soothingly.

“Is that why you hit yourself?”

It’s hard to answer all these questions. Steve’s tongue is heavy and his brain is swamped with fog. But he tries, pressing harder against Tony as he fights to get the words out. 

“S’posed to want—” He doesn’t even want to think about it. “Touch. There.” His hand is tight in Tony’s shirt, as if that will keep him from leaving him. “Don’t wan’ it. Don’t wan’ it. Bad sub.”

There’s silence and he has to fight back a mournful sound. Now Tony knows. He’s learned what every other dom he’s had has struggled with. It isn’t fair! He tries so hard. He wants to be a good sub, he just—

Suddenly, he needs Tony to know that this, what’s happening to him now, this instability is something he knows is wrong. He doesn’t usually lose it like this. He’s better than this. He just—

“I just can’t today.” It takes all his effort to speak a full sentence. “Please. ‘m tired.” He just can’t endure it today. It’s too much today. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. Please.

“Oh.” Once again, instead of pulling away, Tony wraps him up tighter, like he’s never going to let go. “Oh, no, sweetheart, you’re not a bad sub. You’re so good, aren’t you?” Steve whines, and Tony rubs his back. “It’s okay you don’t want to be touched there. It’s good you told me. It’s okay. That’s a red area, see? It’s okay. You’re allowed to have red areas.”

His words are too much, too fast to fully grasp with his head like melted toffee, sluggish and slow. But he remembers the safewords. Red. That was for stop. Tony is giving him red for that. He’s allowed red for that.

The relief is swift and overwhelming. He’d forgotten what safewords could do. He forgot it was a rule with Tony. He didn’t think the word could apply for something like this. He can’t stop what comes next. He’s crying, great gulping, snotty tears into Tony’s shirt, but Tony doesn’t get mad.

He keeps soothing him, holding him and rubbing his back and murmuring soft words into his hair. It’s the safest Steve has felt in a long time.

Eventually Tony gets him up and into the pants he brought. Steve is still shaky, his eyes puffy and his throat sore. The pants are soft and warm and Tony doesn’t touch between his legs at all as he helps him put them on.

It’s hard to walk to the bed. Steve is so tired he could sit down and sleep on the bathmat if Tony let him. But Tony leads him to the bed and lays him down under the blankets. Steve’s eyes close for just a second, but when he opens them, Tony has a first aid kit from the bathroom.

He takes a tube of something out and a damp cloth and begins to clean the cuts around Steve’s mouth. Steve hums, head getting floaty again. This feels a lot like the parts after his sessions with Brock, but he hasn’t even done anything with Tony yet.

Tony is... Tony is really nice.

Still, when Tony finishes treating his mouth, it looks for a second like he might leave and Steve can’t stop himself from reaching out for him. He would never ask for this with Brock, he’s supposed to accept what happens in their scenes without complaint, but he can’t be left alone now.

“Don’t leave.” He’s begging. He knows he’s begging but he’s so desperate he doesn’t care, as long as Tony stays with him. “Please. Everybody leaves.”

Bucky and Peggy and Brock and every other dom. Everyone leaves.

Tony doesn’t. Tony slips into the bed next to him and he lets Steve curl into him. Usually he can’t do this with Brock unless he does something for Brock first. He has half-a-thought to offer that to Tony too, but he’s so tired and Tony is warm and he’s got his arms around him.

The golden floaty feeling wraps all around Steve and his eyes close.

He doesn’t know how much time passes. He stays cocooned in the warmth for a long time. He floats up periodically, waking to find Tony still with him, still gentle. He checks, because he remembers what he’s supposed to do for these parts, but every time he offers to service Tony, he pulls his hand away.

“Red, remember, sweetheart?”

Just those three words send bubbles of bliss through Steve’s blood. He grins, he hums, he tries to wiggle himself closer to Tony, like he could press into his skin and express his gratitude through more than wordless sounds. 

He’s allowed red. He’s allowed red for that.

He wakes up after a while. He’s warm. Tony’s chest is under his head, his arm around his shoulders. Steve hums pleasantly. Tony’s other hand comes up and Steve doesn’t even flinch when he runs his fingers through his hair. He presses his cheek against Tony’s chest and closes his eyes.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He opens his eyes and Tony is looking down at him. “How are you feeling?”

Steve grins at him, dopey and soft. “Mhmm.”

Tony smiles at him. That feels nice. “Yeah?” Tony’s arm moves and Steve finds himself being coaxed up. Steve moves easily, leaning against Tony’s side. He blinks and then there’s something at his mouth. He opens automatically and a grape slips inside.

“Good job, sweetheart.” The words are like liquid gold through his veins. Tony continues to feed him bits of food, cheese, crackers, an almond, a dry piece of salami. Then there’s a water bottle. Tony gets him to hold it himself, helping him tip it up to his mouth.

Then the platter of food is on the bed between them and Tony is encouraging him to choose which things he wants to eat next.

It’s hard to pick. Steve’s thoughts are slow, like dripping honey, but each decision gets a little easier. Tony murmurs encouragement, while talking about little things with him. He asks him how the food is, if Steve wants more water, if he’s comfortable. Then the questions start getting more intricate. Tony asks about his plans for the day, what he thinks about Clint’s latest antics.

