"Steve…" Tony said groggily as he stretched his right arm out to the other side of the bed, hoping to make contact with the blonde's solid body.

The ex-soldier was no longer lying next to him, however, and the realization made Tony snap into full-consciousness. He was terrified that his hero cut out of the motel sometime during the night, even though the two men came to an agreement that Steve would come to Malibu and live in the genius' large, spacious mansion. The last thing Tony wanted was to let the man that inspired him for his entire life slip through his fingers like fine, gritty sand, and he rushed out of the bed to make sure his belongings were still in the room.

He quickly grabbed his old blue jeans, which were hanging off the bed, and pulled out his wallet to see if the prostitute took off with his money. Tony breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the hundreds of dollars and all of the credit cards in his billfold were still there, and he took a minute to observe his surroundings. He noticed that Steve's clothes were still on the floor, with the exception of his frilly red underwear, and that the bathroom door was cracked open.

The genius carefully got up from the bed and felt pain on virtually every inch of his body. He looked down at his thighs, which were now bruised a dark purple, and the tiny slices in his skin that complimented the bruises beautifully. Tony couldn't see his back, but he assumed that it looked like an expensive, perfect, and desirable piece of abstract art. He loved the sight of clean, well-placed slices into his tender flesh and the pain from the bruises left over from the sadistic actions of the men, and occasionally women, he slept with. Nothing felt better to Tony than physical pain; it took his mind off of the loneliness and emptiness he constantly felt inside, if only for a little while. When Steve was the one performing the knife play and forcing him to lap up his blood, Tony felt oddly satisfied and at peace with life.

Don't let yourself fall for the Star Spangled Man with a Plan… He'll end up being like everyone else and leave you. Just feel lucky that he used you and abused you once, because you're more than likely not going to get it again… Just because he's agreed to live with you means nothing. He's just hitching a ride because you have money and a nice place to live.

He'll never have to sell his ass or his cock again, and he probably won't kick his habit. Steve will take your money and shoot, snort, and smoke anything he can find. You're doing this because you're lonely and you owe it to Captain America to try and give him a better life. He doesn't owe you shit, and he'll fuck and suck you just for your money, Tony thought to himself as he walked over to the bathroom and slowly opened the door.

When he walked in, he noticed that Steve had a band on the top of his arm, restricting blood flow and allowing the ex-soldier's veins to stick out. He had a needle in between his teeth, getting ready to inject himself with his next fix. Tony wasn't sure what it was, and he didn't want Steve to do this to himself anymore, but if he could at least help him administer the substance into his veins he would. He hoped that it would build some trust between them, and maybe Steve would fall for him, though it was a long shot. Even though Tony knew he didn't love the man yet, he did have strong feelings for him and felt a strong desire to protect him and take him away from this empty life.

"What's in the syringe, Steve?" Tony asked as he sauntered over to Steve, took the needle out of the blonde's mouth and pressed a kiss to his lips.

"Heroin. It's probably terrible quality but I don't care. I just need a little in my system. Got it when you were asleep," Steve responded, moving his hand in a "give it back" motion to his ex-client.

"I'll get it, no need to worry your pretty little head, princess," Tony smirked as he gently stuck the needle into Steve's arm and pushed down on the plunger, sending the impure substance directly into the blonde's bloodstream.

After he administered the illegal drug, Tony pulled out the needle, tossed it in the garbage and promptly removed the band from Steve's arm. He wadded up some tissue to place it on the injection site to sop up the little bead of blood from the puncture mark, but he found that no blood was shed. He shrugged, wiped Steve's watery eyes with it instead and set it in the sink.

As the heroin took effect, Steve began to smile from ear to ear. He loved the euphoric feeling he experienced when he was on the drug, and it made him forget about just how low he'd sunk in the world. Not much could take away the pain like drugs did, and while it only lasted for a brief period it was worth the money in Steve's mind. He was disappointed in himself for going back on his thank you to God from last night, but he couldn't help it. Steve couldn't go without it, and while this was his second chance at having a good life, he didn't want to have it unless drugs were still a part of it.

"Have you ever heard that song 'Fuck the Pain Away' Tony?" Steve asked in a soft, kind voice as he slowly sunk down to his knees, his warm, moist breath causing Tony's dick to rise in excitement.

"Is that the one where she says something about sucking on her titties and staying in school? Because if so then yes. You know it's a pretty good song, but sometimes I like techno but not all that o- Ooh fuck, Steve your mouth is fucking incredible…" Tony moaned as Steve took his cock all the way in his mouth and hummed around it.

