His clothes are rumpled, hair out of place, glasses sliding down his nose with no effort on his part to right them. There are bloody imprints of his teeth in his lower lip, eyes so wild that Nick isn’t sure if he’s faced with gratitude or outrage. He’d hope saving the bureaucrat’s daughter and a dozen others would entitle him to the former, but he’s under no illusions about the situation. He carried out an unauthorized operation on foreign soil and made a fool of Pierce before the rest of the State Department. The odds he won’t be made a scapegoat are slim.
Pierce’s hands are shaking. It’s a far cry from the man Nick had seen only yesterday. Pierce had been in the same suit then, but it was impeccably pressed. He’d looked so calm and collected, so certain he could negotiate the rebels down.
Nick had nodded at the decision and then left to take matters into his own hands. And now Pierce will have his head on a stick for it.
“You,” Pierce manages. His mouth works silently afterward, fingers twisting the fabric of his cuffs.
“Me,” Nick says. Usually he can rein in his smart mouth around simpering politicians who never have to get their hands dirty. But usually those politicians cut right to the chase.
Pierce’s eyes flare and yeah, it’s outrage Nick sees there. The words come spilling out, finally, though halted and stammered. “How dare you—You defied—you risked—”
Then the words stop as abruptly as they’d started, cut short by Pierce slamming his lips against Nick’s.
It’s not as surprising as it probably should be. Nick doesn’t work under anyone without learning all there is to know about them, and he could tell in his gut well before any intel came back. Not that there’s been much to find. Pierce is either deep enough in the closet that he might even have fooled himself, or he’s got a hell of a knack for discretion.
He had, Nick corrects. Pierce’s mouth is still pressed against his own. He kisses like he knows his business: not weak and waiting, but not struggling for dominance either. There’s room for Nick to reciprocate, if he chooses to.
Instead he grips Pierce by the arms, pushing him back. Pierce looks as stunned as ever and there’s no way Nick’s going to stand here and deal with either Pierce coming to terms with being a queen or a hasty gratitude blowjob in a makeshift embassy.
It’s only now that Nick realizes how tired he is. The adrenaline’s well and truly gone if he prefers a soft mattress to getting sucked off.
“Your daughter’s asking for you,” he says, releasing his hold on Pierce. He turns and walks out of the office without waiting for a reply. Whatever mud Pierce wants to sling his way can wait until he’s slept.
And maybe Pierce’ll reconsider attacking the man he just outed himself to. Nick’s not too exhausted to hope.
*
It’s not in Nick’s nature to keep from looking a gift horse in the mouth, but when Pierce makes him head of S.H.I.E.L.D., he can’t bring himself to dwell too long on the downsides. If this is a bribe for his silence, it’s a hell of a reward for shutting up about a secret he already planned to keep. If it’s an attempt to discredit him—put him in over his head and watch him leave the agency in disgrace, so any accusations he makes are ascribed to bitterness—then Pierce will find Nick’s a lot more skilled and resilient than he’s estimated.
And if it’s really just a gift in exchange for saving Pierce’s daughter? Might be nice to have an ally who throws all his resources into so richly rewarding common sense.
There’s a ceremony, and the food’s much more memorable than any of the speeches. Nick lets the words wash over him, mostly droning stuffed shirts who didn’t know him from Adam until Pierce pulled some strings, going on about Nick’s achievements and character.
He almost misses when Pierce goes to podium, tuning back in just in time to hear him say, “Director Fury’s shown me just how much I’ve yet to learn about the world.”
Holding in a laugh, Nick regrets it when he nearly chokes on a bite of filet mignon.
Pierce appears at Nick’s side later, once the ceremony’s concluded and Nick’s had about all he can stand of the glad-handing. “A word?” he asks.
It was inevitable. Nick follows Pierce to the office and waits to see which route this’ll take. Careful euphemisms, maybe, praise for his discretion. He won’t resort to threats or blackmail; he’s too smart for that and he won’t want Nick as an enemy. Not with what he knows.
Nodding to an empty chair, Pierce sits on the edge of his desk.
Nick doesn’t take the seat. He’d prefer to know where they stand before he gets too comfortable.
Pierce’s gaze is measured and steady as he speaks. “Would you like to fuck me?”
He’s casual, like this is an offer he’s made dozens of times. Maybe it is, and Pierce is just skilled at secrecy instead of closeted. There’s no leer in his stare, nothing in his tone that indicates he feels that Nick is indebted. He doesn’t sound as if he expects gratitude, and that above all else drives Nick’s reply.
