Steve Rogers woke up with a start on Friday evening in his small, one room apartment in Los Angeles. He was drenched with sweat and breathing heavily from a particularly violent nightmare about World War II. Steve's head was pounding, and he struggled to remember what he did the night before that made him feel so miserable, and he wondered if last night's activities triggered his PTSD. It was happening more and more frequently as his lifestyle started to get the better of him, and he prayed to God the instant he woke up, thanking him for giving him another day. He swore to himself that he'd find a support group and take steps to change his life, but every time he picked up the phone to find help, the blonde would quickly hang up out of shame and embarrassment. Steve was disgusted with himself and desperately wanted help, but he was raised to be tough and fix his problems without the aid of others.
He got up from his old, creaky full-size mattress and closely examined his apartment. The walls of Steve's apartment were slate grey and the entire floor was covered with a thin carpet with different tints and shades of blue woven into it. His bed with dark blue sheets and a black comforter was in the right-hand corner of the room, and next to it was a small white pressed wood nightstand with a cheap Motorola cell-phone sitting on top. His kitchen was at the far end of the room, and there was a slate grey half wall dividing it from his bedroom. There was a dingy white refrigerator, an off-white stove, and two cream colored counters with a sink installed on the counter on the right. A dark blue pleather couch with a white coffee table was in the left-hand corner. The coffee table was littered with drug paraphilia: a bag of cocaine with a straw, razor, and mirror sitting beside it, several used syringes with a small balloon of heroin next to it, a small blue bong in desperate need of cleaning, a yellow lighter, and a grinder filled with weed were all scattered across the table.
Steve walked over to the coffee table, grabbed the bong and went to the sink to fill it with water and ice cubes. After it was filled, he sauntered back to the couch, carefully sat down and packed the bowl. He put his mouth on the rim, ensuring that no smoke would escape, and put his thumb on the choke. The blonde grabbed the yellow lighter from table, brought it to the bowl and lit it in a circular motion before taking his thumb off the choke. He took a long, powerful hit, taking all of the smoke into his lungs before setting the bong back on the table. Steve kept the smoke in his lungs for ten seconds before exhaling it slowly, sending a wispy cloud into the air.
As the high started to kick in, the blonde sprawled out on the couch and stared at the ceiling. He felt distant from his apartment and the life he was currently living, and it helped him feel numb to the world. While he was high, Steve was able to reflect on his past in an objective state, and he didn't feel guilty about all of the things he ran away from.
When Steve put Red Skull's plane in the water in order to save New York, he was able to maneuver his way out of the plane and swim to the surface of the Atlantic Ocean. After several hours of treading water, five men on a fishing boat found him and brought him onto their ship. The men gave him dry, somewhat snug-fitting clothing to wear, and they discussed his service and his Captain America persona. As Steve and the fisherman navigated the Atlantic to return to the United States, the super-soldier experienced a sever nightmare. He woke up screaming, and later he found that some words the men used triggered feelings of paranoia and rage that were buried deep inside of him. The fishermen knew something was wrong with him and they were terrified of what Steve would do next, and they couldn't wait to get off of the boat. When they finally docked at a port in Maine, the five men pushed Steve away, leaving him to his own devices to get home.
He was left without even so much as a dime, so Steve had to hitch-hike from Maine back to his home in Brooklyn, New York. On several occasions during his adventure home, he had to exchange his sexual services in return for a ride, and on that long journey home his pride abandoned him. When he finally arrived to his hometown, nothing felt the same. Bucky was dead, women recognized him and wanted to fuck him at every twist and turn, and everyone wanted to hear about the adventures of Captain America.
Steve came to hate his hero status; he didn't like the fame, the girls, or the gifts that came with his wartime achievements. Peggy was the only person that meant anything to him, and when she came to New York to reunite with him the climate of their relationship changed. He was no longer the Steve that she had come to love, and it broke her heart day by day. Some days he acted disinterested and pulled away from her, and other days he experienced violent mood swings and lashed out at her. She begged Steve to get help, but he denied anything was wrong with him. He refused to seek help from a therapist, and always used the argument that "real men take care of their own problems." After a few months Peggy had had enough; she packed her bags and returned to England, leaving Steve alone in his cold, dreary apartment.