Each question makes the floatiness ease back. It’s slow, and gentle, but the second Steve realises it’s happening, he drops the piece of red pepper he was about to eat. His eyes widen and he curls up, pulling away from Tony. His hands come up to his ears.

“No,” he mumbles. “No, no.”

Tony’s voice is soft and concerned. “Hey, what’s going on?” His hand reaches out and touches the back of Steve’s hand, gentle, without trying to move him. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t wanna come up.” Steve’s voice is still slurred. It’s frantic. He’s floating somewhere halfway up and the calm that used to be everywhere is bleeding into fear. The fear compounds on itself. He doesn’t want to come up. He wants to stay here.

“Hey, hey.” Tony’s voice is soothing, his hands coming up to touch Steve’s face. He holds it so gently and Steve whimpers. His hands move to hold Tony’s and he squeezes his eyes shut. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Tony rubs his thumbs along Steve’s cheekbones. Here is safe. Here he’s with Tony and not Brock. Once he comes up he will have to deal with everything. He’ll have to go back to Brock. He’ll have to see Tony’s eyes after this and face the reality of what happened to him.

“No, hey, it’s okay.” All at once the food platter is moved and Tony is hugging him again, his hand running through his hair. “Deep breaths, okay, sweetheart? Deep breaths.”

Steve breathes. Tony holds him and Steve breathes.

“It’s okay,” Tony tells him quietly. “It’ll be okay, I promise.” Steve isn’t so sure, but Tony keeps holding him and murmuring encouraging things into his hair. “I know it’s hard. That’s alright. We can figure it out. It’ll be okay.”

With Tony’s assurance, Steve reluctantly lets him guide him the rest of the way up. It feels strange. He’s never felt this clear-headed after a scene with Brock. Those always left him shaky and hazy.

Now he feels lighter than he has for a long time. There’s a clarity to his thoughts that keeps surprising him. With the clarity though, stress comes creeping back in. In subspace all those worries were gone, or at least, easy to brush away with Tony there.

Now Tony is in his kitchen, cooking breakfast of all things while Steve sits at the kitchen island. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. This feels so domestic, like how it did with Bucky and Peggy. He’d almost forgotten what this could be like.

He watches Tony. He wasn’t expecting him to stay after he finished bringing Steve up. This is a lot more... gentle of a conclusion than he’s used to nowadays. With Brock, he was lucky to get the wind down period. By the time his clothes were on, the session was over. Steve was up and leaving, stumbling his way home to recuperate in his room.

With Brock he didn’t want to stay longer than he needed to. He was glad their contract kept things professional outside of scenes. 

He doesn’t know what to think with Tony having seen him in subdrop. He must’ve been called by JARVIS as Steve dropped. He barely had a choice to help Steve then, same as Brock being assigned his contract. But Tony is still here, making lopsided pancakes.

“I’m okay now,” Steve tells him, breaking the silence. “You don’t have to stay.”

Tony turns around with a plateful of lumpy pancakes and sets it on the island. “I know,” he says, which cuts off all of Steve’s waiting arguments and leaves him speechless. Tony sits down across from him and there’s syrup for the pancakes that Steve doesn’t remember buying.

“But,” Tony continues as he begins dividing out the pancakes between them, the majority going on Steve’s plate. “I always like to check in with a sub after a scene.” He shrugs. “I know it wasn’t a typical scene, but old habits die hard.”

Steve’s stomach cramps. No, of course it wasn’t a typical scene for Tony. Steve didn’t service him at all. He just lay there, like a useless lump. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, and maybe he isn’t quite as up as he thought because he can’t look at Tony head-on anymore. “I’m usually better in scenes than that.”

Tony takes a bite of pancake and doesn’t say anything. He nudges Steve’s plate a little closer and Steve picks up his fork automatically. He helps himself to some syrup and takes a few bites. He didn’t think he was hungry, but his stomach seems to awaken as he eats and he digs in.

“Whaddya mean by that?” Tony asks, cutting a pancake with the side of his fork.

Steve shrugs embarrassed. “You know...” He can’t lift his eyes from the corner of the island. “I’m usually more in control. Better at servicing my dom and stuff.” He trails off into barely intelligible mumbles, cringing internally. What must Tony think of him as a sub?

Tony looks at him for a while. “You mean like sex.” Steve nods shamefully, grinding a bit of pancake into mush with his fork. There’s silence, interrupted only by the clink of silverware as Tony eats. Steve’s appetite has died as quickly as it came.

“Do you like that?” Tony asks finally. “Having sex during scenes?”

Steve winces. Yeah, Tony knows how bad of a sub he is now. He sighs, well, there’s no point in hiding it now. “No,” he admits, biting the inside of his lip without thought. “I’m trying to be better at that. It’s just... it’s just hard.”

He risks a glance up at Tony and sees him swallow. He isn’t eating anymore either. “Steve,” he says, and there’s an odd quality to his voice, like he’s trying to speak around rocks in his throat. He breathes in. “Does Brock know you don’t like it?”

Steve shivers unintentionally. “Yes.” Brock knows. That’s why he has to fix him.

