#kingsgaurd!steve

[starkercrossedlovers]

Long Live the King

Tony is fiddling in his workshop, trying to correct the aiming mechanism on the missile launcher he’s designed when the doors burst open, clanging against the cold stone wall and he jumps, startled at the sight of the normally unflappable Captain of the Kingsguard breathless and falling to his knees before Tony.

His eyes are a stormy blue in the firelight, wide and dark, staring up at Tony, a hand pressed to his chest plate, sword at his hip.

“The king is dead, long live the king.”

Tony stares at him dumbly for a moment before rising and standing over the older man. “You’re sure?” he asks softly, lifting a brow.

The Captain nods.

“I am my King. His heart is still in his breast and breath does not pass his lips.”

As he finishes speaking the bells in the castle and then the surrounding city begin to clang, marking the passing of King Howard Stark, Third of His Name, Lord of Manhattan and Ruler of the Three Kingdoms.

They listen as the bells ring on and on and on....

“Rise Captain Rogers, we have much to do this evening,” Tony murmurs, watching as the older man rises to his feet smoothly, blonde heart gleaming gold in the light of the candles.

He is so beautiful it makes Tony’s heart ache. He takes a step forward and then another, rises onto his toes and smiles when the Captain leans down to meet his kiss, a large hand sliding around his hip to hold him steady as they embrace.

Footsteps on the flagstones send them apart, and when the members of the small council burst into the room Captain Rogers is on his knees again, head bowed in supplication to the new King.

The council joins him and Tony stares down at them, heart pounding.

His plan worked.

—————————

Tony kneels on the cold flagstones of the cathedral, head bowed, the warm steadying presence of his Captain just a few feet behind him.

He does not pray because there are no gods, despite what the High Priests and his own beloved mother had tried to teach him—he has seen the world for what it is and knows that no loving god would leave his creations to suffer at the hands of a madman.

His father had once been a wise and tolerant ruler. Then Obadiah Stane had become his right hand, dripping poison into his ear, whispering lies and consolidating power for himself and King Howard had become unsteady, war hungry, cold and indifferent to the suffering of his people.

The attack by brigands resulting in the murder of his beloved mother had been the tipping point. They had been identified as Hydra assasins and the country had tipped into war, famine and disease.

Tony watched as his country was weakened, bit by bit, until they stood upon the brink of ruination.

When a man had sought audience with Tony and presented him with the evidence of Obadiah’s hand in his mother’s death, Tony had thought it an ill trick—till Captain Rogers had been summoned to lock the man away and had promptly fallen to his knees, weeping at the sight of his long lost brother, James.

The man had been captured during the war with Hydra and had been tortured and magicked into compliance, used as a weapon to destroy the kingdom.

James has spoken of a Red Witch, a woman who could create a potion that would put its subject into a deep and dreamless sleep. Captain Rogers had seen to it that he would be on guard over the king, that it would be his hand that would topple the potion into the King’s nightly glass of whiskey, that it would be he who held the pillow to his face and ended his cruel and tyrannical rule.

Tony knows the Captain prays for forgiveness, that he grieves the murder he has committed, even as he knows it was necessary. He would not be the man Tony loves did he not.

They will pass the night together here, in silent prayer, where his father’s body lays in waiting. The air is heavy with incense and myrrh, smoky and thick in the back of his throat and it reminds him unpleasantly of his mother’s funeral.

They did what was necessary—he only wishes he had done it sooner and saved his mother.

—————

Tony kneels before the High Priest, head bowed as the holy oil is rubbed into his forehead. The crown, when it settles onto his brow, is heavy, laden with rubies and diamonds.

He takes the sphere and scepter and rises, turns to face the Lords and Ladies assembled in the cathedral, gaze sweeping over them as they chant—Long Live the King!

His gaze finds Obadiah in the crowd and he sees the jealousy and anger in his eyes, masked by his smile and traitorous mouth chanting along with the crowd.

It matters little.