After Peggy left him, Steve was approached by Howard Stark, his old friend that helped him become the perfect human specimen. Howard tried to rekindle their friendship, but he soon realized that Steve was no longer the man he used to be. The blonde explained to his old friend that he was leaving Brooklyn for good and moving to another state as soon as he was honorable discharged from the army. He wanted a fresh start, and the only way he felt that he could truly give himself another shot at a normal life was to move far away. Before he left, he told Howard to have a great life and to remember him as the person he used to be before the war ended. When he was finally relieved of his military contract, Steve burned his Captain America uniform, buzzed his hair with two guard clippers, packed his bags and left for California.
The new haircut, along with a change in his wardrobe, helped him get by virtually unnoticed by the public. As soon as he reached his new home, he had fake identification made and went by the name Grant. Steve, realizing that his appearance would change at an incredibly slow rate, devised a plan to keep people from noticing. After a few years of working at a job and living at an apartment in one city, he would quit and relocate to another part of California so people would never have the chance to realize it. While this routine worked well for the ex-soldier, it caused him considerable grief. He didn't have much of an opportunity to get close to people, and he avoided committed relationships at all costs for fear of the consequences.
As the decades passed, Steve's nightmares and breakdowns became more frequent. They occurred several days a week, and at times he would have to hide in the bathroom at work in order to allow himself time to calm down. His reluctance to find help only made things worse, and he sank into a deep depression. Eventually all he did was go to work, socialize occasionally, and go home to his empty, cold apartment with no one to talk to or love.
As the nineteen-eighties rolled in, the blonde decided to move to San Francisco, hoping that the hustle and bustle of the city would help him reconnect with himself and rediscover the person he used to be. He found a job illustrating for an advertisement company, and several of the men he worked with introduced him to the club scene. Steve enjoyed the energy and liveliness of the city's random hotspots, and soon he was going out almost every single night. As he explored the depths of club culture, Steve was introduced to drugs. He resisted at first and avoided people who tried to sell to him, but after a rough week at work Steve decided to give them a try.
It started out innocently enough with marijuana, but soon Steve was using hard drugs. He loved the rush that came from cocaine and heroin, and soon the ex-soldier became addicted. It was the only thing in his life besides clubbing that made him feel anything inside, and as soon as the high wore off he was desperate for more. Being high helped him detach from his past and look at it objectively as if it he was never Captain America. The drugs soon led to promiscuity, and while Steve took comfort in having a warm body next him, he'd often wake up with no recollection of his actions the night before.
His drug addiction led him down a dark, twisted path, and soon Steve lost his job, many of the friends he'd made, and any ounce of self-respect he had left. Many people he knew from the club scene passed away from AIDS during the nineties, and for once Steve was thankful for the super-serum, as it protected him from sexually transmitted diseases. He could not contract the virus, and as a result Steve became more even more reckless and self-destructive. His habit grew out of control, and the blonde became so desperate for his fix that he turned to the world's oldest profession for the funds to feed his addiction.
In the early two-thousands, Steve moved from San Francisco to Los Angeles and found himself in the small, drab apartment he still lived in today. On weekends, he'd take to the streets and wait on the curb, waiting for someone to pick him up and pay him for his services. It was a quick and relatively easy way to earn money, and any time he found himself in danger his superior strength and fighting skills saved him. Few people ever attempted to do him bodily harm, as his stature and serious demeanor intimidated people enough to where all they did was simply fuck him, pay him, and rush away.
Shit… It's midnight already? I need to get out there, there's probably tricks waiting for me already. God, please send me another rich guy like last week… I promise after tonight I'll try to change, Steve thought to himself as he quickly sat up and rubbed his tired red eyes.
The high from the weed had long worn off, so Steve opened up the small bag of coke, put some on the mirror, and separated the powder into three, thin lines with the razor. He set the razor down, picked up the straw and brought it to his left nostril while pressing his right nostril closed. Steve quickly snorted the lines, dropped the straw on the floor and rubbed his nose. As he did so, his nose began to bleed. He swiftly got up and grabbed a napkin from the kitchen and shoved it in his left nostril to prevent blood from getting everywhere.
This is the only downside of snorting… I should really just stick to shooting up. Should I wait until my nose stops bleeding before I go out? Nah, my johns won't care… Who knows, maybe I'll get one that has a fetish for nosebleeds. We'll see, Steve thought to himself as he grabbed a pair of tight, dark blue jeans and a form-fitting black t-shirt and put them on.