Steve didn't have much of a gag reflex anymore; he'd lost it years ago when he started hooking. It only took one embarrassing puking incident for him to learn that there was no room for failure in deep throating, as most clients wanted it. Luckily the client he vomited on had a kink for it, but he wanted Steve to slurp it all up off of his cock and it was not a particularly pleasurable experience.

Tony's cock was pretty easy to take into his mouth. It was completely average; it was only about six inches and a little girthy, but it was by no means impressive. He was relieved by that fact, as he was no size queen and never saw a point in monster cocks. There was nothing attractive about them at all, and Steve always hated how much his ass hurt the next day after a particularly well-endowed trick fucked him into the mattress.

"Fuck, you like my cock, don't you Steve? Look at how pretty you look on my dick… Couldn't imagine a better sight. Shit, where in the fuck did you get a tongue like that!" Tony cried out in shock as Steve pulled off of the billionaire's erection and swirled his tongue around the head, lapping hungrily at the precome forming at Tony's slit.

This was incredible vanilla for Steve, and the fact that he was actually enjoyingthis was a shock to him. Rarely did he enjoy the things he did with the men who paid him, but something about Tony was different. He loved the way Tony tasted, his need for stimulation, the way he begged Steve to live with him… Steve hadn't had these kind of feelings for someone since Peggy all those years ago, but he chalked it up to his heroin high and shrugged it off.

He spit on the tip of Tony's rock hard cock and spread it around the head and base with his rough fingers, eliciting a gasp from the man he was satisfying. When Tony's dick was slathered in Steve's spit, he got up from his kneeling position and pressed himself against the bathroom wall, spreading his legs far apart. He motioned for Tony to join him, and the lonely, desperate man hesitantly walked over, pressed his cockhead at Steve's entrance and pushed in slowly, giving the blonde's un-prepped hole a little time to adjust to the foreign intrusion. Steve was used to tricks only using spit as lubricant, or on occasion nothing at all.

Steve loved to mix his drug induced highs with sex; it made him feel useful instead of just a washed out veteran with an insatiable habit. He'd never admit it to anyone, but prostitution was the only thing that made him feel like he mattered. While it didn't provide lasting emotional comfort and forced him to keep his heart closed to everyone around him, at least it lessened the shame and emptiness that came with his fall to rock bottom.

As Tony thrust hard and fast into Steve's tight hole, the prostitute began to feel sick to his stomach. The billionaire slammed Steve into the wall with each snap of his hips, and the motion made Steve feel dizzy. Whenever he used questionable heroin, Steve would often feel the need to vomit, though usually he was able to resist the urge. The way Tony was pounding away at his ass and forcing him into the wall over and over again was too much, however, and Steve quickly pulled the brunet's dick out of his ass and rushed over to the toilet.

"Fuck, Steve, if you felt sick you didn't need to screw me. For God's sake you're not under any obligation to sell yourself to me anymore…" Tony sighed as he knelt down beside Steve and gently stroked his back in small, gentle circles.

Shit… I thought I was messed up, look at Cap. At least I never had a drug problem, unless alcohol counts, which I totally think it doesn't. That's nothing compared to this... When I get Steve to Malibu I'm taking him to a rehab center and there's not a goddamn thing he's going to do about it. I'm not going to let him keep doing this shit to himself, he's better than this! Tony decided as he watched Steve vomit up yellow bile, the smell so pungent that it stung his eyes.

Even though Tony carried drugs on him the majority of the time, he never actually did them. LSD, heroin, cocaine… None of it had ever entered his system. The only reason he brought it with him when he picked up prostitutes was because it was the only way they'd be willing to torture him the way he desired. Few of them wanted to tie him up, slap him around, or even think about leaving marks on his beautiful olive skin. Giving them the one thing that kept them numb enough to continue their jobs in the world's oldest profession was the surefire approach to take, and although they tended to do a piss poor job while under the influence, it was good enough for him.

This time, however, he felt guilty condoning drug use and playing a role in its administration. It was Steve, the only man he ever looked up to, and to see him in such a deplorable, pathetic condition broke his heart. Watching his idol suffer this way brought it all home, and he finally realized just how awful it was that he fed people's habits. On the bright side, he reasoned that it wasn't as bad as it could've been since he only bought the purest, most expensive drugs. It was awful nonetheless, and Tony knew there was no way he could justify his actions to satisfy his masochistic kinks.

