#highlander!steve

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It’s been nearly two years since he’s seen James—in all they’ve spent maybe two weeks together since the war started, and now it feels like they’re strangers. They share awkward smiles and there’s a buzzing sort of energy between them that he doesn’t know how to shake.

The bed and breakfast they’ve lodged at is quaint; the springs on the bed are squeaky and the bathroom is too small for both of them at once; there’s plenty of elbow bumping and bodies sliding together and by the time they’ve unpacked he’s starting to feel warm, blushy and achy for his husband’s touch.

Swallowing down his nerves, Tony climbs into James’s lap and furrows his fingers through unruly curls, smiling fondly down at the man he’s loved from a distance for far too long.

“Hey soldier,” he murmurs, lips a breath away from James’s, “got a kiss for me?” he asks teasingly.

James’s lips curl into a warm, fond little smirk, large hands splaying over Tony’s back, fingertips pressing into the spaces between the vertebrae as he tilts his chin up to connect their lips in a kiss that’s tender and sweet and utterly devastating.

Tony clings to him tighter, pushing him back onto the mattress, smiling through the kiss as the springs squeak.

Undoing the buttons of James’s shirt with one hand, he smiles against his husband’s lips, “Feel like scandalizing Mrs. Baird?” he teases, licking delicately at the full lower lip he’s missed so much.

James hums and slides a hand down the back of Tony’s trousers, filling his hand with the firm swell of Tony’s ass, “Only if you ride me doll,” he whispers hotly, ocean eyes dark as a hurricane, hungry on Tony’s face as he groans and rolls his hardening cock into James’s.

Tony nods eagerly, “Yea, yea I can do that,” he agrees, coming back for a kiss that’s messier than the ones before it, hands fumbling to pull his shirt off over his head.

Their hands tangle as they strip, muscles flexing in the late afternoon light, panting breaths shared between breathless kisses, soft laughter and quiet words of affection passing between them as they pause to touch and kiss each newly exposed bit of flesh, rediscovering each other after years apart.

By the time they’re both naked, Tony’s hands are shaking a little, excitement and apprehension making his nerves grow. James must feel somewhat the same because when he pulls Tony close and kisses him, Tony can feel the too tight grip at his hips like James is trying to steady himself.

It feels like it’ll bruise and Tony moans low in his throat at the idea—that he’ll have James’s marks on him. James’s skin is taut and warm under his hands, kisses languid and deep as Tony rolls his hips slowly down into his husband’s, tiny moaning gasps shared between them as their cocks slide together, friction and heat and everything they’ve been missing.

James sucks a dark mark under Tony’s ear, whispering soft words against his skin—so beautiful doll, all for me, huh? Missed the way you sound baby.

Tony can’t quiet his noises when James slicks up his fingers and starts working him open, buries his face against his throat and whines, rocking back into the burn and pressure of James’s thick fingers pressing him open.

It’s been...god it’s been too long.

He’s ached for this, longed to have James inside him once more, and as James slips a third finger inside him he pants and moans, biting at James’s shoulder as his fingers rub in patient, firm circles against his prostate.

He’s bleary eyed when he finally sits up and pushes James’s hand away so he can replace it with his cock, and when he slides down that thick length once more, he can’t hold back the sob that wracks his chest.

“Fuck, Bucky, babe,” he gasps, “oh god.”

James curses through gritted teeth and squeezes his hip harder, “So good doll, so good,” he groans, leaning up on his elbows to steal a kiss as Tony starts rolling his hips, eyes rolling back as he rides his husband, delirious with pleasure.

He takes his time, works himself slowly on James’s cock till his thighs are shaking and his cock is leaking, red and swollen and aching against his belly.

James’s skin is slick against his with sweat, their lips pressed together in wet, gasping kisses, more often just sloppy presses of their lips, too breathless for much more. Tony’s barely aware of the sounds he makes, sometimes whining deep in his throat when James rocks up and finds the right angle so his cock slides along his prostate, a slow grind that makes him sob and push back, desperate for more.

Everything else falls away; the squeak of the bed springs, the patter of rain on the window pane—nothing else exists but what is here, between them.