After he got dressed, the blonde removed the blood-soaked napkin from his nostril, threw it on the counter and shoved a clean napkin back into his nostril. He put on his new black jacket that a john bought him as a gift, sprayed himself with a copious amount of Adidas brand cologne, slipped on his black tennis shoes and rushed out the door, praying to himself that tonight would be a great score.
Steve stood by the curb for five minutes until a black Pontiac Sunfire with tinted windows approached him. The blonde sauntered over to the car, making sure to appear confident and relaxed, though on the inside his mind was racing from the cocaine. He assumed the man wouldn't have enough money for his services with the cheap vehicle he drove, but Steve decided to give the trick a shot.
"Hey, looking for something?" Steve asked smoothly as the window rolled down, revealing an attractive older man.
The solicitor appeared to be in his late thirties, early forties, and had a slender, though still muscular, build. His hair was wavy, dark brown, and purposely styled to look as if he'd just rolled out of bed. The man had large, beautiful brown eyes, a perfectly groomed goatee, and a deliciously cocky grin. He had on a dark grey pull-over hoodie and dirty, faded blue jeans and was taking a swig of liquor from a small silver flask.
Steve was taken aback by how attractive the man was, and as he stood waiting for the man's reply his heart began to pound even faster. He wanted to rush into the car, park in an alley, and get fucked so hard by the solicitor that he wouldn't be able to walk for several days, but Steve immediately pushed the thought away. He attributed it to his cocaine-fueled high, and he twitched a little in anticipation as he watched the man toss the flask in the back seat before slowly opening his mouth.
"Get in," the man said as he flashed a grin at the prostitute he hoped would service him for the night.
Steve did as he was told, and soon they were pulling into a seedy motel not far from his apartment. As soon as the two men arrived, the trick pulled out a fifty dollar bill and handed it to the blonde.
"Go inside, give the clerk the fifty for a room, and get in our room. I'll come in couple of minutes after you; I have to take care of a few things," the man said as he shooed Steve out of the car.
The blonde walked into the motel office, handed the fifty to the female clerk through a slot under the glass window that separated them, and she gave him a key to room twenty-two in return. He gave the woman a thank-you nod, left the office and proceeded to strut to room twenty-two.
He flicked on the lights and observed his surroundings. The room was very plain; the sheets and pillows were a dull white, the floor was covered with a shitty brown carpet, and the walls were stained a dingy yellow from the years of chain smokers using the motel. There was a nightstand made of light brown wood to the left of the bed, and a large, clunky phone was placed on top. A painting of a cabin was hung on the wall above the bed, and the glass encasing it was cracked on the right-hand corner.
After taking in the scene, Steve took off his black shoes, set them next to the door and opened the drawer in the nightstand. He found a blood-stained Bible, took it out of the drawer and casually flipped through the pages, not looking at any passage in particular.
"So, what's your name? Prostitute? Man-whore? Filthy little bitch?" the john asked with a smile as he slammed the door shut behind him.
"Grant, actually. What's your name, pathetic loser who needs to fuck hot young men because no one else wants him?" Steve responded sassily as he put the Bible back in the drawer and closed it.
"Ouch. Looks like I've got a smug little whore in my motel room tonight. I like that… Well, I guess since you told me your name I might as well tell you mine. I'm Tony. You don't know who I am, do you?" Tony asked cautiously as he took off his black Converse shoes and tossed them next to Steve's.
"Why, am I supposed to? I've never slept with you before and I've never seen you around this neighborhood," Steve answered honestly as he slowly walked over to the brunette.
"Just wondered. Now are you going to come over here and give me what I need or not?" Tony whined as he ripped off his dark grey hoodie and tossed it on the floor.
"Depends on how much money you've got," the blonde answered as he wrapped his hands around the smaller man's ass and pulled him flush against his body.
"Believe me, I've got more than enough to pay for your services. Don't even question me on that. You'll get what I decide to pay you when you're done, and I can promise you it could be more than a hundred dollars if you do me right. I've got a few kinks, what are you willing to do?" the brunette asked as he licked his lips with a mixture of nervousness and lust in his voice.