Bucky and Peggy didn’t try to fix him. They said he was fine the way he was. Even though he could never service them and could barely stand their touch sometimes. They knew he didn’t like sex. So much so that even when he’d try to offer, like the good sub he wanted to be, they wouldn’t let him.

The reminder is startling. He hadn’t exactly forgotten that about Bucky and Peggy, but the memory of them and their scenes feels so much clearer than it had before. He forgot how nice it was not to have to worry about sex. He still felt guilty, because he’d had enough doms at that point to know he wasn’t normal. But... he felt so much safer with Bucky and Peggy than Brock.

His eyes jump up to Tony’s again, his mind suddenly abuzz with thoughts. Tony also didn’t let him offer sex. He could tell even without Steve telling him that he didn’t want sex.

Tony sets his shoulders like he’s made a decision and looks straight at him. “Steve...” He fiddles with his fork. “From what I saw last night... I don’t think Brock is a very good dom for you.”

Steve blinks and stares. He wasn’t expecting that. Steve is always the messed up one, not Brock. Unless Tony thinks Brock isn’t training him properly? But Steve doesn’t want to think of what else a dom could try to do with him to force him to be good.

“Brock clearly isn’t taking care of you,” Tony continues in a rush. “You went into subdrop even though you’re seeing him regularly, right? So that means he isn’t taking you down properly, and it’s no wonder. You were terrified. You were hitting yourself! That’s a really bad sign. And all your scars! And Brock knows about them? How could he possibly think that’s okay?”

Bile creeps up Steve’s throat, his arm wrapping around his stomach. He’s having trouble making sense of what Tony’s saying. He seems to think Brock is a bad dom, but all those things are things Steve is doing. If he was a better sub then everything would be fine.

“It’s my fault,” Steve says swallowing hard. “I’m a difficult sub. Always have been.”

Tony sits back and breathes out a gust of air. “Steve, you were the easiest sub I could’ve asked for yesterday.”

Steve stares at him. He can’t remember the last time someone said that to him. It’s always the opposite. He can still hear the words of a dom from before the war. You’re the worst sub I’ve ever had.

“Yeah, well—” His mind has to scramble to come up with words. “Well, that was only cuz, we didn’t really do anything, right? It was barely a session.”

Tony watches him, his eyes sad, and Steve remembers suddenly that he looked like that last night too. “Whaddya mean by that?” he asks quietly.

Steve rubs the back of his neck, his eyes dropping off to the side. “You know, we didn’t— I didn’t do anything for you. Sex, or whatever subs are supposed to do. Cuz I was such a mess.”

“Steve.” Tony's voice gets louder as he talks. “Even if you didn’t react like how you did when you thought sex was on the table last night, we wouldn’t have done it. You can’t agree to sex in subspace. There was no way we were doing anything close to that because I found you already dropping.” Steve stares at him, not sure what to say.

Tony’s fists tap restlessly against the edge of the island. “Steve, I don’t know what Brock’s told you, but I can imagine it was a load of BS. You don’t have to have sex to be a good sub. If you never want to have sex in a scene, then your dom shouldn’t make you. That’s... that’s a really bad dom. Like, criminally.”

Steve’s mouth is suddenly dry, his stomach clenching and tying itself into knots as he listens. It’s hard to swallow, hard to speak. His voice is ragged when he finally manages to say something.

“But... no dom would want— nobody would want a sub like that.”

Even as he says it, his mind tells him it isn’t true. Bucky and Peggy dommed for him like that. But he is so used to not thinking of them as his real doms. They were just his friends, willing to put up with his problems.

“I’ve had a sub who didn’t want sex before.” Steve’s eyes jerk up to stare at Tony. Tony is sitting stiffly and he breathes in slowly as he meets Steve’s eyes. “We never had sex at all. Nothing he wasn’t comfortable with. That’s what being a good dom means. You give your sub what they need, and if you can’t do that, you’re not supposed to be their dom.”

Steve’s fingers dig into the folds of his sleep shirt. He’s heard over and over again that doms give subs what they need. Brock said he knew what he needed, that Steve just had to relax enough to let it happen. But this— This is different.

This is— This is like Steve’s needs are different. Like his dom is supposed to just accept that. Like he doesn’t need to be fixed, to be twisted and moulded into a different sub who wants things that Steve hates.

“You really had a sub like that?”

Tony nods. “Yeah.” He licks his lips. “There’s other subs like that, Steve. Even doms. It isn’t just you. And if Brock— If what I saw last night is anything close to what usually goes on between you and Brock I—” His fingers press down on the counter top, going white, and Steve realises suddenly that Tony is holding back actual fury towards Brock.

“I could kill him,” Tony finishes, dead serious as he looks at Steve. “What I saw? That’s not okay. And he knows that. Any dom with any brains at all could see you were suffering. He knows what he’s doing. He’s— He’s abusive, Steve. He’s a bad dom.”

Tony is breathing heavily by the end of it, his pancakes forgotten as he sits with both hands flat on the countertop. Steve’s mouth is slightly open, Tony’s last words seeming to echo between them. It’s hard to wrap his mind around what Tony is saying.

He’s so used to thinking the opposite. Every one of his problems is his fault. There was something wrong with him or else he’d feel better than he did with Brock. That’s what he’s used to telling himself.

