(MCU) Quick Catharsis

[salmon_pink]

Title: Quick Catharsis
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Steve/Pietro
Rating: NC-17
Words: 3269
Timeline: Post-Avengers: Age Of Ultron
Notes: Spoilers for Avengers: Age Of Ultron. For avengers_tables, prompt "lost", and a prompt at avengerkink.
Summary: All that frustration and anger Pietro's holding on to can't stay buried inside him forever. Steve would know, he's been through this too.



Steve gets it better than just about anyone. How could he not? Gets what it’s like to go under, to think you’re not coming back, only to wake up in confusion and find out that the world moved on without you.

Pietro wasn’t gone for decades like Steve was, but it’s been over a year since they held his funeral.

And hell, even a day is a scary thing to lose.

So Steve gets it. Pietro’s trying hard, for Wanda’s sake if nothing else, but it’s an obvious struggle for him. His sister’s an Avenger, she’s in a serious relationship. She mourned for him, and then managed to carve out a life for herself without him.

Sure, now he’s back Pietro’s been welcomed with open and grateful arms, Wanda clinging to him like she’s scared to ever let go.

But Pietro must be able to see it; the way he doesn’t quite fit anymore, the way Wanda’s rearranging herself to create a space for him that just wasn’t there while he lay in stasis inside Doctor Cho’s mechanical cradle.

Pietro’s hurt and frustrated and angry.

Steve’s felt that anger too.

So he doesn’t take it personal when Pietro goes too far during what’s supposed be a routine training session. Because it’s obvious Pietro’s been pushing himself harder than he should since the moment he was given the all-clear. Trying to catch up with his sister, trying to prove he’s ready to stand beside her on the team.

He was a mouthy brat before he died, and he’s worse now, and Steve’s gotten used to having every order questioned and snapped at. Doesn’t mean he likes it, because Pietro needs to learn that working as a team means he needs to listen to someone other than Wanda. But, yeah, Steve doesn’t take it personal.

He nurses the ache in his jaw from a high-speed sucker punch and motions for Pietro to stand down.

Pietro doesn’t.

“Don’t think you can take me?” he goads instead, and his smirk is all wrong, too tight on his face.

The other Avengers pause, gazes not-so-subtly sliding their way.

Fantastic.

Steve ignores the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation, instead keeping his body language loose, his breathing calm. “That’s enough for today,” he says, voice steady and firm.

Pietro snorts, weight shifting back and forth, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Huh, I expected more from Captain America.” Spitting out the name with a nice side of venom, and Steve sees Wanda take a step forward out of the corner of his eye.

He knows she and Pietro have been bickering lately. Not the affectionate banter they clearly shared before Pietro’s death, but something hushed and bordering on vicious, something that leaves them both sullen and shaken.

If Pietro’s going to take his anger out on someone, Steve would sure as hell rather it be him than Wanda.

So he smiles back at Pietro, this challenging quirk of his lips, watching the way Pietro bristles instantly.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint,” Steve offers, just enough of a taunt in his voice to make Pietro’s eyes narrow.

He barely manages to suck in a breath before Pietro’s moving.

Wanda barks something at them both, but Steve doesn’t catch the words. Pietro slams into his side, hard, and Steve’s too busy moving, using his momentum. Twisting at the waist, one hand braced on the mats as his legs cartwheel over, heel coming down just a fraction too late to catch Pietro’s shoulder. Up and moving again the second he gets his feet back under him, before Pietro’s circling him, lashing out.

This is going to be rough.

Steve establishes his footing as quick as he’s able, and then he sets himself to blocking as much as he can, shifting to let blows glance off him for the punches it’s impossible to dodge. Feet spread, ache in his biceps when Pietro punches out in quick succession, striking the same spot over and over. Not even trying to get past Steve’s defences, just trying to hurt.

Steve stands his ground. Doesn’t attack but does force Pietro back when he can get the leverage. It barely lasts a second, though, before Pietro’s moving in again. He can feel the start of bone-deep bruises already throbbing beneath his skin, feel the vibration of every impact of Pietro’s fists running through his arms, down his spine.

When Pietro skids to a halt, he’s breathing heavily, hair damp with sweat, eyes glossy and hands still curled into fists.

Steve knows that look, on the edge and wild. He sends Pietro away like this, the kid’s gonna break something.

Maybe himself.