"I refuse to do anything with vomit, urine, or shit. I won't pretend to be a kid, and I sure as hell won't pretend I'm dead. Also, I won't rub balloons all over my body while you watch. I had a trick ask for that once and I'll never do it again," Steve responded with a straight face as he stared deep into Tony's eyes.
"Alright, well it's your lucky day since I don't want you to pop balloons, cuddle with them, or put your dick in one. That's just fucking weird. All I want you to do is pretend I'm a bug and squish me. Then use me as a piece of furniture for an hour or two. And after that, I'll put on a blonde wig and when you fuck me, call me Sally," Tony responded with a serious expression as he narrowed his eyes at the prostitute.
"If that's what you want," the blonde responded with a small shrug as he kneaded Tony's ass through his thin jeans.
"No, I'm just fucking with you. The fact that you'll do it though is pretty cool. You're really devoted to your profession, aren't you? I've met plenty of women that'll do those things, but a man-whore? I haven't met one yet. Most of you seem to be pretty vanilla these days…" Tony responded as he gripped the front of Steve's pants and palmed his half-hard cock through the fabric.
"Well, what do you want then?" Steve questioned, growing irritated by Tony's rambling, long-winded statements.
"I want to take turns doing coke lines off of each other's bodies before we get started. And before you say you don't do that shit, it's obvious. I saw that wadded up napkin you had jammed up your nose that you tossed aside when you saw me pull up. Not to mention the track-marks on your arms… You should really cover them up if you're going to do business. Everyone knows that you're doing this for a fix and for a lot of people that's a turn-off. Lucky for you I've got enough money to feed your habit for the rest of your life…" Tony answered as he pulled a bag of the pure, white powder from the front right pocket of his baggy, faded blue jeans.
Steve immediately felt a desperate craving for the drug, and he quickly grabbed the bag from Tony's hand and pushed him down on the bed.
"Take off your clothes," the prostitute replied as he took off his shirt, revealing his chiseled six-pack and firm pecs.
"Damn you're fucking sexy. I thought you looked good but Jesus Christ you're even hotter than I could have imagined… You look super familiar though. I can't put my finger on it, but you do. I know I've seen you somewhere…" Tony rambled aimlessly as he swiftly removed his pants, revealing his painfully hard erection.
"Well I've never seen you. Now take off your shirt," Steve instructed as he removed he tossed the baggie of coke on the bed before quickly removing his almost skin-tight dark blue jeans.
"No, that's one thing I don't do. The shirt stays on. Plus it's a Black Sabbath shirt, and they're kick ass! And do you always wear girl's panties?" Tony asked, cocking up his left eyebrow as he pointed at the dark red, frilly booty shorts that the blonde was wearing.
"Tricks tend to enjoy it, so I only wear them when I'm working. And I really don't like rock much; I'm more of a big band kind of guy. I like club music too though, I party a lot," the blonde answered casually as he joined Tony on the bed and flipped him over.
"I pictured you more as a guy that does drugs alone in his apartment, all morose and miserable. But good thing you share in the high with other people, drugs aren't fun when you're by yourself. Well, I guess weed's not too bad when you're alone, but the rest are. You might as well just go to a rehab clinic and get clean, because at least you'll make some friends there..." the brunette mumbled before Steve's hand clamped down on his mouth.
"Shut up. Just shut up," the prostitute sighed as he poured some of the powder on the cheeks of Tony's ass.
He went into Tony's pants pocket, pulled out his black wallet and quickly took out a credit card. Steve took a quick peek at the rest of the wallet's contents and saw several hundred dollars inside, and he mumbled a quick prayer to God that he would go home with every last cent. After a few seconds, the blonde put the wallet back in Tony's pants pocket and went to work on the coke. He used the card to crush the powder and divide it up into two long, thin lines on each cheek. Without missing a beat, Steve closed his left nostril with his finger and snorted all four lines of the powder into his right nostril as if he was a Hoover vacuum.
"Damn, this is some strong stuff!" Steve exclaimed as his whole body shivered in delight from the stimulant.
"Yeah, I know, it's great. Now it's my turn, so get off of my ass," Tony replied anxiously as he attempted to roll over and snatch the bag from Steve.
The blonde grabbed both of Tony's hands and clasped them behind his back, preventing him from turning over onto his back. He began to feel the effects of the cocaine pumping through his system, and he felt a strong desire to dominate his solicitor. As the brunette squirmed in an attempt to break free, Steve got on top of him, squishing the smaller man with his body weight.
