Chapter Text
The last five cops who tried to infiltrate Alexander Pierce’s establishment were all found dead.
Two in the Hudson river, and the other three in back-alleys around the city. They’d all been beaten to death. No real effort had been made to hide evidence on the bodies - even the two in the river had been dumped in the shallows, where they would soon be found - and the FBI had known exactly what that meant: they were supposed to find them. Pierce knew that the men had been cops, and he was sending them a message.
Nobody knew how he found out.
-
‘Me?’ Steve stares at Coulson. ‘Are you sure?’
It should be one of the others. Clint, who can walk into any room and fit in - or Natasha, who can slip into a new persona the way other people put on a coat. But Coulson’s giving him that look - the one that says stop avoiding the point - and all he can do is stare at his boss, wide-eyed.
‘We’re all that’s left,’ Coulson replies, voice deceptively mild. ‘Apparently it’s literally impossible to find a branch of the FBI or NYPD which doesn’t have someone in Pierce’s pocket. SHIELD needs to act.’
‘That doesn’t explain why it’s me.’ Steve isn’t usually this argumentative, but desperate times call for desperate measures. ‘It should be Natasha, surely. Or Clint.’
Coulson sighs, leans back in his chair. ‘Five cops have tried, Steve. Two were pretending to be customers. Two tried to go in as slave stock.’ Steve blanches at the idea, but Coulson’s expression doesn’t change. ‘One tried to go in as a bartender. All of them were discovered.’
‘A mole?’
‘Maybe. All we know is, we need to try something new. The only position left is security guard - and they’re looking for someone now. We have our ‘in’, through a guy who knows a guy, and we have to make our move.’
‘But - ’
Coulson cuts him off. ‘Pierce is an old guard misogynist - he’ll never hire Natasha.’ He’s leaning forward now, and under his intent gaze Steve feels like a mouse transfixed by an owl. ‘Clint looks exactly like the kind of guy we would send. You, on the other hand...’
‘...Look like a cop.’ Is it madness, or genius? Steve can’t work it out. ‘You mean, it’s a double-bluff? Send them someone who looks just what they think a cop would look like?’
‘You’ll present as ex-military - which you are, so it shouldn’t be a stretch. We’ve got a fake profile all lined up: Jake Robins, honourably discharged after serving two tours. A few fake tattoos and you’re ready to go.’ Coulson slides a file over the desk and Steve leafs through it, reading the records of the man he will become for the next few months. ‘And - Steve,’ he looks up to see Coulson’s expression change: he’s closer to showing emotion than he’s ever been before. ‘With Natasha out of the running, there’s nobody I trust to fight his way out of a corner better than you. You can come back to us.’
Steve wants to do something, say something, to let Coulson know how much this rare praise means to him. In the end he settles on: ‘Thank you, sir,’ and ducks his head.
‘I mean it.’ There’s a small pause, a slight warming of the older man’s expression, and he moves on: ‘So, your duties.’ Steve looks up. ‘One - Pierce has shrugged off every charge anyone has ever tried to bring against him. If you find anything - anything - that can be used as evidence, including people willing to testify, bring it to us.’
Coulson settles back again, mouth set in a thin line. ‘The second job is less vague, and more important. We know Pierce is working to smuggle a convicted terrorist, Dr Arnim Zola, out of prison. We know he plans to bring him here, to New York. What we don’t know is where.
‘Find him, and we’ve got Pierce.’
Steve nods, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Attempt to work for a man who’s killed five cops in three years. Go undercover in the seediest building in the city. Find a criminal in a city full of criminals.
Simple.
-
Pierce’s base is a hotel and club, the Milestone. It’s a huge old building, really beautiful, and the police have been trying to get in since Pierce first bought it. A few managed to get in, but those who weren’t bribed to turn their coats were frozen out when something changed, three years ago, and cops became distinctly unwelcome.
Steve steps through the doors with not a little apprehension, doing his best to look as if he’s completely at ease in the place. The foyer is elegantly done up, a small, intimate space with a concierge desk set before two pairs of doors.
It’s deserted. Steve approaches the left hand set of doors, but as soon as he reaches for them, it happens, and he has to stop. He traces the edge of the curved metal handles once, twice, three times. That seems to be enough, but then he needs to do the other door as well, and he bites the inside of his mouth until he can taste blood. No, no, not here…
‘Looking for someone?’
It startles him out of the loop, and Steve gives an undignified yelp before he turns, looking straight into a pair of blue eyes.
The kid is gorgeous. There’s no other way to say it. Fair skin, dark hair, and those eyes; a skinny slip of a thing, really, but there’s no denying how attractive he is. Steve blinks at him for a moment, then holds out a hand. ‘Jake Robins,’ he says.