He tilts his chin towards Natasha, doesn’t need to look at her to know she gets the message. Rhodey and Sam, too, they all turn and start heading for the door, keeping their movements casual, like it’s just the end of any other day of training, no big deal.

It’s Wanda who hesitates, of course. But the Vision places a reassuring hand on her shoulder and she sighs, allows him to guide her from the gym with only a single backwards glance at her brother.

Pietro watches them, and maybe he’s managed to keep track of himself before, keep some form of mask up, but now there’s unbridled fury on his face as he watches his sister’s retreating back.

Fury and far too much pain. Steve refuses to leave him to deal with that alone.

“Again,” he orders, and Pietro’s attention flashes back to him, eyes wide and tracking Steve’s expression.

Looking disorientated, like Pietro’s forgotten where he is, who he is, nothing but anger and confusion.

“Again,” Steve repeats, and motions the come-on.

He catches a flash of bared teeth, and then Pietro’s just a blur, an empty space.

It’s even worse than before. Flurries of blows, and Steve really wishes he had his shield with him right now. He can hear the laboured panting of Pietro’s breath, feel the heat of him when he surges forward, even if he can’t always see the movement.

Steve can feel his own temper fraying, and he’s not going to lose it, one of them has to keep their head, but it’s getting harder to not fight back.

Pietro’s sloppier now, though, those precise jabs giving way to too wide swings and scrapes of knuckles across Steve’s skin when he leans away. He feels a scratch of fingernails down the back of his wrist, can’t keep back a grunt for a knee to the hip that was probably aiming for his kidney.

Pietro’s a mean little shit when he wants to be.

But it’s too fast. Pietro has the go-ahead from the doctors to train with the team, but his powers still aren’t at full strength. There have been limits set, rules for what he is and isn’t allowed to attempt, and Pietro’s smashing through them all.

The kid needs to blow off steam, but he doesn’t need to injure himself.

And Steve needs to stop this before he does something he’ll regret.

He braces his feet, throws himself wide on the next flurry of movement. Gets an arm around Pietro’s waist, and that’s probably a sign that Pietro’s pushed himself too much, because it shouldn’t be that easy to tag him.

He still manages to shove Steve a good few feet across the floor, sneakers squeaking across the mats, wrenching Steve’s shoulder hard enough to make him grit his teeth. But it slows Pietro down, from shock if nothing else, and Steve only needs that split second to get Pietro’s feet out from under him.

They land hard and awkward, and Pietro’s trying to scrabble away instantly, but Steve holds on tight. Rolls them over and over, because it feels like the most efficient way to keep Pietro from gaining leverage, and Steve’s not above fighting dirty right now.

Pietro’s panting roughly, skin slippery with sweat under Steve’s hands where his t-shirt’s rucked up around the bottom of his ribs. Writhing and thrashing, and when Steve manages to get him in a decent pin, Pietro snarls at him like an animal.

“Enough,” Steve snaps, voice low and raspy, because he’s not sure how long he can hold Pietro down like this, every muscle straining with exertion.

“Fuck you!” Pietro hisses, struggling under the weight of Steve’s body, but it’s messy and uncoordinated, agitated movement for the sake of movement.

Steve gets a leg between Pietro’s thighs, an arm across his chest. “Enough!”

Pietro makes a noise that’s equal parts anger and desperation, and then his hands are in Steve’s hair and his lips are against Steve’s mouth.

Well, shit.

Steve’s heartbeat is thundering in his ears, but he still hears the muffled whine Pietro releases, feels the buzz of it rattling down into him.

Pietro’s kissing him, harsh and hungry.

And Steve’s a damn idiot, because he’s already kissing right back.

For a long moment it’s gloriously mindless, just this slick perfect heat. And then Pietro’s making noises again, yanking at the collar of Steve’s t-shirt. So fucking impatient, and Steve’s shaky with adrenaline, but grinding Pietro down against the floor helps with the shivering.

Pietro, fuck, he’s hard against Steve’s hip, and when Steve shoves his thigh up higher, nudges it against Pietro’s balls, the answering shout echoes through the empty gym.

“Please,” Pietro slurs against his lips, fingernails biting into the back of Steve’s neck. “I - I need -”

Steve tilts his head so he can nod tightly, mouths at Pietro’s throat. “Fast as you want,” he murmurs breathlessly, more on a hunch than anything, and Pietro’s groan is so damn grateful it makes Steve’s cock pulse.