"God dammit, Grant! Get the fuck off of me, you're heavy as fuck and I think I'm going to die. My lung probably collapsed you son of a bitch!" the trick wailed in frustration as he tried to buck Steve off of him.
"I know this is what you want. When you said you had a kink, I'm pretty sure it was more than just having me do lines off of your perfect ass. Now you're not getting any coke until you tell me exactly what you're in the mood for, " Steve whispered as he leaned down so his mouth was right next to Tony's ear.
"Fine, fine, I'll admit this is my thing. And I know my ass is perfect, you don't need to tell me that," Tony snapped in frustration, feeling a mixture of arousal and fear from Steve's sudden domination.
"What do you want me to do to you, Tony? Tell me every dirty, filthy detail. I'll give you anything you want tonight," Steve promised as he nibbled on the brunette's left earlobe.
"I want you to use me. Abuse me. Treat me like the depraved piece of shit that I am. Choke me so hard I almost pass out. Leave bruises all over my body that I'll never be able to explain. Fuck me so hard that I won't want be able to walk. Hell, if you're not terrified of a little blood, draw it. Punish me for all of the fucked up things that I am, Grant," Tony moaned in response, growing harder from the sensation of Steve's tongue swirling around his ear.
Immediately after the words left Tony's lips, Steve pushed Tony's face down into the mattress. He ripped the brunette's shirt off and threw the tattered mess of fabric across the room. Steve sunk his teeth deep into the flesh on Tony's shoulder, eliciting a sharp cry from the smaller man. He worked his way down his trick's back, biting each of his shoulders and his sides as if he was working at an assembly line. He nipped at the brunette's flesh so aggressively that small drops of blood bubbled up from the teeth marks that were imprinted in Tony's tender flesh.
"Fuck! Oh God that fucking hurts, Grant! I need more!" the brunette cried out as he gripped the bed sheets until his knuckles turned white.
Steve got up off of the bed and reached into the left back pocket and pulled out a switchblade and walked back over to the bed. He grabbed Tony by the hair and forced him to make eye contact. His pupils were dilated with lust, and his cheeks were stained with tears.
"You want more? Let's knife play," Steve purred as he pushed a button on the left-side of the knife, causing it to spring open and reveal a large, sharp blade.
Tony's eyes went wide with a mixture of terror and excitement as the prostitute brought the blade to the brunette's cheek. He ran the blade across the delicate flesh, leaving a long, thin cut in the skin. It was not a very deep cut; Steve only pressed enough so a little bit of blood would be drawn. More tears dripped from the brunette's eyes, and Steve got down on his knees by the edge of the bed and licked away his tears.
"Aww, is the whiney little rich bitch scared? You're such a pussy Tony, you know that? Real men don't cry the way you are right now… You should just have a sex change and live your life as a woman, you pathetic little slut!" the blonde said sharply as he slapped Tony in the face, causing the skin to turn a bright shade of pink almost instantly.
Steve brought the knife to Tony's face and cut him again, directly underneath the first wound. As the brunette sniffled and tried to hold back his tears, Steve climbed back onto the bed and straddled Tony, who was still lying on his stomach. He planted painfully hard kisses on each of the bite wounds he inflicted, and he slowly dragged the knife down his john's back. Steve made three vertical cuts down the entire length of Tony's back, taking care not to push the blade too deeply into the brunette's skin. The ex-soldier had only done knife play once before, and it ended with Steve dumping the body in a seedy alley for someone to find later. He actually felt a strange connection to Tony, and the last thing he wanted to do was accidentally kill him.
"Fuck, Grant!" the brunette cried out as Steve finished cutting the third line into his patron's beautiful olive skin.
"Shut up you worthless waste of life! No one wants to listen to you, you boring, pathetic piece of trash. Now if you continue talking I'm going to have to slit your throat, and I don't think we want someone to have to put you in a body bag, now do we?" Steve threatened as he grabbed Tony by the hair with his left hand and brought the blade to his throat with the other.
Tony instantly closed his mouth at the threat, and he let his body go slack in submission. The pain from the cuts was become a dull, throbbing ache, and he was curious to know how much blood had risen from the wounds. Steve, appearing to read his trick's mind, swiped his finger in some of the blood and brought it to the smaller man's mouth.
