Archive of Our Own ^beta

Steve loves to choke you.

Loves curling his thick hands around your throat and squeezing the oxygen right out of your lungs. Loves how pliable you become beneath his fingertips, completely at his mercy. Loves to fuck you whilst you’re fading in and out of consciousness, the room spinning as you climax explosively around his magnificent cock.

Those big bulging arms throttling you until you almost pass out, his teeth dragging across his bottom lip as he revels in the sight in front of him. The more you struggle, the more he tightens his grip. The sensation of your cunt clamping around his dick as the life practically drains out of you is nothing like he’s ever felt before. And one he’s desperate to continuously replicate.

It doesn’t matter when or where.

In the elevator on the way to a meeting with Tony, his other hand up your skirt while you claw at his shoulders. Palm flush against your clit, he works you open until you’re gushing over his fingertips. Praising you for being such a willing little slut, ,his willing slut, as his tongue licks into your mouth while you gasp for breath.

And when the doors ping open, he’s the image of innocence. Straightening his cuffs as he licks his lips, the stain of your pussy coating them after he sucked his fingers dry.

***

Just as much as asphyxiation is Steve’s vice - he developed the habit of smoothing out his sleeves before and after he’s near enough choked the life out of you. Just y’know, the simple matter of fucking you to the brink of existence. No big deal. The gesture is so small, most people would forget it as soon as they blinked but you knew better.

It was as if he flicked an interior switch whenever he straightened them out. Steve Rogers - Super Soldier. Captain America. The perfect gentleman.

Click.

Steve Rogers - wolf in sheep’s clothing, a predator on the prowl with tunnel vision trained firmly only his prey. You.

While you sit, lay or curl up in whatever mess he leaves you in, Steve makes sure you can see him perform his little routine knowing that, even though you’re still likely huffing for air, the mere thought of his fingers cutting off the blood flow is enough to make your pussy clench around nothing.

He likes to fiddle with his wrists when he knows you’re watching him, his super human senses picking up your stare even when he can’t find you in the room. If you don’t leave within a minute of the signal, and he has to do it again, you know you’ll be in trouble. Sometimes you do it because you like the punishment, other times it’s fun to watch your super solider try to keep his composure in front of a crowd.

***

It doesn’t matter when or where.

In a dirty bathroom stall while Sam and Bucky sit at the bar as Steve fucks you over a crumbling sink. It begins to crack and buckle from the first thrust, Steve’s superhuman strength forcing you into the dilapidated porcelain, huge chunks falling away around you. Hands splayed wide against a mirror, you watch the way his hand flexes around your throat and marvel at the look of raw, undiluted lust in his eyes while the unrelenting weight of his cock bruises your cervix, coming so hard you black out against your own reflection.

And as you both re-dress before heading back out to join your friends, Steve’s the picture of purity. With another twist of his sleeves, he smiles down at you like butter wouldn’t fucking melt.

***

It doesn’t matter when or where.

In a darkened corner of a club, Steve’s dick pressed hard to the back of your throat. You know he can feel himself bulging out against your skin, the rigidity of his swollen length bobbing away across your tonsils, somehow making him harder. He fucks your mouth brutally, cum and spit dribbling down your chin as you try to keep your focus on anything other than whiting out.

Adjusting his sleeves once he’s tucked himself back into his slacks, his virtuous smile returns as he goes to greet Thor, his cum still painting the back of your throat.

***

It doesn’t matter when or where.

In the back of a limo while you ride him, dress bunched up around your waist. Steve’s lips are soft against your cheek, whispering filth over your skin - “such a needy little thing, that’s it, take my cock like the whore I know you are” - as he thrusts up into you. Sweat collects along your hairline, at the base of your spine, in the crease of your elbows - anywhere it can run to. He fucks you to the edge until you lose count, finally letting you succumb seconds before you need to disembark and face the throng of people hoping to catch a glimpse of Captain America. The same man who, only moments ago, had you writhing beneath his fingertips as the oxygen drained from your chest.

Thighs trembling as you clamber out in front of the paparazzo, you glance back at Steve - fingers fiddling at his wrists before climbing out behind you and feel his hand snake up and grasp the back of your neck with a tender squeeze. A reminder of how easily he can break you.

Oh any chance Steve can get his hands round your throat, he takes it.