But in the wake of his first good scene in almost a year, he finds himself wanting to believe Tony’s words.

“I— I’d need a dom, for SHIELD,” he says stiltedly. “If not Brock, then someone else. I’ve had so many doms before. It’s almost always the same. Brock’s just the one to try the longest.”

Except for Bucky and Peggy.

“Steve.” Tony’s jaw grinds back and forth and he breathes in through his nose. “Please do not stay with Brock just because you think you can’t find someone better. I mean—” He runs an agitated hand through his hair. “If it comes down to it, I’d dom for you if you wanted it. I’d never— I’d never do what Brock did. You don’t have to have me if you don’t want, but please don’t stay with Brock because you think you’ll be left high and dry.”

The declaration is as sincere as it is overwhelming. But Tony seems to understand that. 

“Shoot. I didn't mean to drop that all on you all at once. Just think about it, okay? You deserve better than Brock.”

Steve glances back down at his neglected pancakes. His appetite is making tentative reappearances and he picks up his fork.

“Okay.”

Steve needs some time to think after all that. Tony understands. He leaves Steve after breakfast and tells him to talk to him about anything, anything, if he needs to. Steve is left in his room, well-rested, well-fed, and clear-headed for the first time in almost a year.

After that long with with Brock, he isn’t used to so much concern aimed his way. It feels so strange, to have Tony worried about his scars, and whether he wants sex, or if he goes down properly.

That in itself is a shocking thing to examine. His mind is so clear now it makes it plenty obvious how much of a fog he’d been dwelling in for so long. Had Brock brought him down properly at all before? He must’ve, somewhere near the beginning of their contract when he was still being patient and gentle, but lately... Well, lately he’s felt like a wreck.

So much seems obvious to him now that he isn’t drowning in some sort of wretched headspace he couldn’t get out of. Even if Tony hadn’t gone on a rant, he’d be able to see some bad signs.

He went into subdrop just thinking of Brock coming to the Tower. Just the thought of Brock being here, doing the things he does to Steve in his room, in this place that is supposed to be— supposed to be safe from Brock...

Steve might be a little shaky on what makes a good dom these days, but shouldn’t he feel safe with his dom?

He isn’t even allowed a safeword.

He sits curled up on his sofa, looking out at the city through his large windows. He has his phone with him and he powers it on. As expected, there’s a flood of angry messages from Brock. Before last night, he would have read them with a sinking feeling in his gut, terrified of earning a new punishment for failing his dom.

Now he reads them with an odd sense of detachment, like a clinical observer.

Brock: What is this?? They’re not letting me up.

Brock: Steve.

Brock: Answer your phone.

Brock: HEY

Brock: What do you think you’re playing at?

Brock: I came all this way and this is how you repay me??

Brock: Well done, you stupid sub. If you think once I get to you that I’m gonna let you up from bed for the next WEEK then you’ve got another thing coming.

That is the anger, the rage Brock could fly into that left Steve quivering and desperate to be good, desperate to repair whatever damage he’d done to spark this latest wave of wrath.

The messages continue, timestamped an hour or so after that tirade.

Brock: Hey, sorry I lost my cool.

Brock: You just got me really worried. We haven’t had a scene for longer than usual. You know that’s not good for you.

Brock: Just let me know you’re okay, alright? You didn’t have to overreact if you didn’t want to scene today. You could’ve just said something.

Brock: You know how I get when I’m ready to scene. You kind of sent me on a spiral, not letting me in. Thought I was gonna domdrop and stuff.

Brock: Just... call me when you can, okay? I’m worried.

There’s the semi-apology. The reasoning twisted back around so it’s Steve’s fault again. The guilting and cajoling meant to reel him in after the explosion.

Steve puts his phone down and covers his face. How could he not see this before?

He hates it because some part of him does feel guilty. Most of him is still convinced that Tony is wrong. He is a bad sub. Every dom he’s ever had says so. He’s the reason Brock is acting all crazy. There’s a million reasons why he deserves what Brock is giving him.

But Bucky and Peggy didn’t treat him like that. Tony didn’t either, even though he didn’t know anything about Steve’s history. Even though Steve would’ve done anything he wanted last night because he wanted to be good.

What would Bucky think of Brock?

Steve knows the answer to that question immediately. Bucky would hate Brock. He'd be just as mad as Tony, if not more so.

You were the easiest sub I could’ve asked for. 

That’s what Tony said. And Steve can remember the feeling of subspace with him. He felt like a good sub, even without servicing Tony. Tony didn’t let him hurt himself and he kept him safe and happy. Later, he was angry at Brock. Angry at how Brock treated him. He practically begged him not to stay with Brock.

Tony is a good dom.

Tony is a good dom and he’s willing to keep domming for Steve. He’s had a sub before who didn’t want sex. Maybe for once Steve will find a dom outside of Bucky and Peggy who will be okay if things never move on to sex. Maybe things could really stay as good as they were last night.

He doesn’t know if Tony really wants to be his permanent dom, or if he just feels sorry for him, but even if Tony doesn’t want to stay his dom, he’d have someone to tide him over until he finds someone who will. He would have time to find a dom who wouldn’t hurt him, who wouldn’t force him.