"Open your mouth and lick your blood off my fingers you vile little pussy," Steve commanded, shoving his fingers into Tony's mouth before he even had a chance to respond.
While there was not much blood, it was still enough to shock Tony. No one had abused him this way before, and it made him feel eerily alive to see and taste his blood when the wounds were given by someone else. He had cut himself on and off since he was a teenager, though the thrill of it had been lost several years ago. Feeling his skin being sliced open at the mercy of a beautiful, drug addicted stranger gave Tony a rush he hadn't felt in years. As he pondered the idea of hiring Steve to be his personal sex assistant, his thoughts were cut short when Steve tossed the knife on the other side of the bed, got off of Tony and flipped the brunette onto his back.
"You like the sting of your cuts rubbing against the sheets you fucking…Wait a second, what's this?" Steve questioned as he ran his finger gently around the rim of the arc reactor, staring in complete awe at the glowing blue device.
"It's keeping me alive… Don't touch it or ask me any more questions about it," Tony replied harshly, feeling a hot flush of humiliation overtake his face and chest.
"Oh, poor little Tony's blushing from shame! You are such a weak little man… I think you deserve to be punished for that," the prostitute chastised as the pinched both of Tony's nipples as hard as he could, causing the brunette to cry out in pain.
Steve shoved three blood stained fingers from his left hand into his trick's mouth, shutting him up. He lowered his mouth down to Tony's purpling right nipple and pressed several soft, fluttery kisses to it before taking it into his mouth. Steve sucked on the tender skin until it began to bleed from powerful, painful tugging it received from the prostitute's mouth. Tony let out a loud groan as Steve removed his mouth from his nipple and fingers from his mouth, and the prostitute quickly worked his way down to his client's engorged cock.
"Even with all of those pretty little cuts and bruises on your skin you're still an ugly old man… I should just castrate you right now," the blonde hissed as he grabbed the knife and brought it to Tony's spread thighs.
"Jesus fucking Christ, please don't do that! I don't want to be a eunuch the rest of my life… Grant, I know I'm a worthless piece of shit but don't take away the only thing about me that's worth something!" Tony pleaded loudly as he covered his eyes and peeked through the cracks of his fingers.
"This is the only thing that's worth something to you? Wow, it's not even that impressive. No wonder no one wants you. You have such an average, boring cock, Tony. I wouldn't be surprised if you're a virgin…" Steve responded callously as he striped the brunette's thighs with dozens of small cuts.
As the blood collected on top of Tony's skin, Steve swiped it up and smeared it on the arc reactor, causing the smaller man to gasp loudly.
"You shouldn't even be alive… Look at all that blood on that stupid night light on your chest. The only thing that makes you beautiful is the blood smeared all over your body. Once you wash it away, you're just going to be the miserable little bitch that found me on the street," the prostitute remarked with a devilish grin as he tossed the knife to the side and took Tony's cock into his mouth.
Tears trailed down Tony's cheeks as Steve took his cock all the way into his throat. He watched as the prostitute he hired for the night gagged on his length, and saw that his face and hands were spattered with small dots of blood. Tony felt completely and utterly humiliated, and seeing his sliced and diced flesh sent an unsettling wave of pleasure through his body.
"That's enough pleasure for you, I think. Your ass is mine. Now get on the mattress face down, ass up. Now," Steve commanded as he took Tony's cock out of his mouth and slapped both of the brunette's thighs painfully hard.
Tony yelped in response and quickly got into the desired position. As he waited, he heard a bottle being popped open, and soon its contents were dripped down his ass crack. Steve gently rubbed the lube around Tony's asshole with his left index finger and promptly shoved it in, making the brunette groan loudly.
"Damn, your asshole's pretty tight, Tony. I'm going to have to fix that. Worthless people like you don't deserve to have nice, tight holes," Steve snarled as he forcefully shoved his middle, ring, and pinky finger inside of his client's ass.
"Fuck me, Grant! Goddamn stop making me wait!" Tony screamed into a dingy white pillow as Steve stretched the brunette's hole open with his large, rough fingers, shoving them roughly in and out of his body.
Steve swiftly pulled out his fingers and shoved his cock in, giving Tony no time to adjust to his unnaturally large, thick cock. As he pounded into Tony's ass, Steve wrapped his right hand around the smaller man's throat, choking him as he fucked wildly into him. He would let go for a few seconds when his client's face turned blue so he wouldn't choke to death, but as soon as the brunette took several deep breaths Steve would tighten his grip again.