His end too is coming.

——————

They are in a council meeting, the day drawing to a close when Tony asks if there are any more matters to be brought before the king.

Captain Rogers moves forward and kneels, “My king,” he murmurs, the adoration in his voice warm. “If it pleases the court I have a matter most dire.”

Tony lifts a brow, biting back a smirk at his beloved’s acting abilities. “Captain Rogers, rise and tell me this most dire matter.”

The Captain rises and rests his hand on the pommel of his sword, broad shoulders thrown back, blonde hair shining like spun gold and for a moment Tony sees him not like this—garbed in steel and gold, but in his bed, naked and flushed, moaning Tony’s name as Tony rides his cock.

Clearing his throat, Tony lowers his gaze and sips his mead, then lifts his gaze and nods to the Captain. “Speak.”

“My king, I have found troubling evidence that King Howard did not in fact die in his sleep but was murdered.”

There’s a moment of silence before the room erupts in chaos. Tony notes that Obadiah looks calm, large hands clasped together as he silently assesses Captain Rogers.

“This is a serious crime you allege,” Tony murmurs, cutting through the chaos with a swipe of his hand.

The Captain nods and lifts a hand, holds out an almost empty bottle that holds syrupy red liquid at the base. “Yes my King. This potion was discovered and assessed by our own healers. It is a potion designed to put a man so deeply asleep he would not wake were the earth cracking open around him. It would have been mixed into his Highnesses drink—the whiskey he took each night with his trusted advisor.”

The air in the room goes taut and Tony sees Obadiah sit up straighter, brows furrowing as the situation begins to reveal itself.

“I would advise caution Captain—are you truly suggesting Lord Stane had something to do with my father’s death?” he asks carefully, leaning forward to study the Captain. “He has been loyal to the crown for many, many years, why would he murder his king?”

The Captain lifts his chin in defiance, icy rage pouring out his eyes and oh, how Tony wishes he could kiss him, shower him with praise for this magnificent playacting.

“Because my King, he did not intend to stop with your father, he wished you dead too. With no heir it would fall to Lord Stane to rule till a suitable heir could be found.”

The Captain reaches into his belt pouch and produces the final piece of evidence which will secure the noose around Stane’s neck.

“This is a letter between the King of Hydra—Alexander Pierce—and Lord Stane, bargaining for control over the kingdom after the death of both you and your father.”

The Captain hands it to Tony with a subservient now of his head and Tony let’s his fingers brush delicately against the other man’s for a breath before he takes the scroll and studies it. He knows what’s written on it of course; his spy master, the Black Widow had produced enough evidence on Stane’s guilt that there would be no saving him from the hangman’s noose.

Turning slowly, he meets Obadiah’s nervous gaze, gaze steely.

“What say you Lord Stane? How do you answer these charges?”

Stane stares at him for a moment before sliding from his chair and falling to his knees with an obsequious pleading look on his worn face. “My King, I would never! I loved your father as a brother—I love you as if you were my own son!”

Tony studies him, head tilted to the side before rising, the lords of the council following in a clatter of chairs. “I believe my lord, that you love yourself more than you ever did my father or I.” His gaze is cold and cutting and he waves a hand at the Captain, “Lock him in the tower,” he commands before sweeping out of the room.

He visits Obadiah the night before his execution, standing over the kneeling man he had watched slowly destroy his kingdom for little more than power and money.

Obadiah meets his gaze with a wry smile. “Stitched me up good eh Tony?” he says with a chuckle. “I won’t deny I had plans to kill you and your father, I just hadn’t gotten there quite yet,” he murmurs. “Which means it must have been you and you little pet, Captain Rogers.”

It’s little more than Tony expected—Stane is a smart man.

Tony nods slowly, “Very good Obadiah,” he murmurs, smiling faintly. “Though it hardly matters now.” He stares at the older man and shakes his head, “I look forward to seeing you swing Stane.”