He doesn’t have to stay with Brock.

There’s a doorway suddenly open to him. The sun is breaking through a bleak horizon, blazing in brilliant colour. He doesn’t have to stay with Brock. He could break the contract. Tony said he’s willing to dom for him to satisfy SHIELD. He said he wouldn’t be like Brock and Steve wants so badly to believe him.

His hands are shaking as he reaches for his phone. Part nerves, part adrenaline from the rush of actually making this decision. He’s wanted this for a long time, he realises. With his head clear for the first time in ages and the choice finally feasible, he can admit it to himself.

He doesn’t want Brock as his dom. He doesn’t want to be hurt. He doesn’t want to force himself to have sex. He doesn’t want to feel guilty and empty and sick all the time.

His fingers tremble over the buttons but his mind is made up as he types out a message to Brock.

Steve: I want to break our contract.

Chapter Text

Handler Rumlow has a new sub. The Asset can hear him talking about it amid the gaggle of other agents across the room. He holds still as the technician works on his arm. His hair is still wet, his skin still chilled with goosebumps from the cryofreeze defrost. He keeps his eyes on the wall, listening to Rumlow’s boasting.

“You should see him.” He’s loud, showboating to the group. “Easiest lay I ever had.”

Another agent, Agent Bartholomew snorts. “No way, man. He’s way too uptight. You sure he doesn’t have a stick shoved up there?”

Rumlow laughs nastily, the group chortling along with him. “Nah. He tried at the beginning. But you just gotta know the right way to get in there. He’s easy.”

“Oh yeah?” Agent Rollins asks.

“Yeah,” Rumlow confirms. “He’s desperate for it. Any crumb of approval, he’ll bend over backward for it. Or,” his voice grows callus. “Bend over something anyway.”

Another agent barks out a laugh. “Really. Captain America, kneeling for Brock.” He shakes his head, folding his arms, looking impressed. “Who could’ve seen it coming.” Rumlow’s chest puffs out.

“More than just kneeling,” he sneers.

The technician is tense next to the Asset, his hands shaking more than usual as he finishes his scan and disconnects the wires attached to his arm.

“He’s done,” he calls loudly, catching the attention of the whole group.

The Asset stands up and the mission begins.

He’s awake for another mission, the nighttime air fresh and still. Agent Rumlow and the rest of his team is crowded next to the Asset in an abandoned parking lot, crouched behind a crumbling concrete barrier. The Asset is still and intent as he scans the surroundings, the rest of the team more restless with boredom as they wait for the go-ahead from the secondary team scouting ahead.

“No way you got pictures,” Agent Martin says, looking more alert than he has all night as he sits next to Rumlow.

Rumlow is messing with his phone, ignoring the bright white light cutting through the night, spotlighting their position. The Asset readjusts his grip on his rifle and sucks in a breath of cool air through his mask.

“Come on,” Rumlow keeps his voice low, but his glee bleeds through every word. “You don’t expect me to look at that and not document it for posterity.” He shows Martin his screen. “He didn’t even notice me taking it. Though, even if he did, I could talk him into it. He’d let me do anything. He’s so deep in it. It’s ridiculous, man.”

Martin ogles at the phone, neither man paying attention to their surroundings. The Asset stares straight ahead, keeping watch.

“Here, look at this one.” The two agents continue to swipe through the phone, letting out jeers and low whistles as they look at whatever Rumlow has photographed. The Asset picks up a few words here and there, bits and pieces of things Rumlow has convinced someone to do. Tidbits about their sex life the Asset had no desire to learn.

“Geez, you never would’ve guessed looking at him.” Martin’s voice gets smug. It gets louder too, directing itself towards the Asset, which is never a good sign. “Hey Asset. Whaddya think? He’s your buddy, right?”

The Asset looks over and Martin is shoving the phone at him, a vivid image on the screen.

It’s a photo of a man from behind. He’s kneeling on a bed, bent over his knees. He’s nude, with his hands cuffed squarely behind his back in leather cuffs. His head is bowed, his eyes squeezed shut. There are tear tracks on his face and red welts on his back. His blond hair is damp with sweat.

The picture itself is lewd, but the Asset focuses on his face. That blond hair. The expression of anguish. The slump of defeat.

This is making him feel... something.

Rumlow smacks Martin’s hand. He scrambles for the phone, elbowing the agent back. “Don’t show him that, you idiot,” he snaps.

“What? Why?” Martin’s voice rises with alarm, and it’s a good thing there isn’t a soul around to hear them. “He doesn’t remember, right?”

“You want to test that out?” Rumlow growls, shoving his phone in his pocket. His eyes snap up to glare at the Asset. “Mind your post.”

Both agents are looking at him with varying degrees of hostility and fear. The Asset turns his head, looking forward, keeping his face blank. They relax slowly as he doesn’t say anything. That’s because the Asset keeps his thoughts to himself.

He recognises the position of a sub. That must be Rumlow’s sub. He doesn’t scowl, but he thinks about it as he replays the conversation in his mind. The picture was taken in secret, without the other’s knowledge. The sub himself looked in pain. Maybe that’s what he wanted but... If the Asset knows one thing for certain, it’s that Rumlow should not have a sub.