The guy’s head is tilted to one side, and there’s something suspiciously like amusement in his expression. He raises an eyebrow at Steve’s proffered hand, then eventually takes it. ‘Jamie,’ he replies, and it’s then that Steve notices the collar around his neck. He glances down to their joined hands and sees a slave’s barcode on the guy’s right wrist.
He knew there would be slaves. Of course he did, Coulson warned him - but he’s never met one before, and anything he would have said somehow catches in his throat.
Jamie is watching him, the amusement more evident now. ‘You’re Mr Pierce’s new recruit?'
‘That obvious, huh?’ Steve offers him a shy smile, and is rewarded when the kid flashes him a quick grin. ‘Do you know where I’m supposed to go? ‘Cause I...’
‘Follow me.’ Jamie takes him through the foyer, has a quick word with the guy on the door, and then they’re inside, the music pulsing so loudly that Steve can feel it in his chest. The club lights turn everything golden and ghostly; when Jamie turns his head to check that Steve is still following, the warm light slides along the kid’s cheekbones, the sharp line of his jaw.
They cross the dancefloor and walk along the wall, Steve casting curious glances as they go. It’s early, so the place isn’t too full - but wherever Steve looks, he can see more people with collars around their necks. The thought makes his stomach twist, but before he has a chance to do anything colossally stupid, like ask Jamie any questions that could raise suspicion, the kid turns and crowds him against the wall.
‘What - ?’ He manages to grunt in surprise, but Jamie shakes his head abruptly, blue eyes intense, and Steve closes his mouth.
‘This is a camera blindspot,’ the younger man is pressed against him, mouth against Steve’s ear so he can be heard over the music, and Steve really, really shouldn’t be noticing the warmth of his breath against his neck. He forces himself to concentrate on Jamie’s words. ‘They can’t see us right now.’
‘Look, it’s not that I’m not flattered, but - ’
Jamie shakes his head again, moving closer so Steve is trapped against the wall. ‘You think I’m attractive, right?’
‘Uh...’
‘Look.’ Steve forces himself to meet Jamie’s gaze, and it’s like looking into a lake of ice. The slave’s expression is deadly serious. ‘Whatever they ask you to do, you do it. OK? Whatever they ask.’
Steve frowns: ‘I don’t - ’
Jamie leans in again, lips against Steve’s ear. ‘They’ll ask you to do things a cop would never do,’ he murmurs, and Steve’s blood freezes for a moment. ‘So you have to do them.’ He pulls away, blue eyes boring into Steve’s. ‘You got me?’
‘I - I got you,’ Steve stammers out, and Jamie steps away, moving off as if they hadn’t spoken.
He walks fast, but Steve matches his strides - across the dancefloor and through some darkened corridors until they get to a door. Jamie hesitates for a moment, hand raised to knock, and glances back at Steve. There’s something in his expression that Steve just can’t read, something between worry and excitement. But he clearly doesn’t feel about to say anything; he just knocks on the door, and opens it when a call comes from within.
It’s a security room, monitors everywhere, and two uniformed guys eye Steve for a second before turning their attention to Jamie. ‘Who’s this?’ the shorter one asks, and Jamie shrugs.
‘Pierce’s new guy,’ he replies, already stepping back, out of the door. ‘Gotta go, fellas - the boss’ll be expecting me.’ And then he’s gone, disappearing down the long corridor.
Steve turns back to the men in front of them, offering a nervous smile. ‘Jake Robins. Justin sent me for the security job.’
That earns him instant friendliness from the men, who stand to shake his hand. ‘Jonno,’ the taller one says. ‘And lemme tell you, we need more hands on deck. Good to meet you.’
‘Carlos,’ the other guy says, smiling warmly.
They exchange pleasantries for a while, and Steve’s grateful that Coulson didn’t try to talk him into inventing some kind of character. Clint or Natasha could become anyone with a turn of their heads, but Steve is made of simpler stuff. He chatters with the guys, and it’s like talking to any new teammates at the station. Then something seems to occur to Carlos, and he asks: ‘You met the boss, yet?’
‘Not yet,’ Steve replies, and the guards share a look. ‘Is...is everything OK?
‘You don’t get hired until the boss has met you,’ Jonno tells him.
‘Really?’
‘He won’t have anyone working here that he hasn’t met.’ Jonno shrugs. ‘Even the cleaners.’
There’s slight pause, and Steve realises Carlos is looking at him. ‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ The other man shakes his head, then sighs. ‘It’s just - you do know what kind of place this is, right?’
‘Sure.’ Somehow, Steve manages to muster a grin. ‘But work is work, right?’
‘Right.’ Something is tone is unconvincing, and Steve has the feeling the Carlos is not a huge fan of the Milestone. ‘C’mon,’ he says, and they head off to meet the boss.