He pauses at the door and glances back, studying the man in the pale moonlight that slashes across the wall and floor—he is wan and exhausted, kneeling chained to the ground, but Tony feels no sympathy, feels little else but disdain.

“Sleep well,” he murmurs, the iron door clanging shut behind him.

———————

Stane swings and the people cheer, pelting his corpse with rotten food, stones and other fouler things.

Tony shuts the window overlooking the city and turns away, leans into the embrace of his lover, eyes falling shut as Steve holds him.

“You did the right thing my love, my king.”

Tony smiles tiredly and pulls away to look up at Steve, studying him. “You truly believe that, don’t you?” he asks softly.

Steve nods solemnly, “Of course. Stane would have been the ruination of our country. He was responsible for the death of your mother, for the starvation and slaughter of her people. He was an evil man.”

Tony nods slowly and sighs, tired of these games and schemes. “Perhaps you are right. I fear you are too loyal for your own good Captain.”

Steve studies him for a moment and then falls to his knees in a smooth motion that takes Tony’s breath away. Shining blue eyes like the ocean stare up at him with adoration and his chest feels tight.

“I would gladly slay a thousand men to protect you my King,” Steve murmurs intently. “I am yours to command.”

Tony lifts a shaking hand to cup Steve’s cheek, breathless when the man leans into it, lashes fluttering against his cheeks before he peers up at Tony through them, lips parting as Tony slips his thumb inside, and a breath pases between them before Steve’s lips close and he sucks.

Tony switches his thumb out for two fingers, watching in breathless anticipation as Steve sucks on them with tiny moaning sounds, the wet sound of his fingers thrusting into Steve’s mouth lewd and arousing.

He feels himself harden in his breeches and sees Steve’s cock grow, pushing against his tawny breeches, pulsing and leaving a steadily growing wet patch. His mouth waters and he tugs his fingers free, paints Steve’s cheek with his spit, moaning softly at the debauched sight before him.

Cheeks pinked and lips red, Steve kneels, waiting for Tony to command him.

“Shirt off.”

Steve hurries to comply, tossing it aside so his broad, muscular chest is exposed. Tony hums in pleasure and nods, “Undo your breeches, stroke yourself—slowly,” he orders.

Steve does as ordered, moaning at the first stroke, eyes hooded and heavy on Tony. His throat is dry—he fumbles for the pitcher of mead and pours himself a goblet, sits heavily in his chair, legs spread wide as he watches Steve stroke himself.

Tony undoes his own laces and wraps a hand around his cock, gasping softly, hips jolting when Steve moans at the sight and strokes himself faster. Tony toys with himself lazily, letting the heat burn through him till Steve is rocking his hips and moaning constantly, sweat dripping down his torso as he approaches his release.

“Stop.”

With a high, pained moan, Steve’s hand falls from his cock, his whole body rocking forward as his desire demands touch, sensation.

Tony tucks himself back into his breeches and rises to his feet unsteadily, swaying from mead and desire as he looms over Steve. Cupping his chin he lifts Steve’s head to meet his gaze and swallows a sound of pleasure at the sight of his beloved so golden with arousal it shines on his skin like the sun.

“You’d stay like this if it I asked it of you, wouldn’t you?” he asks, aroused and amazed.

Steve nods lazily, “Anything for you my King, anything.”

“Even if I said you couldn’t come? Even if I wanted to use you for my own pleasure and stave off yours till it pleased me to allow it?”

Steve nods eagerly, leaning harder into Tony’s hand at his jaw, eyes hooded and hungry, so dark blue they look like storm clouds.

“I am yours my King, my Tony. Yours...”

Tony swallows hard, the weight of what he’s being given settling into his belly like molten steel.

“On the bed then,” he whispers hoarsely, “on your back.”

Steve hurries to comply, limbs uncoordinated and desire weakened. He is a large man; tall and broad and strong, but here, here he is not the Captain of the Kingsguard, here he is Steve—beloved of the King.