That man... The image sticks in his mind. The face, there’s something familiar about it. Something terribly wrong seeing it twisted up in pain. He completes his mission without fault, but the image stays in his mind until the mission is over.

He’s your buddy, right? The words stay until the Chair wipes them away.

The Asset remembers Agent Rumlow has a sub. He does not remember why he doesn’t like that idea.

Agent Rumlow is talking about his sub again. The Asset grinds his teeth, trying to ignore the comm in his ear as they travel to their destination.

“It’s kind of pathetic, really. He says he doesn’t want to, but it’s so easy to convince him. Like taking candy from a baby. All you gotta do is convince him he can’t be good otherwise. He crumples like wet paper.”

Rumlow likes to boast for his fellow agents. He likes the prestige he seems to get for having this sub. It’s some kind of Hydra assignment given to him, though the Asset can’t imagine why.

“If it’s that easy, then he must actually want it,” an agent replies. “Who would’ve thought, Captain Goody-two-shoes would be such a slut for it.”

He just wants to be good. The Asset blinks, then shakes his head, brushing away the thought. He doesn’t know where it came from.

“It’s the easiest assignment of my life,” Rumlow continues. “Honestly, he brings it on himself at this point. I can’t believe what he lets me do. And he’s still the neediest sub you ever saw.”

If the Asset’s hands were not held down in metal cuffs as the transport van winds its way to wherever they’re going, he’d reach up and take out his comm. It’s clear none of this conversation has any mission relevance.

Agent Philip speaks up, and the Asset has no choice but to listen. “You should take a video next time, maybe invite someone over.”

The Asset cannot react externally. He doesn’t even know why he is so effected anyway. He bites down on the side of his tongue to ride out the wave of unexpected emotion.

“Maybe,” Rumlow draws out the word. “I still gotta stay within the bounds of the contract. And if I push him too hard he might snap back. You gotta be careful with these things.”

“Bets on when Brock’ll mess this up,” Agent Rollins interjects.

“Screw you, Rollins,” Rumlow fires back as the comms erupt in laughter. The sound is riotous, nearly shorting out the comms as it cuts into the Asset’s eardrum. He bites his tongue harder.

“So.” The Asset doesn’t turn his head as Agent Martin approaches him. He is stationed in a hotel room, watching out the window for the target. It has been twenty-three hours of surveillance and Martin is becoming bored. They’re alone in the room, the other monitoring agent having left for food fourteen minutes ago.

“Did you an’ Rogers ever do it?”

The Asset doesn’t look away from the crosswalk he is monitoring. “Clarify.”

“Aw, com’on.” Martin slouches against the wall beside the window. He keeps out of sight of anyone below, but unfortunately, continues his line of questioning. “You know. Captain Rogers. Captain America.”

Steve. The name appears. The Asset does not say it.

Martin waves his hand suggestively. “You can’t tell me you didn’t tap that when you had the chance back in the day.” The Asset has no reply, so he says nothing. Martin sighs and tilts his head back. “Whatever. Your brain’s mush anyway. The way Rumlow talks about ‘im makes me wish I’d been assigned his contract.” He brings his gaze back to the Asset. “I bet he cries real nice.”

The Asset can feel Martin looking at him, eyes intense, as though testing him. He maintains his surveillance, watching pedestrians swarm down below. Martin tisks in disappointment and pushes off the wall.

“Where’s Connelly with that burger? He’s been gone for ages.” As he steps away and his grumbles remain unrelated to him, the Asset allows tension to subtly ease out of his shoulders.

Steve. He keeps that name with him until the end of the mission.

Something is different.

Agent Rumlow is spitting mad. The Asset holds still and tries to remain invisible against the wall of the vault. His protocols are finished, he’s ready for a mission. All he needs to do is wait to be activated.

Things are delayed. Helped not in part by Rumlow’s angry pacing as he rants about his sub.

“Who does he think he is?” It’s a dangerous mood, one the Asset has seen many times before in different handlers. Rumlow’s eyes are dark with fury, his teeth bared as he snarls. “Trying to end the contract. Over text. No warning. Just, bam! ‘It’s over.’ Does he really think he can drop me like that? After everything I’ve done for him?”

Agent Rollins watches unimpressed from the entrance to the vault, leaning against the door frame. “Pierce chewed you out good, didn’t he?” He has a smirk on his face, his thumbs looped in his belt.

“Shut up,” Rumlow snaps, spinning on him. “I’ll get him back. Rogers is soft. And he’s useless as a sub. He knows no one else will want him. No one else is going to put up with his snivelling and whining all the time. I can drag him back.”

A sudden cruel light enters Rumlow’s eye, and a dangerous smile lights up his face. “Besides.” He pulls out his phone and waves it. “I’ve got leverage. Bet I’ve got some photos here he wouldn’t want to see online. That’ll get him back long enough to pull him down again. You’ll see.”

The Asset stiffens imperceptibly. There’s an image in his mind. A blond sub hunched and uncomfortable on a bed. He doesn’t like to be hurt. He doesn’t like to be naked. But he is. He is. And Rumlow is the one hurting him.