“You got a place?”
“My home?” Pierce offers.
Nick cocks a brow. “And your wife?”
Pierce’s smile comes easily. “You think she doesn’t know?”
They end up in a hotel room, some obscenely expensive place with fresh cut flowers and champagne waiting in the suite. The pace is slow, every movement drawn out and carefully assessed. Neither of them wants to lose control first. Neither wants to stop scrutinizing the other.
Pierce may be an idealistic bureaucrat, but Nick has to admit he’s a clever, collected one. And a damn good lay.
*
The fifth time they fuck is in the early morning hours after some party in Seoul. Pierce comes into Nick’s hotel room with the extra key, cursing under his breath and scrambling to get his watch off. By the pale dawn light filtering through the crack in the shades, Nick can see deep imprints circling Alexander’s wrist. It looks like he’s bleeding in places.
“Christ.” He sits up in the bed, pulls the chain on the lamp. “What happened?”
“This was a gift from the Korean ambassador a few years back,” Alexander says, setting the watch on the nightstand. He rubs at the raw skin of his wrist. “Damn thing’s too tight.”
“So don’t wear it.”
Alexander shoots him a look. “Right, and offend the ambassador. That’ll go over well.”
Nick rubs a hand over his face. It’s both too late and too early for this. “Why didn’t you just sell it and buy yourself another one that fit?”
Alexander’s glare falters, and Nick doesn’t bother to hide his smirk. “There are very rare occasions when I don’t think of everything.”
“You’re telling me.” Nick shuts the lamp off again, settling back against the headboard. “Lie down, you idiot.”
Alexander’s sliding off his bowtie, dark silk wound around his long fingers. He pauses, turning his head. “Call me that again.”
“What, idiot? Sure thing.”
“I like it.” Alexander shrugs off his dress shirt, stretching out on the bed. “It implies much more reckless behavior than I’m able to get up to in my line of work.”
“Your kink is getting told off?” Nick rolls his eyes, reaching down to help Alexander out of his belt. “Should’ve let me know sooner. I’d like nothing better.”
[Fill] "The Joke that You Made in the Bed" Fury/Pierce and Bucky, WWII Roleplay [1/4]
Pierce looks wrecked.
His clothes are rumpled, hair out of place, glasses sliding down his nose with no effort on his part to right them. There are bloody imprints of his teeth in his lower lip, eyes so wild that Nick isn’t sure if he’s faced with gratitude or outrage. He’d hope saving the bureaucrat’s daughter and a dozen others would entitle him to the former, but he’s under no illusions about the situation. He carried out an unauthorized operation on foreign soil and made a fool of Pierce before the rest of the State Department. The odds he won’t be made a scapegoat are slim.
Pierce’s hands are shaking. It’s a far cry from the man Nick had seen only yesterday. Pierce had been in the same suit then, but it was impeccably pressed. He’d looked so calm and collected, so certain he could negotiate the rebels down.
Nick had nodded at the decision and then left to take matters into his own hands. And now Pierce will have his head on a stick for it.
“You,” Pierce manages. His mouth works silently afterward, fingers twisting the fabric of his cuffs.
“Me,” Nick says. Usually he can rein in his smart mouth around simpering politicians who never have to get their hands dirty. But usually those politicians cut right to the chase.
Pierce’s eyes flare and yeah, it’s outrage Nick sees there. The words come spilling out, finally, though halted and stammered. “How dare you—You defied—you risked—”
Then the words stop as abruptly as they’d started, cut short by Pierce slamming his lips against Nick’s.
It’s not as surprising as it probably should be. Nick doesn’t work under anyone without learning all there is to know about them, and he could tell in his gut well before any intel came back. Not that there’s been much to find. Pierce is either deep enough in the closet that he might even have fooled himself, or he’s got a hell of a knack for discretion.
He had, Nick corrects. Pierce’s mouth is still pressed against his own. He kisses like he knows his business: not weak and waiting, but not struggling for dominance either. There’s room for Nick to reciprocate, if he chooses to.
Instead he grips Pierce by the arms, pushing him back. Pierce looks as stunned as ever and there’s no way Nick’s going to stand here and deal with either Pierce coming to terms with being a queen or a hasty gratitude blowjob in a makeshift embassy.
It’s only now that Nick realizes how tired he is. The adrenaline’s well and truly gone if he prefers a soft mattress to getting sucked off.
