Title: Going to Put my Name Down Fandom: Captain America (Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationship: n/a Tags: dub-con, hey you know that fic where senator brandt (the guy who runs the ISO show) basically pimps steve out to a sketchy rich guy that no one asked for?, yeah I wrote that fic
Steve Rogers was given a minder. Normally this would have bothered him, if he didn’t need minding at age thirteen on the streets of New York (no matter what Bucky thought) then he certainly didn’t need a minder now that he had enough muscles to make anyone think twice before starting anything with him. Only he had no idea what was going on. Senator Brandt heard his accent and quickly assigned a toady to make sure that Steve got allocation lessons and arrived dressed up nice wherever and whenever Brandt wanted him.
Like this party for the city’s (whatever city this one is, all Steve knows is that it is not New York) upper crust for supporting the war effort. Thankfully they don’t have him parading around in tights. Though the tuxedo is not much more comfortable. Steve honestly doesn’t really know why Brandt insisted on Steve being here, the minder hasn’t forced him to schmooze, so mostly Steve has been standing stock still with an untouched drink in his hand. He was like a donkey in a lion costume hoping none of the pride was paying attention, and won’t notice the guttersnipe that has been brought among these glitzy folks.
Suddenly his minder jabbed him in the side with an elbow. “That’s Mr. Wilder,” He pointed to a middle aged man who just entered the room. “He’s going to donate a million dollars to the war effort, and he asked to meet you specifically. You should go thank him.” The last sentence was accompanied by a light shove because Steve’s whole body had gone frozen at the naming of such a sum.
Steve barely avoided running into a waiter only to step on the train of a woman’s gown, the owner of which glared at him for a moment despite his immediate apologies. He managed to make his way to the end of the room where Mr. Wilder was talking with another older man, the drink in his hand already half gone. For a moment Steve didn’t know how to approach him, he had asked for Captain America. Should Steve sing a few bars of the song like he’s a singing telegram?
Mr. Wilder turned and noticed him standing there, and his face cracked into a smile. “Hello there, you look different outside that costume.” He said raking his eyes up and down Steve’s body. Steve still felt like he was wearing a costume, but attempted a smile.
“Thank you— for helping the war effort.” Steve said because he had been told to and also $1 million could help a lot of men. Mr. Wilder looked at him like he was a precious kitten and slung an arm around Steve.
“Just doing my patriotic duty.” He said, and took a sip from his glass while keeping his eyes on Steve in a way that was highly disconcerting. It would have been easier if Mr. Wilder had just sneered at him, Steve knew what to do with people who looked down on him. That smirk though, left Steve clueless about what he was expected to be doing. He fiddled with his champagne glass as if lines might have been pasted on there.
“So what do you do, Mr. Wilder?” Steve asked at last.
“Oh, this and that. A bit of law, a bit of trade whatever presents itself. And what do you do, Mr. Captain America; I mean when you’re not punching Hitler? Or is that a national secret?” Mr. Wilder asked and chortled at his little joke.
“I guess I sketch a little.” Because obsessing over memories of Dr. Erskine dying in his arms or terrors of Agent Carter or Bucky dying alone in some undisclosed location weren’t things you told strangers.
“Huh.” Was all Mr. Wilder had to say to that, but he took it as an opportunity to lean in, and press himself against Steve’s side. “I hope you whip those Nazis into shape, or else they’re going to cost me an absolute fortune.” He squeezed Steve’s bicep. “You know, I do think you’re worth another $500,000 to the war effort.” Mr. Wilder said in a low voice, and laughed because apparently that sort of money could be thrown away for a good time.
All at one Steve was struck once again by the opulence of his surroundings, the tuxedos and gowns like something out of a movie, waiters with impeccably balanced trays, Mr. Wilder’s champagne-soaked breath against his cheek. Steve thought of Bucky in Africa, freezing in the desert night. How many men had died because their weapons hadn’t functioned properly? How many were going to die because the hospitals weren’t stocked well enough? Now Steve understood his reason for being here.
“I think I’m worth at least $750,000.” Steve said which after all wasn’t inaccurate. He had been struck dumb when Dr. Erskine had explained to him the costs involved of Project Rebirth. Mr. Wilder burst out laughing, and the hand that was companionably on Steve’s back slid downward.
“Get a load of you, huh? Alright sweetheart, lets make it another million to make it even.” With that he made his way to Senator Brandt leaning heavily on Steve, but he wasn’t nearly as drunk as he appeared. Mostly he was copping a feel. “Hey Brandt, change my gift to $2 million, if you let Captain America escort me to my car.”
“Of course Mr. Wilder, Captain America is always happy to help. Thank you for your contribution.” There were indulgent smiles all around. Captain America helping an intoxicated man getting home safely, but as Steve lead Mr. Wilder out of the party there were more than a few smirks among the crowd that seemed to have an idea of what was going on. Steve could taste it in his mouth, a cloying tang like blood, what this would entail.
Half an hour later Mr. Wilder pressed him against the hotel door, unbuttoning Steve’s shirt. He stared admiringly at what was underneath.
“Look at you sweetheart, I could just chain you up to my bed. Feel like the Sheik of Persia.”