As Tony thought back to all of those times he exchanged drugs for sex, all of the men so desperate for drugs that they'd suck his cock or let him fuck them in the ass for hours. They were just so beaten up, thrown aside, completely and utterly used up that they didn't care whether they lived or died. They'd lost their faith in a higher power long ago, and if they died they didn't care. Nothing mattered to the downtrodden prostitutes anymore, and Tony was one of the men to blame for their plight.

If men like Tony didn't exist, maybe prostitution wouldn't exist. But people with power could pay for whatever they wanted, and they could take advantage of those in the lower rungs of the societal ladder with ease. There were times Tony didn't even pay his sex workers with cash; he'd simply toss them a nice plastic bag filled with the finest cocaine or the most psychedelic LSD he could get his hands on. He perpetuated this mess, he allowed drug peddling to continue, and worst of all, Tony treated Steve in a way he never would have in his regular life.

He watched as Steve sat up, flushed the toilet and wiped the vomit off of his beautiful, clean shaven face. Tony helped him up, walked him over to the sink and gave him a toothbrush and toothpaste. Steve cleaned his teeth slowly as he looked at himself. His eyes were bloodshot, there were dark bags under his eyes, and his hair was in complete disarray. Steve hated when he came down from the heroin highs; he actually had to look at himself and think about the consequences of his actions. His addiction led him into such a dark place, and maybe, just maybe, Tony could get him out.

"Good, princess. Come to bed with me, let's sit and talk. If you need to puke again let me know and I'll get you the trash can," Tony said calmly as he took Steve carefully by the hand and led him back to the dirty, uncomfortable mattress that had Tony's blood stains all over it.

Tony laid down first and motioned for Steve to join him, and he nodded weakly in response. As he curled up in Tony's arms, he felt completely vulnerable. No trick he'd ever fucked had seen him crash and burn during a high like that, and it made him feel exposed. Steve liked to come off as the tough, strong, and invincible man that terrified his johns into acting like well-behaved gentlemen.

But he couldn't be like that with Tony, and when he began to cry in shame and humiliation it didn't surprise him at all. It felt wonderful to finally feel safe, and even though Tony was essentially a complete stranger that just paid him to slice and dice his skin and fuck his ass until it bled, he felt like he'd known him forever. Steve tried to tell himself that it was because he looked so much like Howard, but he knew deep inside that it wasn't the truth. He'd never opened up to Howard this way, and they'd been best friends back in the war. None of that mattered now, however; all that mattered is that he had a warm body holding him close as he sobbed.

"S-sorry Tony. First time I've cried in years. Don't know, don't know why. So sorry," Steve choked out as he bawled into Tony's firm chest, his tears smearing all over the genius' skin.

"Shh… No reason to be sad, Cap. You just puked is all, nothing to be ashamed of. I've done it more times than I'd like to admit… It's okay, don't apologize," Tony shocked himself by letting out these kind, caring words; he hadn't shown his caring side in years since he and a man named Bruce dated long ago.

This is all my goddamn fault… If I didn't come here, didn't give him drugs, didn't help him shoot up, he wouldn't be like this right now. He never would have puked in front of me and he wouldn't feel so worthless. All I ever do is make people feel like shit, and I'm not going to pull this with Steve. I'm going to get him out, he's going to be okay, and maybe we'll end up together. That's a stretch, but it's worth trying. What else do I have to lose? Tony thought to himself as he ran his fingers through Steve's mussed up hair and whispered consoling words into his ear.

Steve tried desperately to pull himself together, dust himself off and act like this incident never happened, but the tears wouldn't stop flowing. Hitting rock bottom was a difficult thing to face head on, and for years he'd simply suppressed the thoughts and used drugs to wash it all away. The drugs were starting to lose their effect on him now, and his heroin highs barely lasted long enough to keep him happy. His tolerance was so high from the years of substance abuse that it would take a lot of money to get the high he craved; money he just didn't have.

Why are you doing this? Why are you holding me, letting me cry? You just met me… Sure you were my friend's son and grew up with only the good stories about Captain America, but I'm not that person anymore. I don't even know if I ever really was. All I am is an addict, and you're treating me like I'm more than that... There must be a reason more than because he feels bad. Maybe he thinks if he makes me feel good enough and let my guard down that I'll be his prostitute forever. I guess it could be worse, Steve thought to himself as he slowly regained his composure, trying to keep in mind that Tony was merely a client, and that while he was planning on moving to Malibu with him it was only for a safer living arrangement and maybe a little company.

