Steve/Tony: La Sangre R [868 words]

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Title: La Sangre
Rating: R
Warnings: Masochism, knifeplay/bloodplay, mutilation, and exoticism of one Tony Stark.
Universe: Alternate Universe - Master/Slave
Beta: Sam + Jay
Personal Disclaimer: The author of this fan fiction is unstable. Comments have enabled, but will be disabled at the author's discretion.
Summary: In which Tony is a Spanish slave, Steve doesn't really know what to do with him, and there are approximately three different kinds of pain.

Antonio comes to Steven in pieces, with shackles on his wrists and a scar on his chest, blood on the corners of his lips, and defiance in his eyes. His defiance is bred from fear, and from a past of hurt. Steven puts a hand on him, and doesn't flinch when he's bitten.

His skin is golden, and his hair is dark and exotic. He spits at Steven in his mother tongue, but he listens to the words that those around him say, and Steven knows that he understands them. He stands straight, and his glare is piercing. There is a fluidity to his movement and his gestures that betrays a deeply buried charm. Antonio has adapted, and he has become an animal because he has been taught that that is what he needs to survive.

The biting doesn't stop for a long while. Steven's every touch is rewarded with a new set of teeth marks. There is blood on Antonio's lips, and blood staining his teeth. There is glaring, and tenseness, and bitter words that Steven does not understand. The intent is obvious, and Antonio watches him like a caged animal; but there is more than that as well.

Antonio is a Spaniard. He favours reds and golds, and his most favoured red is that of blood. His or someone else's, it does not matter. Discipline does not frighten him, and he takes his punishments with a smile and laugh. "No puedes pegar más fuerte?" he says. He has knives. Steven doesn't know where he's gotten them. The handles are gold, and the blades are silver.

His language is beautiful, as is his mind. If Steven gives him odds and ends and a few tools, he'll build, and then he'll set his creation at Steven's feet, and grin at him. There is a light in his eyes, and it quells the beasts of his nightmares, whatever they may be. If he has nothing left with which to create, he will use his own blood. He will use the floors, he will use the walls. He paints them, he leaves messages. He draws a line across Steven's forehead and whispers, "Mío."

He knows how to dance as well. He'll tap his feet and twist to anything that seems even mildly musical. Steven throws a party. It is a stuffy affair of aristocrats and politicians, meant to curry favour with fancy trinkets, and on this night Antonio dances. The partygoers watch, a mix of disgust, surprise, and high-society shock. He is barefoot and drunken, dropping bread crumbs on the tiled floors. He still refuses to speak, even though he listens. The abrasions and lacerations that littered his skin when he arrived have begun to fade. He steals Steven's jewelry, and he steals Steven's alcohol, and he dances like a savage.

His inhibitions and his morals have been stripped away, tucked under his skin. He is a wild beast, a wild man, and he is dangerous. He runs his knives over Steven's skin and steals his blood, and so Steven pins him down, and takes back. Their blood mingles on the silver blade and under Antonio's skin. His eyes go wide, and then they go dark, and he laughs. "Si," he says. "Usted comprende."

It's a carefully established ritual, something which rocks while it stands tall, which sways in the wind while it is immovable. It is the dance of a savage, and Antonio looks beautiful when his limits are reached, bare and sweating from pain. Sweat mingles with blood, rolls along his skin and onto the tiled floors. It's beautiful, but it's not erotic, and it's not what makes Steven want him. Those whispered words, that mischievous glint in his eye, even the darkness that lurks under his skin and in his fingertips. He stains his hands with blood, and his lips taste like metal.

He never says no, he never says yes, but he moans into the darkness and leaves crimson stains on Steven's lily white sheets. Antonio screams in his sleep. Steven puts a hand on the scar over his heart, and says his name until he goes quiet. He notices something curious as he lays there in the silence. There is no beating under his palm. Antonio's chest — Antonio's heart — is still.

In the morning Steven puts his hand over Antonio's chest and watches him. Antonio explains in steady, broken English, that there was a man; a man with a round face and fancy clothes and heartless eyes. His name was Obadiah, and he took Antonio's heart from him. He replaced it with a machine, and in the silent morning Steven can hear the haunting sound of gears.

Scars upon scars upon scars. Antonio tells him tales: tales of pain and bloodshed, tales of anger and violence, of wrath and heartlessness. He tells him tales of what it is to be broken, and what it is to lose your heart, and to be betrayed. Antonio tells him that there is no such thing as mercy, so Steven shows him mercy. Antonio tells him that there is no such thing forgiveness, so Steven shows him forgiveness.

"El dolor es dolor," Antonio says. "Pero la sangre es confianza."