James reaches up and cups Tony’s cheek, a smile curling his lips as he stares up at him, soft and fond. “M-Missed seeing y-you like this,” he murmurs breathlessly, fingers flexing on Tony’s hip—he’d lost some functionality of it during the war when shrapnel had dug its way into his shoulder, but for the most part it’s strong, strong enough for this, anyway.

“Missed watching...watching you come a-apart on m-my cock,” he whispers, and Tony whines, works his hips harder, faster, both of them groaning as he clenches around James.

Tony nods and scrapes his nails against James’s chest, “Missed h-how you feel, inside me,” he admits, lids hooded and eyes dark with lust, lips parted around breathy moans of James’s name.

James rocks up and captures Tony’s lips, pulls him even closer, sinks that much deeper and Tony shudders, gasping against James’s lips, long dark lashes fluttering against his skin—he’s so full, so full up with James that it feels almost like it’s too much, like he’ll burst apart at the seams, and at the same time, it’s not enough.

He wants this—this too full not enough feeling to linger, wants to feel stretched and overworked later, to know that James had been inside him and made him feel every inch of it.

The hand on his cock burns, and when James strokes him it takes what little breath he has away, fire curling up his spine and blooming behind his eyes. His back arches, hips pushing into the friction and he sobs out please, more, James, eyes hot and itchy with unshed tears.

He sure he’s got a string of bruised teeth marks across his neck, but James seems intent on leaving more—his mouth is hot and hard against Tony’s collar, sucking and using his teeth till Tony’s shouting, hips jerking as he comes, white light blooming behind his eyes.

James strokes him through it, firm and slow and grinds up into Tony, panting against his throat as he chases his own release. Tony feels hot and stretched and shaky, the sensation of James’s cock working him open further nearly too much, too good, and he keens, lips pressed to James’s sweaty brown locks, panting and moaning as the hand on his cock keeps going.

He’s bright and hot and worked loose, panting in James’s arms as his husband groans his name, hips grinding into him as he comes. It’s a unique feeling, the almost searing feeling of having his cum inside him once more.

Sounds start to trickle back in; James’s breathing is loud in his ear, but when he opens his eyes he can see it’s still raining, trails of it glistening against the pane of the window.

Fingers trace over his spine and he can hear James swallow thickly before he kisses Tony’s throat, “I love you,” he whispers, and Tony closes his eyes again, savoring the sweetness of those words.

“I love you too,” he murmurs, voice hoarse and low. “Forever,” he adds on, smiling as he turns his cheek and brushes his lips against James’s hair.

“Forever,” James agrees softly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They have a late lunch and Tony doesn’t bother to hide his smile as his husband tows him along to meet the local Reverend and historian, a man named Wakefield if Tony recalls correctly.

Tony’s bored almost immediately and gratefully follows Mrs. Graham into the kitchen for a cup of tea and a bit of gossip. Tony’s interested in the local lore surrounding the standing stones at Craigh na Dun—supposedly folk have worshiped them since the druids as a powerful source of magic.

Tony hides his skepticism but is intrigued nonetheless—magic is just science they don’t understand yet, that’s always been his philosophy since he was a young man, exploring the world alongside his Uncle Obadiah.

Perhaps that’s why he agrees to let the older woman read his tea leaves—its quaint, just like the town of Inverness. Mrs. Graham takes his teacup when he’s finished and offers to read his leaves and while Tony doesn’t really believe in magic and faeries and reading leaves, he indulges in the novelty of it for the moment.

“The leaves, they’re contradictory,” Mrs. Graham murmurs, brow furrowed, “They indicate yer to go on a journey, but somehow, stay put.” She glances up at Tony and shakes her head before turning her attention back to the leaves. “They also...seem to indicate that ye will meet several strangers and among them, yer husband.”

Tony laughs, “Well after six years apart from my husband and only six months together, James is something of a stranger to me,” he explains, a little off put by the serious look that remains in her eyes.

She stares at him for a moment and then sighs, shaking her head, “Let me see yer hand?” she asks, extending her own, palm up, waiting for him to offer his own in return.

Tony supposes that there’s nothing wrong with indulging her, so with a muffled sigh, he lays his hand in hers and smiles faintly. He watches as she peers down at his palm, wondering if she really believes in the things she sees. In the years he spent travelling the world with Uncle Obie he’d learned about thousands of cultures and belief systems and while they were all beautiful and strange and wonderful, he’s never found himself to be a particularly spiritual man.