-
There are three men in the room when Steve walks in. He sees Pierce first, recognises him from his mugshots - he’s sitting on one of the sofas in the plush hotel room, talking with a guy Steve clocks as his right-hand man, Rumlow. Pierce is smoking, an ashtray on the cushion beside him, and his left hand is buried in the hair of a young man sprawled on the floor.
Jamie.
‘Jake!’ Pierce puts his cigarette down to shake Steve’s hand. There’s no space on either of the two couches, and he doesn’t feel comfortable perching on the end of the double bed - so he remains standing, and gives his new boss the easiest smile he can manage. ‘Good to meet you. Smith tells me you come highly recommended.’
‘Ex-army, sir,’ Steve replies, noting the way Pierce gives a small nod at the title. He does his best not to look at Jamie. ‘I like to think I know my way around security.’
‘I’m sure you do.’ Pierce is still smiling. It’s a little unnerving, really. He never smiled in any of the pictures Steve has ever seen of him. The expression is unexpected, out of place. ‘This is Mr Rumlow,’ Steve shakes hands with the other man, who gives him a smile and a nod. ‘And you’ve already met Jamie,’ Pierce says, his smile twisting into more of a smirk.
‘Captain,’ Jamie murmurs, throwing him a faintly mocking salute.
Steve can’t help himself: ‘I was a Sergeant, actually,’ he says. He flushes red as soon as he’s closed his mouth, but Pierce just chuckles.
‘I rather like Captain,’ the older man replies. ‘It suits you.’ He still looks genial, but his tone makes it clear that that particular avenue of conversation is closed. He fixes Steve with dark eyes and Steve unconsciously straightens his shoulders, as you would in the presence of a commanding officer.
‘Jamie here has cop sense,’ Pierce begins, head tilted slightly to one side as he considers Steve. His hand in Jamie’s hair moves slightly, as if shaking a dog by the scruff of the neck. Steve risks a glance at the slave, who’s watching him with hooded eyes, his expression unreadable. ‘He’s never been wrong yet. He says you’re not in law enforcement.’
So that’s how they do it. Steve looks at Pierce with what Clint calls his ‘apple pie’ expression, as warm and sweet as any mom’s dessert. He tries to look confused by the question, and a little awkward. ‘I guess that’s...’cause I’m not,’ he replies.
Is that approval, in Jamie’s eyes? Pierce looks amused at his awkwardness - evidently it was the right tack. ‘If you’re lying to me, I’ll have you killed,’ he tells Steve, almost conversationally. ‘Do you understand?’
Steve gulps, dips his head. ‘Yessir.’
‘Good.’ Pierce nods.
Steve knows a dismissal when he hears it. He nods in reply and turns to leave, when -
‘Robins.’ He looks back, and Pierce is smiling again. ‘Jamie also said you’re interested in him.’
‘I...’ Steve knows he’s blushing. He doesn’t dare look at Jamie or Pierce, but he’s saved by the older man:
‘Go on, have a freebie.’ He releases Jamie and the younger man gets gracefully to his feet. ‘From now on, we’ll take anything like this out of your pay, but consider this my way of saying ‘welcome’.’
‘Really?’ Steve does his best to look as if all his Christmases have come at once, as if the thought of forcing someone to do something doesn’t make him feel sick to his stomach.
Pierce chuckles, raises a hand to wave them away, and Jamie puts a hand on Steve’s arm. ‘This way, Captain.’ He’s smirking, and as they leave he throws a glance back at Pierce, blue eyes smouldering.
Steve waits for the door to close behind them:‘I don’t - ’
‘Shut up.’ Jamie’s leading him through corridors again, up a flight of stairs and to a room, which he opens with a keycard.
It’s nice. Not as nice as Pierce’s suite, but the carpet is plush and the bed is huge, and Steve wonders how much a night in this place would cost. The door clicks shut and Jamie’s in front of him, hands on his shoulders and a smirk on his face.
‘I don’t want to - ’ Steve begins, but Jamie shakes his head.
‘They can’t hear us, but they can see us.’ He slides a hand under Steve’s shirt, and it’s been so long since he’s felt another person’s warm touch against his skin that Steve is almost giddy for a moment. ‘They’re watching to make sure you go through with it,’ he says, voice quiet. ‘It’s a test. Pretty much everything here is, OK?’
There’s more light in this room than there has been before, and Jamie looks very young under it, blue eyes big in his angular face. ‘How old are you, anyway?’ Steve asks.
Jamie chuckles. ‘How old do you want me to be?’ he asks, fingers sliding under the waistband of Steve’s jeans.
Steve gasps, reaches up to wrap his fingers around Jamie’s bony wrist. ‘I’m not sure - ’
‘Fuck you.’ Jamie steps closer until they’re nose-to-nose, close enough to kiss. ‘I’m putting my ass on the line, here. If I say you’re not a cop and then you refuse a freebie, what do you think happens to me?’