Tony strips him off his breeches and removes his own, slicks his hands with oil and begins stroking Steve’s cock while his other hand pushes between broad thighs and against the furl of muscle there.

Steve whines and arches into the touches, moaning Tony’s name as he is slickened, loosened and filled with Tony’s fingers. Each time Steve draws close to the edge Tony’s hands still, his gaze rapt on his lover as he moans and writhes, begging his King for more.

“Are you ready for me my love?” Tony croons, stroking Steve’s cock slowly so he can watch the man whimper and writhe, nodding desperately and begging Tony to take him.

“Please Tony, My King, please, take me,” he gasps, hips arching desperately.

Tony himself is at the end of his rope, hands shaking with want. He nods and soothes Steve with a gentle hand on his thigh before he slicks himself and pulls his fingers from inside the other man, hushing him gently when he whines at the loss.

Tony pushes Steve’s thighs wide and teases his hole with the head of his cock before pushing in with a low groan, cursing at the tight swell of heat around him. Steve moans and arches, crying out Tony’s name as he pushes deeper, filling him in agonizingly slow inches.

Tony leans on one hand over Steve, nails scraping his skin as he begins to thrust, the heat in his belly roaring to life and demanding harder, faster.

Steve cries out with each thrust—breathless gasps of Tony’s name, eyes wide with amazement and adoration.

My king, my king...please, my king

Tony pinches one of Steve’s nipples almost viciously, revelling in the pained gasp it elicits; releases it and watches as Steve sinks into bliss, hips rocketing up as Tony thrusts, his unattended cock throbbing and spilling droplets down the reddened skin.

Steve shudders under him with each of Tony’s increasingly desperate thrusts, cries growing high and wanton, body taut as a bow string, ready for release.

Tony pinches Steve’s other nipple and reaches down with his free hand to stroke his cock and snarls out a demand, “Come now Steve, come for your king.”

Steve’s eyes roll back in his head as Tony thrusts recklessly, gasping as his own release crashes through him and then Steve is coming with a shout, cock painting his skin white, shudders running over his body in waves.

Tony!

He clenches around Tony as his thrusts grow wild and erratic and Tony groans, half a sob on his lips as Steve’s release goes on and on, rippling through his large frame in devastating waves.

Steve!

Tony spills inside Steve with low broken moans and shudders as his hole clenches around his cock, the sensation too pleasurable, bordering on painful and he thrusts a few more times till it is painful and then withdraws carefully, collapsing beside Steve with a gust of breath.

As the air cools the cum and sweat on their skin, Steve rolls to his side and stares intently at Tony, one large hand splaying over Tony’s heart.

“It belongs to you,” Tony whispers, laying his own hand over Steve’s.

Steve nods and lifts Tony’s hand to press against his chest, feel the steady beating of his heart beneath his broad chest.

“As does mine. You have my heart, my body, my love,” he murmurs, “I am yours Tony, my King, my love.”

As Tony rolls into his side and kisses him he hears the cries rise up in the city as the food stores are passed out to the hungry and the sick are tended by the best healers.

Long Live the King!

It will take time to undo what Stane and his father have done.

Long Live the King!

He watches as Steve falls asleep, lashes burnished bronze in the candlelight, skin like golden marble, more beautiful than the finest sculptor could imagine.

Long Live the King!

It doesn’t matter how long it takes, so long as his Captain is by his side, in battle, in bed, in every move he makes to secure his kingdom and keep his people safe.

Long Live the King!

He will do what is necessary.

Long Live the King!

What is hard.

Long Live the King!

What is right.

Long Live the King!

—————

My only explanation is this song: Requiem Mass in D because I’m a classical music nerd and a history nerd so here you go, have some royalty stony au stuff. Hope you enjoyed it!!

Xoxo 💋

@sluttystarker @infinity-worried @xarles56 and @starkerchemistryy cuz I’m pretty sure you’re my stony babes within the starker fandom! If you like stony and wanna be tagged in future works, lemme know!!