"Steve, I'm never going to let bastards like me hurt you again. All of us are scum… Complete pieces of shit and you don't deserve this. You deserve a good life, and I'm going to give it to you," Tony promised as he wiped the tears away from Steve's red, puffy eyes, and he smiled for a brief second before giving Steve one of the most intimate kisses in his life.

"You know not all tricks are bad, Tony. I've had some wonderful people come to me just to feel cared about, and for some reason they liked me. I got a lot of those actually, like you," Steve admitted as he sniffled and Tony reached over and grabbed a tissue from the nightstand for the prostitute to blow his nose with.

"Tell me about one of them. I really don't know if I believe you… I really think we're all pretty damn fucked up for us to actually look for people like you, no offense to your profession. I think prostitution's not a bad thing and hell if I could I'd give you all healthcare and give you a safe place to work, but that wouldn't be too good for Stark Industries," Tony rambled, and Steve pressed a finger to his lips to silence him.

"Hmm… Well I guess I'll tell you about Nick. He called himself Fury though, because he always had to put on a tough face. He was a leader of the South Side Shields, a gang that's notorious for their initiation ritual. They actually scoop out one of your eyes… Imagine that. That's actually what happened to him, because he rose to the top and wasn't the founder or anything like that. So he always wore this leather eye patch that covered up the lid they'd sewn shut. He showed it to me when he picked me up for the first time to scare me and to make me follow his orders and demands.

"The first time we fucked, he was actually a lot like you, except it was flipped the other way around. He swore a lot like you do, and he had a demanding presence. I actually had a lot of respect for that. I like guys like you and Fury, it's nice to not deal with sheepish people all the time. Most of the tricks I've had whine and won't tell me what they want, and half of them have a hard time getting their dicks up because they never really get a chance to use 'em. Fury definitely wasn't one of those guys.

"I'm not really into big cocks because they hurt too much, but for some reason Fury was gentle and it wasn't terrible. After him I thought that I'd enjoy them, but I still don't. He just had this touch and genuine care about not hurting me; he didn't show that until we got to the hotel. Sure he swore at me, slapped me around and sucked me so hard I thought it'd come off, but when he actually put it inside me Nick was so gentle.

"After we were done he wanted to cuddle. That's always a weird request because normally they throw their money at me and cut and run. Not him; honestly it didn't even seem like he wanted the sex at all. And it turned out I was right. He admitted to me that he thought the only way he'd get to be close to someone, anyone, was if he fucked a hooker and maybe they'd let him cuddle. Most of the time he ended up disappointed because most of us refuse to, but since I know I can overpower just about anyone I have no problem with it.

"He opened up to me, told me about his time in the gang, why he joined, and how he wanted to get out but didn't know any other life. It was all he knew, and Fury knew he was going to die that way. He knew there was no good way out of this, and if he tried to leave he'd get killed, so either way it didn't matter. Fury was a dead man walking, and he never knew when he was going to die. But when he talked to me, told me these things, he really was a good person. Sure he lied a lot, stole cars, killed rival gang members from the L.A Lokis, but deep down he only did those things because he didn't have any other options.

"So after we talked, he'd come to me twice a week, and all we'd do was go to the motel and watch movies. His favorite was 'Pulp Fiction.' I never really got into it, but we watched it every time we were together. I think it gave him hope that he'd get out, but I'll never know. But I'll admit, I never charged him a dime for my services. It's not like we ever fucked again after that first night.

"After six months of it, we were coming out of the motel and two of Loki's thugs gunned him down. I took my knife and took after them, killed every last one of those guys. They were terrified of me, and I have no idea why they didn't try and shoot me. I rushed back to him, dragged him back into our room and he died. Bled to death. He loved me too… Can you believe it? A guy like me getting love from anyone is ridiculous… I'll admit I miss seeing him sometimes, and it's been a while since he died. I guess at least God answered my prayer when I asked him to let Nick die with someone he loved there, and it was me." Steve's eyes began to water again at the memory, though he quickly blotted them away with a tissue; he didn't want Tony to see him cry anymore, because he hated feeling so vulnerable.

Tony didn't say anything; he wasn't sure what to say. He'd never heard of a john being so kind, though he knew that they had a habit of falling in love with the prostitutes they frequently called upon and paid. Tony thought they were all sick and fucked up like he was, just looking for anyone that would give him the torture he wanted, but in that moment Steve proved him wrong.