Steve hesitates a moment, torn. Trusting Jamie is a risk - but he could have given Steve up before, and didn’t. He could have turned him in as soon as he stepped through the door. He takes a breath, then nods.
It’s like a pact, a promise.
Jamie gives him a jagged smile, and his hand resumes its progress, slipping downwards to brush teasingly against the hem of his boxers.
It should be a turn-off. Jamie’s a slave, has no legal right of consent to give in the first place. Steve’s in a hotel room owned by the most dangerous man in New York, with the one person who knows he’s a cop, and if he doesn’t go through with this, he’ll end up face down in the nearest body of water.
And yet, miraculously, it isn’t. Steve can’t help his gasp at the touch, and flushes in embarrassment when he sees the kid looking at him. ‘It’s...ah...been a while.’
‘Huh.’ Jamie leans in, starts kissing a path down Steve’s neck while undoing his belt and fly one-handed.
‘Huh?’ It’s difficult to think while his jeans are being pulled down. Christ, he’s already getting hard, how is just being touched that erotic?
‘I usually get that line from fifty-year-old businessmen, not guys like you.’ Jamie grins, clever fingers brushing against Steve’s growing erection, and Steve loses any desire to reply when the other man’s hand wraps around his cock.
He moans, fully hard now, and Jamie backs him against the wall. ‘I was thinking blowjob,’ the slave whispers in his ear (even thinking that word makes Steve’s erection wilt a little, but Jamie’s breath against his neck makes his traitor dick twitch). ‘Less messy than a handjob, and I don’t give fucks away.’
His tone is almost clinical, and there’s something cold in his eyes, but then he bends at the waist to lick the head of Steve’s cock, and Steve has to close his eyes before he comes at the very sight. He looks up with a smile when Steve moans again. ‘You like that, huh?’ he asks, but it’s not a question which requires an answer - he sinks to his knees and pulls Steve’s boxers down, pausing for a moment to say: ‘No touching, OK?’ before taking half of Steve’s length in his mouth.
It feels... ‘Fuck,’ Steve says, gasping as wet heat envelopes him. Jamie’s tongue swirls and there’s another thing in his mouth, a piercing or something, which runs along the side of Steve’s cock and then dips into the slit, making him cry out and reach for Jamie’s shoulder. The younger man tenses, and Steve’s about to try and get his thoughts together enough to apologise, but then Jamie continues, one hand coming up to cup Steve balls as the other starts to slowly jack him off.
And then Steve’s lost, because it’s been fucking years since this last happened, and Jamie is so good at it that he wants to scream. The kid’s tongue is moving, the metal in it sliding around the head of his cock and practically fucking the slit, Jamie’s lips keeping up the perfect amount of suction and his hand building Steve up and up until he can’t take it, tightens his hand on Jamie’s shoulder and gasps out: ‘I’m gonna - ’
When he comes it’s like lightning, like a thunderbolt right through him, and he moans helplessly as Jamie keeps sucking him gently, tongue stroking until Steve’s knees buckle, the aftershocks running through him and his spent cock falling from Jamie’s mouth.
He slides to the floor, opens his eyes to find Jamie smirking at him. ‘Never done it with a professional before, huh?’ the kid asks, and Steve can only give a soft moan in reply, his nerve endings still on fire. Jamie chuckles, then gets up - a moment later he’s crouching in front of Steve, a wad of tissue in his hand. ‘Here go you.’
‘T-thanks.’
Steve cleans himself up, dares a glance over at the kid. ‘Sorry,’ he says after a moment, and Jamie looks at him with a slight frown.
‘What for?’
‘I shouldn’t have...’ he’s blushing again. ‘...you know.’ He swallows. ‘In your mouth.’ Jamie blinks at him for a moment, then laughs. ‘What?’ Steve asks, stung by the reaction.
Jamie shakes his head, a strange smile on his face. ‘You are literally the first person to say sorry to me for that.’ He offers Steve a hand up.
Steve doesn’t know what to say to that, just stands and pulls up his trousers - and he’s still blushing, his face hot. ‘Hey,’ he begins, looking up at the other man. ‘You know that I’m - ’
‘I gotta get back to the floor,’ Jamie interrupts him, reaching for the doorknob, but Steve catches his shoulder before he can get to it.
He has a million questions, but only one will come to his dry mouth: ‘Why?’ he asks, releasing Jamie’s shoulder when he realises he can still feel the younger man’s warmth under his hand.
There’s a slight pause where they look at each other, and Steve feels like the kid is trying to look right into the back of his head. Then Jamie gives him a smile that isn’t a smile at all, and leans in to whisper in his ear: ‘Because I fucking hate this place.’
Then he’s gone, and Steve stands there stupidly, watching the door close behind him.