Pietro undulates beneath him, hips working desperately, and Steve grabs a handful of thick, muscular thigh and just holds on.

Lets Pietro rut against his leg, feeling the way he’s trembling, gasping and clinging to Steve’s shoulders. Face flushed, eyes squeezed tight, and mouth fallen open as his head tilts back, a mess of white hair curling against the floor.

Steve digs his teeth into Pietro’s neck, and Pietro howls, hips bucking up hard enough that Steve has to clamp down with his knees to keep from being thrown off.

He can feel the rush of heat between them as Pietro comes.

Oh, oh Steve has fucked this up so bad.

Pietro’s still panting, hips twitching beneath Steve’s weight like he’s barely taken the edge off, and Steve wants more, wants to grind down harder, the pull of a fight turning into sex far too easily.

But he needs to stop.

Because of course one form of frustration can turn to another that quickly when you’re as heated up as he’s got Pietro with that fight. And Steve’s supposed to be helping Pietro, giving him somewhere to direct that anger, but doing this is only going to make it worse.

He tries to pull back, even if his body hates him for it, but Pietro grabs at him, holds on with clutching hands and one calf wrapping around the back of Steve’s leg.

“Don’t,” Pietro whispers urgently, eyes looking haunted. His hips are still shifting restlessly, no way to miss how hard he still is.

“You don’t want this,” Steve manages to make himself say. “You’re just wound up, you don’t -” He swallows, at a loss for words, feeling like his brain’s slowed right down.

Pietro’s looking for someone, anyone, to make him forget, even for a moment. Steve’s just convenient. That’s all this could possibly be.

But Pietro huffs and tugs imploring at Steve’s shirt, expressions cycling across his face too fast for Steve to register. “Please,” he begs, voice shaky, pulling at Steve’s collar again. “Please, you took us back to the Tower after Seoul, you gave us a chance.”

Steve’s trying to focus, but his gaze keeps sliding to Pietro’s lips.

“This isn’t -” Pietro frowns, mouth opening and closing, apparently wrestling with his thoughts as much as Steve is. “If it was anyone else, I wouldn’t be doing this, please.”

He means it, Steve realises. Mind automatically racing back over the way Pietro’s antagonised him constantly since his revival, questioned Steve’s every order. Always squaring off against him, demanding Steve’s attention.

He’s never done that to Natasha when she’s taken charge of training. Steve figured at the time that Pietro was just nervous around her.

Looks like he figured wrong.

“I want you,” Pietro says, voice pleading, and he never looks this unguarded, this open. Stammering, struggling for every word, clearly annoyed at himself for it, for not being able to articulate himself how he wants. More damn earnest than Steve’s ever seen him, voice growing thicker in this way that makes Steve’s chest ache. “Everything that’s - Can I just have one thing go right, can I just -”

Steve kisses the words right out of his mouth.

This is a terrible idea, but Steve’s lit up on adrenaline, and this is the first time he hasn’t been able to see that spark of bitterness in Pietro’s eyes since the kid woke up, and, fuck, Pietro’s clawing at his back, and it feels too good to deny.

Terrible idea, but letting a speedster try to beat the living crap out of him was a terrible idea too, so apparently it’s a day for Steve to make bad decisions. Can’t find it in himself to regret it, because Pietro moans like he’s been holding the sound in his chest for weeks, leg bending so he can brace his foot on the floor, get the inside of his thigh against Steve’s hip and thrust up against Steve’s weight.

Steve presses his forehead to Pietro’s, and goes for it. No point holding back, not when Pietro wants it fast, so Steve works his hips as quick as his body demands. Their sweatpants are a flimsy barrier between them, and he can feel the way the damp fabric over Pietro’s crotch sticks and catches against his skin. Making Pietro shiver and fidget under Steve, and he wants to see Pietro do it again, come all over himself inside his clothes, but even more than that Steve’s lizard-brain wants them naked.

Pietro raises his hips when Steve yanks the waistband down over his ass, and it’s the first time Steve’s ever seen him be so easily obedient.

That probably shouldn’t make lights start going off in Steve’s brain.

Gets his own sweats down to his knees, and slides a hand over the hollow of Pietro’s hip, gets his palm nice and slick with come. Wraps his hand around both their cocks, squeezing them together a little, and Pietro’s shaking so hard it’s bordering on vibration, spreading his legs as much as he can with his sweatpants still around his thighs.