“Your daughter’s asking for you,” he says, releasing his hold on Pierce. He turns and walks out of the office without waiting for a reply. Whatever mud Pierce wants to sling his way can wait until he’s slept.
And maybe Pierce’ll reconsider attacking the man he just outed himself to. Nick’s not too exhausted to hope.
*
It’s not in Nick’s nature to keep from looking a gift horse in the mouth, but when Pierce makes him head of S.H.I.E.L.D., he can’t bring himself to dwell too long on the downsides. If this is a bribe for his silence, it’s a hell of a reward for shutting up about a secret he already planned to keep. If it’s an attempt to discredit him—put him in over his head and watch him leave the agency in disgrace, so any accusations he makes are ascribed to bitterness—then Pierce will find Nick’s a lot more skilled and resilient than he’s estimated.
And if it’s really just a gift in exchange for saving Pierce’s daughter? Might be nice to have an ally who throws all his resources into so richly rewarding common sense.
There’s a ceremony, and the food’s much more memorable than any of the speeches. Nick lets the words wash over him, mostly droning stuffed shirts who didn’t know him from Adam until Pierce pulled some strings, going on about Nick’s achievements and character.
He almost misses when Pierce goes to podium, tuning back in just in time to hear him say, “Director Fury’s shown me just how much I’ve yet to learn about the world.”
Holding in a laugh, Nick regrets it when he nearly chokes on a bite of filet mignon.
Pierce appears at Nick’s side later, once the ceremony’s concluded and Nick’s had about all he can stand of the glad-handing. “A word?” he asks.
It was inevitable. Nick follows Pierce to the office and waits to see which route this’ll take. Careful euphemisms, maybe, praise for his discretion. He won’t resort to threats or blackmail; he’s too smart for that and he won’t want Nick as an enemy. Not with what he knows.
Nodding to an empty chair, Pierce sits on the edge of his desk.
Nick doesn’t take the seat. He’d prefer to know where they stand before he gets too comfortable.
Pierce’s gaze is measured and steady as he speaks. “Would you like to fuck me?”
He’s casual, like this is an offer he’s made dozens of times. Maybe it is, and Pierce is just skilled at secrecy instead of closeted. There’s no leer in his stare, nothing in his tone that indicates he feels that Nick is indebted. He doesn’t sound as if he expects gratitude, and that above all else drives Nick’s reply.
“You got a place?”
“My home?” Pierce offers.
Nick cocks a brow. “And your wife?”
Pierce’s smile comes easily. “You think she doesn’t know?”
They end up in a hotel room, some obscenely expensive place with fresh cut flowers and champagne waiting in the suite. The pace is slow, every movement drawn out and carefully assessed. Neither of them wants to lose control first. Neither wants to stop scrutinizing the other.
Pierce may be an idealistic bureaucrat, but Nick has to admit he’s a clever, collected one. And a damn good lay.
*
The fifth time they fuck is in the early morning hours after some party in Seoul. Pierce comes into Nick’s hotel room with the extra key, cursing under his breath and scrambling to get his watch off. By the pale dawn light filtering through the crack in the shades, Nick can see deep imprints circling Alexander’s wrist. It looks like he’s bleeding in places.
“Christ.” He sits up in the bed, pulls the chain on the lamp. “What happened?”
“This was a gift from the Korean ambassador a few years back,” Alexander says, setting the watch on the nightstand. He rubs at the raw skin of his wrist. “Damn thing’s too tight.”
“So don’t wear it.”
Alexander shoots him a look. “Right, and offend the ambassador. That’ll go over well.”
Nick rubs a hand over his face. It’s both too late and too early for this. “Why didn’t you just sell it and buy yourself another one that fit?”
Alexander’s glare falters, and Nick doesn’t bother to hide his smirk. “There are very rare occasions when I don’t think of everything.”
“You’re telling me.” Nick shuts the lamp off again, settling back against the headboard. “Lie down, you idiot.”
Alexander’s sliding off his bowtie, dark silk wound around his long fingers. He pauses, turning his head. “Call me that again.”
“What, idiot? Sure thing.”
“I like it.” Alexander shrugs off his dress shirt, stretching out on the bed. “It implies much more reckless behavior than I’m able to get up to in my line of work.”
“Your kink is getting told off?” Nick rolls his eyes, reaching down to help Alexander out of his belt. “Should’ve let me know sooner. I’d like nothing better.”