Not only that, but he was confused as to what Steve meant by saying he was a good trick. That didn't make sense to him at all, as he made his ex-prostitute feel like all he was good for was sex. Tony didn't feel that way at all now that he knew the man he'd slept with was Captain America, but in his heart he understood that if it had been anyone else, he couldn't care less if they lived or died. He prayed that Steve would be able to change all of that, and he hoped that if God existed that He would listen.

As Tony was lost in thought, Steve's face began to turn pale and a greenish tint. He tapped Tony on the shoulder to get his attention, and the brunet immediately grabbed the trash can. Steve puked violently, projecting it all the way to the bottom of the trash bag protected plastic. It tore what little heart Tony had to shreds to see Steve's body rejecting the heroin in such a violent way, and he regretted not taking the needle and squirting its illegal contents into the garbage bin with all of Tony's bloody bandages.

Feelings that he thought were dead, buried six feet under and bloated with maggots were now beginning to bubble to the surface again. He felt a deep pang of guilt and concern rise as he watched Steve heave his guts out, though now it was only dry. Tony cared a lot about Steve, even though he'd never met him until the night before, and he desperately wanted to nurture him. He knew that nothing would ever be enough to take away the trauma, the emptiness, and the damage that Steve suffered during the many years he went through the motions, jumped through hoops, and played the sex game.

"Steve, you gonna be okay? Lay down on your side, it helps me when I feel like I'm gonna hurl. Happens all the time since I drink a lot. I'm the expert on puke, so here, let me help," Tony waited for Steve to stop heaving, moved the trash can and helped him onto his side.

He got off of the bed, went into the bathroom to pour Steve a glass of water and came back and helped him drink. Steve was sweaty, there were dark circles under his eyes and there was a little bit of puke on the corner of his mouth. Tony wiped it away, wicked the sweat from his brow, and curled up behind him, wrapping his arms around Steve's waist.

"Thanks… Must have been bad stuff. Should be out of my system soon," the blonde assured Tony as he vomited up the water he just drank, flushing his system again.

After vomiting for another half hour, Steve's body was so spent that he passed out, leaving Tony to worry. He knew that Steve hadn't overdosed, but it scared him to watch his childhood hero suffer like that. Tony had never been in a situation like this with someone that he actually gave two shits about, and all he could think to do was hold him. The billionaire rested his head on Steve's shoulder, rubbed his fallen hero's firm, flat belly, staying wide awake and monitoring all of Steve's movements.

Two hours later, Steve woke up. He was rejuvenated; his eyes were no longer bloodshot, his skin regained its lightly tan, healthy hue, and his stomach was no longer upset. He put his hands affectionately over Tony's and he squeezed them lightly, letting his ex-john know that he regained consciousness. Tony quickly sprang to life, flipped him over and planted a firm kiss to his lips, completely taking him off guard. Steve didn't like this, didn't want this, and was a bit disturbed by the fact that Tony cared so much. They only met yesterday, and while Steve had some feelings of attraction toward the older man it wasn't enough to act this way so fast.

"Calm down, Tony, I'm not dead! You don't need to get so worked up about it… This has happened before and it's gonna happen again. It's just how it goes. Now we should really get out of this hotel, it's about six o'clock now, and if we stay any longer we might have to pay more," Steve said in a stern, cold voice, trying to snap both himself and Tony out of this intimate moment.

Steve's change in attitude hurt Tony, but he knew he was acting ridiculous. It wasn't appropriate for him to behave this way, especially not toward a man who was virtually a stranger. He hadn't told Steve anything about his life, and he'd barely asked the blonde about his. The feelings were irrational and a little crazy, but it all boiled down to one single point; a strong need to protect the man who once represented America.

"Steve, can you go out to my car and grab the duffel bag that's in the backseat?" Tony asked as he slowly untangled himself from Steve and got off of the deplorable mattress.

The prostitute nodded his head as he slipped on his crumpled up clothes that were lying in a careless heap. He wanted to ask why, but he knew not to ask questions. When a man worked in the under the table sex business, they had an unspoken rule; do not question anything that a trick does or asks. Tony tossed him the keys to his shitty car, and Steve retrieved the small black duffel. It was light as air, and Steve had no idea what it could possibly contain that Tony needed. He'd find out soon enough though, and Steve secretly hoped that it was at the very least some weed. His skin was itching, he was twitchy and he needed some drug, any drug, in his system.

