#he uses a combo of mist and decoys to make everyone think he has a fleet of MUCH larger ships

[the-faultofdaedalus]

stevetony pirate au with the feared vigilante robber of the high seas, captain rogers, and duke-turned-captain-rogers’-gun-wielding-concubine anthony stark.

The nice thing about running a small ship, Steve thought, surveying his crew from the bridge as they scurried over the larger merchant’s ship, moving cargo and captives to-and-fro, was that no one, absolutely no one, ever expected the most feared pirate on these seas to be sailing something more suited for a civilian on a day-trip.

And no one expected their armed and armoured and much, much bigger ship to be taken by a clipper with only two canons to its name.

Hell, no one ever expected the crew of a ship as small as the Banshee to even think about trying to take a ship at all, much less the Crown-sanctioned merchant frigates that were always bristling with weapons and paranoid, pomped-up ego.

Steve surveyed the other ship, holes blown in the hull and long gashes along the sides, slowly, slowly sinking.

“—You bastards,” Steve heard, the voice carrying over even the general din, and couldn’t help but smile, just a little. “Let GO OF ME, don’t you know who I am, you can’t—“

The man’s voice was abruptly cut off when Steve’s gunner, Clint Barton, stuffed a rag into his mouth, to the jeers of the rest of Steve’s crew, and to the growing alarm of the captured shiphands.

Anthony Stark, heir to the crown and the kingdom’s most valuable asset, was unceremoniously tossed across the gap between the two ships, twisting and struggling against his bound hands and feet, caught by Bucky on the deck of the Banshee, muffled, angry shouts still audible through the makeshift gag.

“Where do you want him, Cap?” Bucky called up, easily holding the other man despite his struggles and attempts to kick him, and Steve tipped his head in consideration, mostly for the effect it’d have on the remaining crew.

“Throw him in my quarters,” Steve finally shouted back, making sure to give the prince a slow once-over, “I want to talk to him myself before we treat him to the brig.”

Stark started yelling again at the same time that Steve’s small crew cheered, and without preamble, Bucky shrugged, kicked open the door to the small room that Steve got to claim as his own, and tossed Stark in like a sack of potatoes.

It didn’t take long from there for the Banshee to be detached from the larger ship, holes punched in the hull to scuttle it.

Steve wasn’t worried about the crew they’d left on the boat — it was resting on a sandbank and the deck wouldn’t flood, and their people should find them soon enough — and soon enough, the Banshee was hauling around, heading for new waters, and Steve couldn’t resist one last parting shot. “Tell your king,” He shouted, voice carrying easily over the water, “That we’ve got your golden goose! Again!”

With that, and the Banshee’s sails pushing her across the water, Steve left the tiller to Natasha and took the steps down from the bridge two at a time, couldn’t stop his lips from curling into a smile.

It was time to pay his guest a visit.

By the time Steve closed the door behind himself, Tony had slipped his bonds, had stripped down to the more practical underclothes as opposed to the stuffy coats and pants he usually wore and was stretched out on Steve’s bed, a wide smile spreading across his face when he caught sight of Steve.

The gag that had been in his mouth flew at Steve, and he caught it with a grin before it could hit him in the face. “Would it kill Barton to use something clean?” He asked, though his eyes were bright, and Steve laughed before he tossed it aside and took the half-stride he needed to get to the bed, let Tony pull him down.

“Yes, your highness,” Steve rolled his eyes, looked down at Tony, “Next time we’ll make sure to use the finest silk we can find.” He poked Tony’s nose, felt fond beyond belief when Tony’s eyes went slightly cross-eyed to track it, “The theatrics were your idea, Tony.”

“It tasted like pickled eggs, and the theatrics are necessary,” Tony groused, and the air whooshed out of Steve’s lungs when he wrapped his arms around Steve and pulled him down on top of him, clearly wanting more contact than Steve being propped up on him gave, pressed his face into the crook of Steve’s neck and exhaled. “Do you people eat anything but pickled eggs?”

Steve wiggled, got comfortable, making sure he wasn’t jabbing Tony anywhere, and brought an arm around to hold Tony back, felt how Tony relaxed. “Now that we’ve raided your ship’s food stores, we will,” He said, “I know the theatrics are necessary, you’re good at it, but one of these days you’re going to fall into the drink and then where will we be, huh?”

“Your people are good at what they do,” Tony muttered, “Barnes isn’t going to drop me.”

“If you kick him he might,” Steve shot back, rolled to the side so he could rest his head on Tony’s chest, wrap his arm over Tony’s stomach. “I don’t want you to get hurt, alright? And I know the knots are slips, but—” Steve cut himself off, didn’t want to continue that sentence, didn’t want to paint the possibility of Tony falling into the sea, the knots waterlogged and impossible to slip, didn’t want to think about Tony drowning because of him.

Tony rolled his eyes, but pressed a kiss to the top of Steve’s head. “You’re not going to let me get hurt.” He told Steve, “Even though you are, technically, kidnapping me on a semi-regular basis.”

“Oh, poor you,” Steve said, “The innocent prince—”

Tony snorted.

“-Kidnapped by the scary, mean, pirates. Whatever will you do?”

Tony’s eyes went half-lidded, and he licked his lips. “Oh,” He said, pressed the back of his hand to his forehead in a fake swoon, “Whatever will I do, Captain? I’m so helpless, you could do anything you wanted,” Tony continued, as if he hadn’t managed to get the hinges off the cell he’d been put in the first time Steve and his crew had grabbed him, snuck up to the deck and was halfway into a rowboat until Sam had actually caught him, at which Tony had threatened him with a sword until Natasha had disarmed him. “Woe is me—”

Steve cut him off by kissing him, soft and sweet and slow, a kiss that Tony returned eagerly even as he melted into it. When Steve broke away, Tony was smiling softly up at Steve. “Hey,” He said.

“Hey yourself,” Steve replied, knew that his answering smile was sappy and soft and not caring in the least. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too, honey.” Tony answered, “And speaking of mist—”

“-It worked great,” Steve cut him off, wasn’t lying in the slightest. The bags of powder Tony and Bruce had concocted, when thrown against the sea, made a wall of mist 10 feet high, thick as anything natural, and all in all was better than waiting for the right conditions to catch a ship, “We’ve got a week until we make port, you’ll have plenty of time to talk shop with the others, for now—”

Tony’s eyes softened. “I’ll stay. Of course.” He said, pulled Steve back down on top of him. “Picked one hell of a week to grab me, though. I was sailing to meet Pepper.”

Steve blanched. “Oh gods.” He said, and Tony started cackling.