"G-grant… Touch… Me…" Tony groaned hoarsely when Steve released his tight grip on his throat.
The prostitute did as he was told, and gave Tony's cock three rough, painful jerks, causing the trick to cry out in a mixture of pain as pleasure as he came all over the sheets.
As the muscles in Tony's asshole clenched around Steve's cock, he forcefully pulled out of the smaller man's body. Close to the edge, the prostitute stroked his cock in short, quick strokes as his orgasm raged through him, sending ropes of semen onto Tony's lower back and ass cheeks.
After a few seconds, Steve came down from his post-orgasm high, shoved his left index finger inside of his client's ass, causing him to twitch in response. He pulled out his finger, flipped Tony onto his back, and promptly straddled him, crushing the smaller man's now-soft cock with his body weight.
"Your ass is ruined, just so you know," Steve stated nonchalantly as he wagged his blood stained left index finger in Tony's face.
"Holy shit… I really don't think I'm ever going to be able to walk again. You're incredible, you know that Grant? I think I'm going to have to come down here every weekend and get my fix," Tony responded weakly as he took the prostitute's finger into his mouth and sucked the blood off.
"You can call me Steve," the blonde blurted out without a second thought as Tony cleaned his large, calloused finger.
"Steve? Oh my God, now I know why you looked so familiar! I just fucked Captain America!" Tony exclaimed loudly as brought his hands up to Steve's cheeks and examined his face.
"No you did…" Steve tried to reply in protest, but the brunette quickly cut him off.
"I'm Howard Stark's son, Tony! He talked about you all the time, and I had a stuffed doll of you and everything! I used to masturbate to your old pictures all the time… My dad said you just kind of wandered off after the war, and no one knew where you went! I can't believe you're alive!" Tony squealed excitedly as he brought Steve down for a passionate, powerful kiss.
"You're Howard's son? I should have guessed, you look a lot like him! He'd be so ashamed if he could see what I've become… Partying, doing drugs, paying for my apartment and habit with my body… Why did you have to be the one to pick me up?" Steve sighed heavily as he got up from the bed and swiftly put all of his clothing back on.
"Hey, we all go off the deep end sometimes, Steve. Believe me, look at what I'm doing. I live in Malibu, but I drive out to shitty places in L.A in a crappy Sunfire here to the shitty places to fuck prostitutes who don't know who I am. Not only that, but I pay people to physically abuse me! If you ask me, he'd be ashamed of me too. Well, he always seemed to be, so this probably wouldn't shock him too much," Tony responded softly as he carefully sat up on the bed and looked at the drug-addicted ex-soldier.
"With all the money you have, I'm surprised you don't just find some trophy wife to settle down with… Me, I've made my bed and I have to lie in it. This is the life I made for myself, and it's just the way it is… Keep your money, I don't want it," the blonde said quietly as he walked over to the door to pick up his shoes.
"Steve, please, please don't leave. Listen, I have a proposition. I'm not going to take no for an answer, so just listen to me. I live alone in a beautiful mansion, I'm lonely as fuck, and I'd like to have something good in my life for a change. Now I know you and I are both fucked up, but we can help each other get better. You're all alone too, and I think we'd make a good team," Tony replied as he slowly got up from the bed, hobbled over to Steve and embraced him.
"We both have addictions, Tony. Yours is to sex and abuse and mine is to drugs. I don't think it would be good for two people like us to live in the same place…" Steve replied as he unconsciously kissed the brunette tenderly on his forehead.
"Please, just give this a chance, Steve. I've loved you since I was a kid, and I don't want you to live this life anymore. I've got people who can help us both… And honestly, I think you feel that this was more than just meaningless sex, because I do," the brunette stated bluntly as he wrapped his arms tighter around the blonde.
Steve, unable to find any words to express himself, simply nodded his head yes in response. Tony responded enthusiastically, and the two spent the rest of the night talking about their lives and cuddling on the bed (after dressing Tony's wounds of course). As they drifted off to sleep, Steve prayed to God.
This is the best score I've had yet. Thanks for giving me a second chance, amen, Steve prayed silently before falling asleep cradled in Tony's strong, lean arms.