"Thanks, princess," Tony said appreciatively as he grabbed the canvas bag and took it into the bathroom.

"Please be drugs, please be drugs, please be drugs,"Steve quietly chanted over and over again as he leaned against the door that led to the parking lot, tapping his foot in impatience and intense need.

Tony heard Steve's quiet whispers, but he ignored them and closed the door. He felt terrible that Steve was so desperate for drugs that he wanted Tony to carry a whole bagful, and he knew he'd be disappointed when the billionaire stepped out of the room empty handed.

He unzipped the bag and pulled out a contact case, some contact solution, a wig cap and a medium length blonde wig. Tony first put on the wig cap, pushing all of his beautiful brown locks underneath. He pulled on the adjustable straps at the back of the cap until it fit his head perfectly so it would stay in place. He carefully placed the blonde wig over it, making sure that it looked it was his real hair. Tony brushed it a little with his fingers before washing his hands.

When he opened up his contact lens case, he admired the lenses inside for a brief moment. They were a beautiful, pale blue, and he always enjoyed wearing them. Blue eyes were his favorite, and he secretly wished that he'd been born with them. He poured a little solution into the lenses, popped them in, and wiped the excess solution away from his eyes. Finally he pulled out his razor and a mini bottle of shaving cream, lathered up his face and shaved off his stubble and goatee, giving him a completely different look.

Steve's mouth dropped when Tony stepped out of the bathroom; he didn't even look like the same person, and he was completely puzzled by his ex-client's getup. After a minute of gawking, he immediately put the pieces together and realized that he didn't want anyone to recognize him when they were out on the street. He had a reputation to keep, and Tony had yet to be caught with a male prostitute, only high class honeys from Playboy and Hustler.

"You want me to fuck you and call you Sally I take it?" Steve asked with a grin as he moved away from the doorframe and walked over to Tony.

"Oh yeah, I said that last night… Fuck no I don't want that. I'm not a pathetic little bitch," Tony smirked as Steve placed his hands gently on his face, examining the transformation the billionaire made while in the bathroom.

"You know, you look like Kirk Lazarus right now," Steve chuckled as he gently stroked the blonde hair of the wig, admiring the high end quality of the fake hair.

"I swear I get that every time I wear this damn wig… At least he was a great character. 'Tropic Thunder' is one of my favorites. I actually fucked Robert Downey Jr. once when he was coked out of his mind. We were both at a party, he needed a fix, I had it and holy shit he rocked my world. God he pounded me into the floor… He had a fantastic cock too. Not near as perfect as yours but pretty fucking close," Tony purred as he palmed Steve through his jeans, feeling the prostitute's cock spring to life within seconds.

"If we're gonna do this again, let's go back to my place. Plus I want to get a few things from my apartment before we take off," Steve responded as he pulled away from Tony, waved his car keys in the genius' face and walked out the door.

"Wait for me, gorgeous!" the billionaire exclaimed as he packed the rest of his things in his bag, put on his shoes and rushed out the door after Steve, who was waiting in the driver's seat.

As Tony stepped in the car, he pressed a button on the dashboard. Before Steve could ask what it was, he was startled by a loud, British voice that came out of nowhere.

"Good evening, Master Stark. What song would you like me to play for you?" the unfamiliar voice asked in a monotone voice, and Steve looked all around the car, looking for a person, though he found none.

"Hello Jarvis. Steve, what's your favorite song? We'll listen to it on the way to your apartment, I don't care what it is," Tony waved his hand in indifference, and he was surprised by Steve's request.

When Steve pulled out of the parking lot, Tony heard the beat from "Iron Man" by Black Sabbath begin to play, but as he heard a man begin to rap, he knew it definitely wasn't what he expected. He was surprised that Steve listened to this odd, abrasive rap song, but Tony knew there was no reason to be shocked. He didn't know the man at all, and the classy, honorable gentleman that loved swing music was long gone and replaced by a man who lived a cheap life rife with illegal drugs and uncommitted sex.

"Have you lost your mind? Tell me when you think we crossed the line. No more drugs for me, pussy and religion is all I need," he listened as Steve rapped along with the music, finding it to be a bit ironic.

This particular set of lyrics stuck in Tony's head; he was unsure if Steve was religious, but he couldn't imagine that he would be. With the life he lived, he had to have given up on the concept of a higher power long ago, and even though Tony wanted to ask him he knew it wasn't appropriate. From what he'd gathered, Steve didn't like fucking girls all that often, and drugs were the biggest part of his life. He wondered why he loved the song so much; it was dark, unsettling, and haunting, and Tony's whole body shivered as the song switched beats. It moved from angry and pounding to the sound of something clopping, and then it faded out as the rapper breathed heavily.