“Hmm.”

The low hum from Mrs. Graham draws his attention back out of his mind to where she’s staring at his palm with even more consternation than she was before.

“What?” he prompts, leaning in to try and see what’s caused her so much frustration. “Is it too horrible to even speak it out loud?” he teases, shoulders itching when Mrs. Graham just stares at him.

“No…” she hesitates, “No it’s just that the lines of the palm, ye see, only indicate what the person is, and over time, they change.” She taps his palm with her forefinger, “A person’s fate is in the hand, but only the seed of it. There is already much change here.”

Tony nods, “The war changed us all,” he murmurs softly, swallowing down bile at the memories of screaming men and bombs exploding overhead.

Mrs. Graham makes a soft prevaricating sound, “Yes but most hands have a likeness to them--they aren’t the same, but there are...mmm,” she hums in thought for a moment, “patterns.” She stares at him thoughtfully and explains, “That is how fortune telling works--I may be looking at yer hand, but I’m also observing the person.”

Tony nods; that makes sense--he’s seen other “magicians” do little more than observe the obvious to wow a crowd.

“If a young girl has a low cut blouse, cheap perfume an large earrings, I dinna need a crystal ball to tell her she’ll have a bairn before the next year. However, your pattern is not one I’ve seen before,” she explains, tapping a finger against Tony’s palm once more.

“You have a strong thumb--you’re strong minded and not easily crossed. And here,” she nudges the base of Tony’s thumb with a coy smile, “Ye have a Mount of Venus--yer husband is not likely to stray far from your bed,” she murmurs teasingly, eyes sparkling at Tony’s blush.

“Your lifeline is well marked--ye have good health, but it’s chopped up like, see? Means yer life is changing markedly.”

Her finger moves and Tony finds himself following it, intrigued and puzzled. “This now, this is interesting,” she murmurs, “Yer marriage line is divided--two marriages for ye,” she explains.

“What?” Tony interjects, shock and confusion rippling through him.

“It doesn’t mean yer likely to have two marriages, it means ye wont pine away yer life in mourning, that ye can love again if yer first love is lost.” She points again, “It’s forked here, ye see?”

Tony nods numbly and laughs politely when she makes a joke about him being a bigamist, “When would I have the time?” he jokes back, swallowing down his unease at her foretelling. It’s nothing more than nonsense and folklore--just as is the dancing round the stones at Craigh na Dun.

James emerges from the study with Reverend Wakefield excited about something from one of the many dusty tomes, hands waving as he and the older man chatter at them and Tony is filled with fondness, chest warm as his husband grins and talks excitedly.

They take their leave not long after and when they get back to the inn, Tony and James put the springs on the bed to the test once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tony hates being awake before dawn, but James is intent on seeing the local Druids dancing around the stones, so here they are, in the damp cold air, watching as the women move through the fog, limbs encased in pale linen fabric, the movement of it around their legs muted by the still morning air.

He’s sleepy and leaning against James with eyes half closed when the music starts, ethereal and light, and when he struggles upright to peer over the rock outcropping they’ve hidden behind, he’s astounded to see Mrs. Graham dancing with the women.

They watch in silence as the women dance and sing, the lanterns they’ve brought casting their shadows onto the stones. It’s eerie and beautiful and it makes his skin shiver with something that isn’t from the cold.

As the sun breaks over the horizon the stones are bathed in gold and the women gather their things, chatting softly and laughing as they make their way down to the road below. James waits a few moments before tugging Tony along behind him to go investigate the stones.

As they walk between the giant stones casting shadows onto the grass, James chatters on in the background about the origin of the stones and how they came to be here, hands waving as he leans in and inspects the stones.

Tony smiles fondly at the chatter and tilts his head--he could swear he heard…

“Tony, come look at this!”

He smiles and shakes his head and wanders over to where James is pointing, nodding along while he explains something about the significance of the placement of the stones and the sun and shadows. Tony regards him fondly as he talks, watching his broad shoulders retreat as James turns back toward the car with a shout over his shoulder-- “I’ll just be a minute Tones, I need my...need to get this down!”

Tony smirks and shakes his head, circling the stones once more, slower this time. The sun is just starting to warm the air when he hears footsteps and slinks behind the stone, watching as one of the women picks up a hair clip from the ground before retreating.