“I’m afraid that would be another million dollars, Mr. Wilder.” Steve said, and Mr. Wilder absolutely howled, before biting down on Steve’s shoulder, a thigh pressed between Steve’s legs. Then he let Mr. Wilder push him onto the bed. He stared up at the ceiling and thought of Bucky in his tent with thick socks and a new bedroll.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2016-01-08 03:42 am (UTC)Title: Going to Put my Name Down
Fandom: Captain America (Movies)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Relationship: n/a
Tags: dub-con, hey you know that fic where senator brandt (the guy who runs the ISO show) basically pimps steve out to a sketchy rich guy that no one asked for?, yeah I wrote that fic
Steve Rogers was given a minder. Normally this would have bothered him, if he didn’t need minding at age thirteen on the streets of New York (no matter what Bucky thought) then he certainly didn’t need a minder now that he had enough muscles to make anyone think twice before starting anything with him. Only he had no idea what was going on. Senator Brandt heard his accent and quickly assigned a toady to make sure that Steve got allocation lessons and arrived dressed up nice wherever and whenever Brandt wanted him.
Like this party for the city’s (whatever city this one is, all Steve knows is that it is not New York) upper crust for supporting the war effort. Thankfully they don’t have him parading around in tights. Though the tuxedo is not much more comfortable. Steve honestly doesn’t really know why Brandt insisted on Steve being here, the minder hasn’t forced him to schmooze, so mostly Steve has been standing stock still with an untouched drink in his hand. He was like a donkey in a lion costume hoping none of the pride was paying attention, and won’t notice the guttersnipe that has been brought among these glitzy folks.
Suddenly his minder jabbed him in the side with an elbow. “That’s Mr. Wilder,” He pointed to a middle aged man who just entered the room. “He’s going to donate a million dollars to the war effort, and he asked to meet you specifically. You should go thank him.” The last sentence was accompanied by a light shove because Steve’s whole body had gone frozen at the naming of such a sum.
Steve barely avoided running into a waiter only to step on the train of a woman’s gown, the owner of which glared at him for a moment despite his immediate apologies. He managed to make his way to the end of the room where Mr. Wilder was talking with another older man, the drink in his hand already half gone. For a moment Steve didn’t know how to approach him, he had asked for Captain America. Should Steve sing a few bars of the song like he’s a singing telegram?
Mr. Wilder turned and noticed him standing there, and his face cracked into a smile. “Hello there, you look different outside that costume.” He said raking his eyes up and down Steve’s body. Steve still felt like he was wearing a costume, but attempted a smile.
“Thank you— for helping the war effort.” Steve said because he had been told to and also $1 million could help a lot of men. Mr. Wilder looked at him like he was a precious kitten and slung an arm around Steve.
“Just doing my patriotic duty.” He said, and took a sip from his glass while keeping his eyes on Steve in a way that was highly disconcerting. It would have been easier if Mr. Wilder had just sneered at him, Steve knew what to do with people who looked down on him. That smirk though, left Steve clueless about what he was expected to be doing. He fiddled with his champagne glass as if lines might have been pasted on there.
“So what do you do, Mr. Wilder?” Steve asked at last.
“Oh, this and that. A bit of law, a bit of trade whatever presents itself. And what do you do, Mr. Captain America; I mean when you’re not punching Hitler? Or is that a national secret?” Mr. Wilder asked and chortled at his little joke.
“I guess I sketch a little.” Because obsessing over memories of Dr. Erskine dying in his arms or terrors of Agent Carter or Bucky dying alone in some undisclosed location weren’t things you told strangers.
“Huh.” Was all Mr. Wilder had to say to that, but he took it as an opportunity to lean in, and press himself against Steve’s side. “I hope you whip those Nazis into shape, or else they’re going to cost me an absolute fortune.” He squeezed Steve’s bicep. “You know, I do think you’re worth another $500,000 to the war effort.” Mr. Wilder said in a low voice, and laughed because apparently that sort of money could be thrown away for a good time.
All at one Steve was struck once again by the opulence of his surroundings, the tuxedos and gowns like something out of a movie, waiters with impeccably balanced trays, Mr. Wilder’s champagne-soaked breath against his cheek. Steve thought of Bucky in Africa, freezing in the desert night. How many men had died because their weapons hadn’t functioned properly? How many were going to die because the hospitals weren’t stocked well enough? Now Steve understood his reason for being here.
“I think I’m worth at least $750,000.” Steve said which after all wasn’t inaccurate. He had been struck dumb when Dr. Erskine had explained to him the costs involved of Project Rebirth. Mr. Wilder burst out laughing, and the hand that was companionably on Steve’s back slid downward.
“Get a load of you, huh? Alright sweetheart, lets make it another million to make it even.” With that he made his way to Senator Brandt leaning heavily on Steve, but he wasn’t nearly as drunk as he appeared. Mostly he was copping a feel. “Hey Brandt, change my gift to $2 million, if you let Captain America escort me to my car.”
“Of course Mr. Wilder, Captain America is always happy to help. Thank you for your contribution.” There were indulgent smiles all around. Captain America helping an intoxicated man getting home safely, but as Steve lead Mr. Wilder out of the party there were more than a few smirks among the crowd that seemed to have an idea of what was going on. Steve could taste it in his mouth, a cloying tang like blood, what this would entail.
Half an hour later Mr. Wilder pressed him against the hotel door, unbuttoning Steve’s shirt. He stared admiringly at what was underneath.
“Look at you sweetheart, I could just chain you up to my bed. Feel like the Sheik of Persia.”
“I’m afraid that would be another million dollars, Mr. Wilder.” Steve said, and Mr. Wilder absolutely howled, before biting down on Steve’s shoulder, a thigh pressed between Steve’s legs. Then he let Mr. Wilder push him onto the bed. He stared up at the ceiling and thought of Bucky in his tent with thick socks and a new bedroll.