A wash of anger rolls through the Asset, like a fire rushing over him. It burns away any uncertainty, any hesitation. There is nothing but one simple fact. Rumlow should not have a sub. He shouldn’t. That’s why the sub is trying to leave, trying to break the contract.

Rumlow is trying not to let that happen. He’s going to use these pictures to hurt him. To keep hurting him.

No.

That is not allowed to happen.

The mission begins smoothly once Rumlow is finished his temper tantrum. Or at least, it seems smooth to the others, but the Asset has his own mission. He’s distantly aware that this is not allowed. His training is supposed to prevent this.

He doesn’t care. Something else has overridden those protocols. Something more important.

He has the faint sense of something. Not a memory. He doesn’t have those. But the glimmer of a faint reminder. It flits away if he tries to reach for it, like wisps of intangible smoke, but he can sense shadows of other doms like Rumlow. Ones that pushed and pushed and used their sub. Ones that hurt him and left him alone. Ones that left bruises that needed to be soothed, and wounds to the mind that were so much harder to heal. He hated them. He hates them. None of them deserve to touch his sub.

He’s stone cold as he waits for the right moment. He is stationed high up while the STRIKE team herds the target into position. His mind is awash in calculations. It will be several minutes before he will be expected to take his shot. He has time.

The STRIKE team is split up, forming a wide net of individual people moving down streets as they close in on their target. The Asset sets down his rifle, steps back out of position, and breaks protocol.

It’s easy to find Rumlow. He tracks him from the roofs, watching him walking in civilian clothes as he stalks down the street. There’s the outline of a handgun under his t-shirt in the small of his back.

Sloppy.

The Asset drops down into the street, silent as a ghost. Rumlow doesn’t even get a word in before he’s being dragged backward into an alley.

“Wha--ckk.” His words cut off as he is slammed back against a brick wall covered in tattered posters, a metal hand wrapped around his neck. His legs kick, inches off the ground. His eyes dart back and forth, wide and round with fear, his breaths whistling from his lungs in stilted gasps and jerks. His trigger words won’t help him here, alone, with no air.

The Asset glares down at him, rage building, boiling like a beast inside his head. He hates Rumlow. Rumlow lets out a terrified, strangled noise, scrambling uselessly against the wall. His nails scratch ineffectually at the metal hand at his throat.

The Asset reaches first for his front pocket, drawing out his phone. Rumlow watches with glassy incomprehension as the Asset drops it on the ground, raises a thick boot, and stomps it into oblivion. Once all that remains is shattered glass and twisted metal, the Asset turns his attention back to Rumlow.

He reaches calmly behind the squirming body for his handgun. Rumlow’s fear skyrockets, reedy whimpers catching in his throat as he realises what the Asset is reaching for. There will be an investigation, and it will be Rumlow’s own bullet that ends his life. Maybe they will think it was intentional, that Rumlow couldn’t take his failure. Maybe not.

It doesn’t matter to the Asset if they determine it to be suspicious. He can only be punished once if they figure it out. Rumlow will still be dead.

Rumlow thrashes in his grip, eyes wild, face red, tears collecting in his eyes as he struggles to breathe. There’s something satisfying knowing he sees his death coming. His mouth is gaping open, hanging like a fish, trying to get air

The Asset presses the muzzle of the gun inside and pulls the trigger.

oOo

Brock wasn’t happy when Steve told him he wanted to break the contract. Steve doesn’t know what else he was expecting. It’s like his eyes have been opened when it comes to Brock. It’s like a torrent of ugliness unleashes itself, spewing from Brock the second Steve asked to get away.

Or maybe he was always like this.

His texts oscillate between promises to be better, and accusations.

Brock: How can you just cut us off without even letting me TRY to fix things. If you were really so upset you should’ve said something.

Brock: At least come talk to me in person. Come ON.

Brock: You’re not being fair.

It’s hard on Steve. Hard not to believe that he is being unfair, being selfish. It’s hard not to think that maybe he should let Brock talk him into couples’ counselling, or whatever else he wants to try to salvage their contract. Maybe in a different relationship that would be possible.

Maybe it’s cowardly, but Steve doesn’t want to see him without lawyers present.

Through it all, Steve clings to what Tony said. Brock knew what he was doing. He knew he was being a bad dom. (It’s still hard for Steve to use the word abusive but... the more he looks into it, the more it becomes clear.) Brock knew.

Tony is right about other things too. Since their conversation that day, Steve has started looking for the first time for subs like him. He trusted Brock so much before, trusted that he was telling the truth about domming and subbing in the future. He trusted that Brock really did have his best interests at heart.

Now he is learning things for himself, not simply trusting his dom to tell him. What he finds is there’s a whole community of other people like him. Doms and subs who identify as asexual and aromantic. There is a diverse range of approaches to sex and romance. Some do have sex and relationships, some are neutral towards it. Some hate it.

It all boils down to the lack of feeling that attraction, those urges.

It encapsulates Steve so much it’s hard to take in, hard to articulate. He mostly finds groups online, but there’s so many people like him. So many stories of people learning how to navigate their dom/sub relationships like this.

It still isn’t super well known, the existence of people like him. But people in the community are always working for more awareness, more acceptance.