There’s a low humming in the air that he can’t quite place, looking around in curiosity for the source but...he steps around the stones and back into the circle, frowning. It seems to be coming…

From the stones?

He reaches out a hand toward the stones, curious.

The stones can’t possibly be the source, but…

Could it be an electric charge in the air?

The humming grows louder.

When his palm connects with the stone white light flares in his vision and a rushing sound fills his ears. The world spins wildly and he thinks for a moment he’s going to be sick and then suddenly it stops and he’s on the grass, panting for breath and heaving.

He finally looks up and sees the stones around him, implacable and just as they were moments ago.

With this in mind, he crawls to his feet and sways for a moment before heading down the hill to where he’s sure to find James at the car, searching for his notepad and happy to see him.

When he gets to the bottom of the hill though, the car and James are nowhere to be seen.

“Fuck.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“James?”

Tony stares, stunned, at the visage of his husband, dressed in what looks like a Redcoat uniform and it just..does not compute. “What the hell are you doing?” he asks softly, waving a hand toward the uniform and gun.

James lifts a brow and pushes back his too long hair from his face, a cruel smirk tilting his lips--and it’s a look that Tony’s never seen on his face before and it sends a chill down his spine.

“You're not Frank,” he whispers, blood running cold.

“No, sir, I'm not,” the man who isn’t James agrees, gaze raking over Tony with a look in his eye that’s predatory and cold.

“Who the hell are you?” Tony snaps, shifting back as the man smirks and steps toward him, a hunter pursuing his prey.

“I'm James Barnes, esquire. Captain of his majesty's eighth dragoons. At your service,” James (not his James) says with a mocking bow, eyes dancing with cold delight at Tony’s obvious discomfort. He steps forward in three large strides and pushes Tony against the tree.

“Who are you?” James demands, towering over Tony, hand firm on his shoulder, pressing him harder into the bark of the tree.

“My-my husband's expecting me,” Tony stammers, “He'll come looking for me if I'm not back in ten minutes.:

James scoffs, “Your husband. What's his name?” he growls, shoving Tony back against the tree when he tries to push his way free. “Ah! What is his name?”

“James,” Tony grits out, wriggling in place, trying to work his way free.

“James what?”

James B-Burns. He's a teacher,” Tony lies, sweat beading on his brow as he glances frantically over the man’s shoulder, searching for help, a way to escape, anything.

“Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Burns, a teacher's husband. You must think me the fool,” James snaps, laughing cruelly, “You'll be well advised to tell me exactly who you are and why you are here. Sir, you will find my patience is not infinite.”

Tony wriggles and tries to his own not insignificant weight and strength to get James off him--not James, not his husband, wrongwrongwrong his brain screams and he tries, he tries so goddamn hard, but just like his James, this man is an immovable wall of muscle.

“Get off me, you bastard,” Tony snarls, spitting in the face of the other man.

James’s face changes, cruel and self satisfied, “Ah, the speech of a lord. The language of a whore,” he growls, shoving Tony back, one arm pinning him against the tree, the weight of it solid and implacable against Tony’s throat and the primal part of his brain screams for him to get free, to fight. He thrashes and scratches, a whimper locked in his throat--he’ll give this man nothing.

“I choose the whore,” James growls and Tony knows if he doesn’t do something soon, he’s going to be raped and left for dead in this place that isn’t like anything he knows.

He sobs and strengthens his resolve, letting the man’s hands wander for a moment before he sucks in a deep, shaky breath and then jams his knee up and into the crook of James’s legs, the gutteral sound the other man makes so disturbingly familiar to his own beloved Bucky that Tony hesitates for a moment before stumbling away.

Bucky, he has to find Bucky.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tony sprints through the forest, blood pounding in his ears as he’s pursued by men in red coats and his brain screams its confusion because the man he saw...the man he saw was James...but not. James had never once looked at him like he was prey, like he could take without asking...and that’s exactly how the, the other James had looked.  

More gunfire explodes over his shoulder and he curses, ducks behind a rock outcropping and listens to the shouts and curses as the two soldiers following him meet an untimely end. He’s familiar with the wet sounds of a man dying--and it sickens him to feel relief, but whoever these men are, they clearly did not mean him well.