The song ended the moment they arrived at Steve's apartment, and he was deeply saddened by the deplorable state of the building. His project to save the Captain was to keep him away from places like this, and bringing him to a beautiful, expensive home was his goal. Then Steve could get clean, get an admirable job and live the perfect life he deserved.

Steve turned off the car, tossed Tony his keys and they stepped out of the car. Tony locked the doors and Steve gently took him by the hand and led him into the building. The walls were disgusting and caked with questionable splatters of bodily fluids, some of them appearing to be blood, others piss, and there were even streaks of was looked like shit all over the place. It was disgusting, and Tony wanted to vomit just at the sight.

This is where THE Captain America's been living? Jesus Christ! Why didn't he just stay in New York, live a happy life and keep in touch with his war buddies? Steve, how did you let yourself get like this? I know you went off the deep end but fuck, this is beyond rock bottom! the genius' inner voice screamed in horror and anger when he saw what kind of life Steve was living, and when they made it into the apartment he didn't feel much better.

"Yeah I know, it's not much, but it suits my needs. Rent's cheap and sometimes the nice meth addicted couple across the hall smokes weed with me," the prostitute tried to justify the perks of living in the dumpy apartment building, but there was nothing pleasant about it and the blonde knew it.

Steve motioned for Tony to sit down on the couch, and the two men plopped down, Tony resting his head comfortably in Steve's lap. He looked over onto the coffee table and saw all of the drug paraphernalia sitting on top. It sickened him, but he knew he wasn't one to talk; Tony simply watched in disappointment as Steve leaned over, put some coke on a mirror and snorted up a few lines.

He looked up at Steve's face, and watched as the blonde's pupils dilated and a euphoric, toothy smile grew on his face. Before Tony realized what was happening Steve grabbed him, slammed him up against the wall and kissed him on the lips. Blood was dripping out of Steve's nose and onto their mouths, and the taste was exhilarating to Tony.

As much as Tony hated to admit it to himself, he loved anything that involved pain, suffering and the possibility of death. He was a risk taker, had unprotected sex more times than he'd like to admit, and pissed off more than a few questionable businessmen, but drugs were never a behavior he desired to partake in. Tony liked where this was going, and as his back scratched against the wall he could feel some of the cuts reopening, causing him to groan in arousal and pain.

"What do you want Tony? Do you want me to fuck you? Do you want to fuck me? Do you want me to cut you again? Is there something else? I'll do anything you want, anything, just tell me," Steve's voice raced, and Tony clearly knew he wasn't in his right mind, but he didn't care; the brunet realized that this may be the only way he'd get to fulfill his twisted dark fantasy.

"Fuck me with your gun. Put it in my mouth and fuck me in the ass while you choke me. Just go get it, I know you have one," Tony growled against Steve's neck as he nipped at the blonde's flesh, hoping that Steve would give him what he wanted.

Tony fantasized about dying during sex all the time; he loved the possibility that a knife could cut too deep, someone could choke him for too long, or drown him during sex in the tub. The risk of being killed was a rush, and no one would ever give him what he needed. If Steve was able to cut him and play in his blood, then he was sure to be on board with this.

"You sure you want this? I'll do it if it's what you want but I don't know if it's a good idea. You want it?" Steve's heart raced even faster at Tony's request; he'd never been asked for something like this before, but since the genius was going to take him away from this shitty place he was willing to acquiesce.

"Yes, now fucking go get it!" Tony yelled, and Steve immediately let go of him and rushed into his bathroom.

He kept the gun in a box in the combination sink/cabinet, and as he pulled it out he wondered if it was loaded. Tony was continuing to yell and scream for him to fuck him, so he didn't bother to check. Instead, he rushed back into the room with Tony, who was lying on the ground, his pants tossed aside and his legs spread wide. His torso was lifted up so Steve would have access to his neck and mouth, and he gave Steve the most terrifying glare he'd ever seen in his life. Not even Fury was able to scare him the way Tony did in that moment.

God, please don't let the gun be loaded. I don't want Tony to die… And God, please don't let my heart give out from this. I love you and I'm sorry. I'll try harder tomorrow. Amen, Steve prayed to God internally before he set to work on Tony; even while high he still thought about his Creator all the time, and prayer was automatic, like breathing.