Steve doesn’t know if Brock knew about asexuality or aromanticism. But, it doesn’t matter, does it? There’s a reason scenes are negotiated. There’s a reason safewords are a legal requirement. People are very clear about it these days. Subs can’t consent in subspace. And coercion doesn’t mean ‘yes’.

Steve doesn’t like to think about what that means for what Brock did to him. The magnitude of it all, that whole miserable year, is too much to take in all at once. He might collapse if he really lets himself think about it. For the time being though, he understands why Tony was so upset.

Steve expects the contract dissolution process to be miserable, given how ornery Brock is being about it. He’s determined to see it through. Now that he has that hope, that chance to get out from under Brock’s thumb, he’s not giving up on it.

He has to do things that make him uncomfortable, including being seen by a doctor and showing him his self-harm scars and talking about how that habit is proving harder to stop than he thought it would. He also has to make a statement about the things Brock did to him, and he has all but mandatory counselling too. That is honestly one of the hardest parts of this, but the counsellor is not affiliated with SHIELD, which is why he agrees to go at all.

He’s prepared to settle in for the long haul, Tony’s lawyers and his care team behind him.

And then, out of the blue, with absolutely no warning, Brock dies.

The official ruling from SHIELD is that he shot himself, though Steve hears whispers otherwise. Rumours of bruising on his neck and signs of a struggle. Steve asks, because he knows how angry Tony had been, but Tony denies having anything to do with it.

“Not that I wasn’t planning,” he says hotly. “Someone just got to him first.”

Tony seems to agree with the silent majority that something is fishy with Brock’s death. That actually makes Steve feel better though, because then it isn’t as though Brock killed himself over him. It isn’t one final power move now that Steve is trying to break the contract. He doesn’t have to feel guilty about it. Justified or not.

He doesn’t feel guilty. Only relieved.

Then nervous as he and Tony discuss their contract. Or lack of one. It’s up to Steve.

“SHIELD only requires you to be regularly scenening with someone,” Tony says, sitting across from him in Steve’s living room. His expression states what he thinks of that policy.

Steve can understand it though. He knows first hand how difficult it is to remain sane without being taken down regularly. Not that he realised that until recently.

SHIELD’s policy means Steve doesn’t have to have a contract. He can’t remember anymore if that was properly explained to him when he was first signing with Brock. Everything was such a blur back then, in the weeks so soon after the ice. He really wasn’t doing well, even for his standards, and with the benefit of hindsight, he can see the ways he was nudged into signing on for something he wasn’t sure about.

It’s up to him this time, Tony assures. Tony is happy to contract with Steve, but he’d understand if Steve is leery of being tied to someone again. He even tells Steve that he doesn’t need to choose Tony if he doesn’t want to. There are services and ways for doms and subs to meet casually for scenes if Steve wants to try that. Though Steve definitely doesn’t want to risk those. He did that enough growing up. He’d rather someone he knows and feels safe with.

He isn’t sure about the contract though. Before, his contract with Brock was reassuring. He wouldn’t be left alone, wouldn’t be abandoned. Then, when he needed to break the contract, Brock fought it tooth and nail until he died.

Steve could’ve been stuck in that contract for a while if Brock hadn’t died. Even so, he still likes the security of a contract. There’s something else influencing his decision though.

“I don’t want to trap you in a contract,” Steve says. He still feels that old guilt, even if it ended up being unfounded. He doesn’t want to carry that with him with Tony.

Tony opens his mouth, then closes it. He looks thoughtful, tilting his head as he thinks. Finally, he speaks. “What if we did a temporary contract? Like a trial period of a few months? That gives both of us time to feel it out, renegotiate as needed.”

Steve breathes in slowly, feeling out the idea. He likes it. He has enough sense of himself to know that this will still be difficult for him. He’s had a long history with bad doms, years of thinking of himself a certain way. He knows unlearning that will be difficult, even with Tony.

Even now, thinking about doing a scene on purpose fills him with nerves. He struggled even with Bucky and Peggy, and Brock has just made all of it worse.

He wants to try though. He wants to trust Tony. The contracting process with Brock was all a whirlwind. A few days of conversation and short test scenes before Steve was signing his name on the line. Already things are different with Tony. Calmer, more thorough. Without the background pressure of SHIELD watching his every move and expecting him to agree immediately.

He doesn’t think Tony will take advantage of him. His whole offer of a temporary contract proves it. But Steve didn’t think Brock would hurt him either. He’s still coming to terms with that. His acceptance of that changes with the hour.

Regardless how he feels on it, he knows what he wants now. More importantly, he knows what he doesn’t want, and he isn’t going to compromise on that this time.

“I think I’d like that,” Steve says finally. He fidgets with his fingers, looking at his knees, his confidence flickering. “You know I’m not— I’m not going to be easy. This is still gonna be hard for me.”

“Yeah,” Tony says softly, and when Steve looks up, his eyes are so sincere it makes his chest tight. “I know. I don’t expect this to be all smooth sailing. But I—” He swallows. “I’d like to help you. If you’d let me. I’d like that.”

“Yes.” Steve breathes out and smiles. The horizon in front of him is bright with sun and promise, gleaming golden with warmth, and he’s ready to take a step towards it. “I’d like that.”

The End