The forest goes quiet, but he waits, pulse thrumming, till he’s sure that it’s safe to step out and peer around the rocks. Heaving a sigh of relief, his shoulders slump when he sees nothing but trees and streams and rocks.

“An just who are you?”

Tony’s blood goes cold at the voice coming from behind him and when he turns he’s somehow not surprised when he sees a man in a kilt holding a sword to his throat.

The man is scraggly and bearded, eyes narrow as he stares at Tony, clearly waiting for a response.

Tony clears his throat and smiles winningly, “Anthony Stark,” he introduces, extending a hand to the other man, smile slipping as the other man just stares at him, face stony and unmoving. “Ah, could you, perhaps lower that?” he suggests, lifting his hands, “I’m unarmed and no threat to you.”

The other man hesitates for a moment and then lowers it, and as he does, half a dozen more men melt out of the trees, their plaid doing a fine job of disguising them amongst the greenery surrounding them.

“Thank you,” Tony murmurs gratefully, “If you don’t mind I’ll just--”

“Ye’ll do naught but shut yer trap and come with us,” the man snarls, wrapping a hand around Tony’s arm and yanking.

“Wha--”

He’s shoved forward and the men circle around, swords drawn, creating a barrier of tall, broad, and well armed men that he’d be hard pressed to break free from. His head goes light as air and he sways, everything going black around the edges as he faints, the brief eye contact he has with one of the men bright blue and sharp, inquisitive.

And then....nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he rouses from his(deeply embarrassing) fainting spell he learns that the tall blond man with stunning eyes is Steven Rogers, and as he’s helping to put his (very broad and muscular) shoulder back into the socket, Steven explains that the men who had been pursuing Tony were British Dragoons led by a man named James “Winter Soldier” Barnes.

Tony forms a rough sling and helps guide the man’s arm into it, “Well, you have my thanks for stopping them from killing me. It seems I owe you my life,” he murmurs with a wan smile. Steven smiles back, eyes bright and beautiful and fixed on Tony as he washes his hands in the still warm water and dries them off.

“Ye owe me naught Sassenach, tis what any good man would do,” Steven replies, his voice warm and low, the burr of his accent pricking at something in Tony’s stomach that he tries to ignore.

“And those men, the dragoons, they’re not good men?” Tony asks curiously, glancing over his shoulder at the men just outside the door keeping guard. He’s not sure if they think he’s dumb enough to try and fight his way through them or if they think he needs protection, but either way, he’s not going anywhere they don’t want him to.

Steven shakes his head, “Nay Sassenach, they’re not,” he sighs, looking far more tired and weary than any man his age should. Tony wonders just how old he is--he wouldn’t place the man much over 25, and suddenly, Tony’s own 37 years seems ancient.

“Where is it you and your men are taking me?” Tony asks, peering out the window of the small lean to they’ve stopped at so Tony could fix Steven’s shoulder.

“Castle Leoch,” Steven replies, wincing as he puts his shirt back on slowly, smiling gratefully through a wince when Tony helps him into it. The men at the door shuffle and mill about as Steven moves to rejoin them, their voices low in the night air.

Tony sidles up to the window, searching for the lights of Inverness, but there’s nothing on the horizon, just black skies.

“Come Sassenach, it’s time to go.”

Tony turns and meets Steven’s warm gaze, the other man’s full lips curled up into a soft smile.

“It’s Tony, not Sassenach,” he replies sharply, exasperation growing when the younger man does nothing but grin.

“Aye, as you say Tony.”

Tony sighs heavily and follows the men out into the clearing where their horses are waiting. He’s less happy than before when he’s guided into the saddle and Steven swings up behind him, his large body hot and firm against Tony’s. His stomach curls with unwanted heat and desire, burning brighter when Steven’s arm wraps around his waist to hold him more firmly against his broad chest.

The sun is just rising when they ride into the castle and every single one of Tony’s distant hopes slips away.

There’s no electricity here.

No running water.

Nothing.

“Welcome to Castle Leoch Tony,” Steven’s voice whispers in his ear, his warm, wet breath fanning against Tony’s neck so he shivers, that unwanted heat curling through his body once more.

He stares up at the stone walls and swallows hard.

Welcome to the past he thinks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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