Steve got down on top of Tony's body, set the gun down to the side and spit in his hand. He slathered it on his dick, using it as a lube substitute, and pressed his cockhead against Tony's entrance. Before he shoved inside, he grabbed the gun, shoved the barrel in the older man's mouth and slammed hard into the billionaire's hole.

Tony moaned around the gun as Steve put his left hand on his throat and squeezed as hard as he could. Steve shoved the barrel of the small handgun in Tony's mouth until it was tickling his uvula. As the blonde pulled his dick out and thrust it back into Tony's red, angry hole, he forced the gun in and out of the brunet's mouth as if it was a cock. He would let go of his neck in small intervals, giving Tony enough time to take a few breaths before he cut off his oxygen supply again. Steve kept his hand on the trigger the entire time like he knew Tony wanted, but he was terrified that his finger would twitch and he's blow the billionaire's brains out.

As Steve pounded into Tony's ass, the pain became so intense that it drove him mad with desire. He was lightheaded from the denial of oxygen to his brain, his hard, throbbing cock rubbed against the floor with each of Steve's thrusts, and spit bubbled around the gun and flew out of his mouth. The roof of Tony's mouth was being rubbed by the sight of the gun with such intensity that it began to bleed, and little drops of blood flew out of his mouth. This was exactly what Tony wanted; to be completely used, terrified of what was to come, and unsure whether or not he'd be alive at the end of this. He'd never felt so empty, yet alive at the same time. Steve was perfect, and now he wanted to keep him as his and his alone.

Tony came hard when Steve 's cock hit his prostrate in one hard, painful thrust, sending his cum all over the floor and his belly. As pleasurable as his orgasm felt, it hurt at the same time; his dick was rubbed almost raw by the friction against the thin, ugly blue carpet. He knew it was more than likely bleeding, and the thought only made his release all the more intense. He loved pain, loved this nightmare, and loved the blood. Suffering was the way to repent for all of the wrongs he'd done to prostitutes like Steve, and he deserved all of the pain the blonde could dish out.

He felt Steve's semen rush out of his dick and inside of his body at the same time that he came, and the sensation was incredible. As Steve came, he choked Tony so tight that the billionaire thought he'd die right then and there. He fantasized about death, the possibility that he'd go to a potential Hell and live his life being tortured at the hands of demons.

When Steve accidentally pulled the trigger, nothing happened; Tony had prepared for this moment and the potential release from a bitter shell of a life, and was a bit disappointed that no bullet went through his mouth and out the back of his head. Hell, if it would have killed Steve too he would have been happy; then he'd never have to suffer again, and they could die together.

But all of the thoughts disappeared the moment Steve removed the gun from Tony's mouth, took his hand from his throat and pulled his cock out of the brunet's gaping, cummy asshole. Steve's high was gone when he finished, and when he looked down at the man underneath him he was horrified. He slowly picked up Tony and sat him back down on the couch on his side.

Tony's mouth was dripping blood, his throat had deep, purple bruises in the shape of Steve's hand on it, and the underside of the brunet's dick was scratched up from the carpet and tiny beads of blood were in the scratches. As awful as the scene was, Tony looked thoroughly satisfied, and it made Steve feel not so awful about what he'd done. He did give Tony what he wanted, after all, and that was part of his job description; to please, please, please!

"Steve… Were there any bullets in the gun?" Tony asked as he wiped up blood from his mouth, and looked down in appreciation when he saw a stripe of blood on the back of his hand.

He opened the gun, looked inside and saw that there were none. Steve showed it to Tony, and he sighed in disappointment. While Steve still fulfilled his needs and Tony looked like a complete and utter train wreck, he still wished that he could have died.

"I'm sorry, Tony, are you okay? I was way too rough and I didn't mean to hurt you this way… I'm awful," Steve apologized over and over again as he got behind Tony and cradled him in his arms, trying to make himself feel a little better about what he'd just done.

"Never been better, Steve," Tony slowly turned over so he was facing Steve and kissed him tenderly, his blood staining both he and the prostitute's lips.

God, thank you so much for keeping Tony alive. I thank you for making me forget to buy bullets, I thank you for keeping him safe while I was high, and I thank you for keeping my heart steady. I am truly blessed that you listen to me. I'll kick this addiction for you, God. I promise. Amen, Steve prayed as his tongue tangled with Tony's, and he wondered why he cared so much about this masochistic, self-loathing, and deeply troubled stranger.