Steve starts fucking into the tight circle of his hand, and Pietro’s moving too, moving faster. Cocks so hot and wet, sliding together, and Pietro whines as Steve leaks pre-come all over the head of Pietro’s dick. His nerves are going haywire, electricity skittering through him, too many confused signals. From the pain of the brawl, the tension between them, snapping into a state of arousal so damn quickly, it’s left Steve dizzy as hell, so he stops thinking entirely and just reacts.

Biting at Pietro’s slack mouth. Pressing down into the more yielding flesh of Pietro’s cockhead with his thumb. Hips working fast enough that the muscles in his lower back are starting to burn. Bruises throbbing and sweat in his hair, arm shaking where his hand is braced beside Pietro’s head.

He’s on fire and feeling chills at the same time, and Pietro keeps making these soft, needy little noises the whole time, cock jumping against Steve’s palm. Eyes flying wide before they fall shut, and Pietro slams their mouths together when he comes again, not so much a kiss as a messy slide of lips and shared breaths.

Steve groans, low and deep, shoves up to his knees to he can look down at Pietro as he strips his cock with rough, determined strokes, and Pietro stares right back up at him, so starved for it he looks lost.

Steve’s come slaps against Pietro’s stomach, and Steve just about catches himself one-handed when he slumps forward.

He eases his weight down carefully, and it’s only when they’re pressed chest to chest again that he can feel how badly Pietro’s shivering. Steve glances at his face, and Pietro’s blinking rapidly, eyes unfocused and gazing at the ceiling.

He’s biting his lower lip fitfully, and Steve grabs him instinctively, hauls him into a tight hug.

Pietro holds on to Steve like he’s drowning, chest convulsing with every choked off sob.

It takes a good few minutes for the shaking to ease off, and Steve strokes Pietro’s hair through it all, feels the skin at his neck growing damp where Pietro’s buried his face there.

Finally, he hears Pietro mumble, “Shit.” Disentangling himself from Steve’s arms with uncharacteristically slow movements, and his eyes are red-rimmed but he doesn’t look so stricken anymore.

“Okay?” Steve asks quietly, propping himself up on one elbow, the other arm still low around Pietro’s waist.

Pietro nods weakly, looking a little glazed. “Yeah, I just -” He shakes his head, gives a small smile that wobbles on his face. “Sorry for -”

Steve knows what it’s like, how overwhelming it is, when the anger and the frustration and the want and the fear have been building for so long, and then they’re finally let loose, and it feels like your very soul is unfurling and leaking out of you.

Too much, but good at the same time. Necessary, cathartic, a release.

“It’s fine,” he says, and presses their foreheads together again.

Pietro curls into him a little, and Steve should probably feel like an asshole for enjoying this rare moment of Pietro actually being docile.

“It was just … a lot,” Pietro admits. He sounds tired. “I’ve been feeling - It’s been difficult.”

Steve squeezes his hip. “Don’t let it get that bad again, okay?” he says. “You come talk to me whenever you need.”

He feels Pietro fidget until he can look Steve in the eye, and there’s that familiar sharpness in his smile already, that teasing curve to his mouth. “I can come ‘talk’ to you?” he asks in a voice that sounds far too close to a purr.

Jesus, he bounces back quick. Of course he does.

This is a terrible idea, because they’re still lying on the mats, sweatpants half-off and covered in come, and this kid is going to make Steve’s life hell.

Steve laughs anyway.

“Yeah, you can,” he promises with a smirk. “But now, if you wanna ‘talk’, it’s gonna have to be in the showers.”

There’s a shove, a breeze, and Steve’s suddenly lying there alone. Pietro’s stood across the mats, clothes rearranged, although there’s no hiding that wet spot at his crotch, the stain of Steve’s release across his t-shirt.

“Race you,” Pietro leers, and then he’s gone, doors to the locker room swinging behind him.

A really terrible idea, but that doesn’t matter. Because already Pietro looks like there’s the weight of an entire world off his shoulders. And maybe now Steve’ll be able to make sure Pietro never lets himself get weighed down like that ever again.

Steve still groans shakily when he gets to his feet, though, the fighting and the fucking catching up to him, body sore and slow.

Oh well, Pietro moves fast enough for the both of them.