abstractconcept (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
abstractconcept) wrote2012-09-26 10:46 am
abstractconcept) wrote2012-09-26 10:46 am
Entry tags:
Fic: A Good Rogering (1/3)
Title: A Good Rogering (1/3)
Pairings: Steve Rogers/Loki Laufeyson (implied Clint/Natasha and some Tony/Bruce flirting in the background)
Betas:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
snakeling
Prompt: Fordownbythebay_4 on the kinkmeme who requested: Steve/Any, first time; Before the war, Steve didn't take much interest in romance and after . . .
Word Count: 24,000+
Rating: R
Content: Humor/crack, romance, bondage, blindfolding, hair-pulling.
Summary: Steve was always too busy fighting Nazis to worry about sex. All the same, he never expected his first time to be with a weird blue alien bent on the destruction of the human race. References to The Princess Bride, Back to the Future, and Sassy Gay Friend
A Good Rogering
Whoever thought it would be impossible to get Captain America drunk hadn’t counted on Tony Stark’s inventiveness. Steve still wasn’t sure why Tony wanted to get him drunk—he had suspicions he wasn’t entirely comfortable with—but after Steve had explained to him about how he metabolized alcohol, Tony’s whole face had lit up. Like a Christmas tree. Or a mad scientist. Then he’d gone away without another word.
And had come back a couple of hours later a beaker full of questionable liquid, a protesting Bruce Banner, and a mad gleam in his eye.
“Try this,” Tony said, shoving the beaker under Steve’s nose. Steve couldn’t say what it smelled like, because at a certain point his sinuses just sort of stopped working. He was pretty sure it burned away any nose hair he might have had, though.
“I don’t think so, but I appreciate the offer,” Steve replied, pushing Tony’s hand away, but gently, so that the frothing green concoction didn’t drip over the rim and eat through the floor.
“No no, see, I have it all worked out. It was just a simple matter of chemistry. And pharmaceuticals. And a potent concoction brewed and blessed by a powerful god, and maybe a couple of eyes of newt, that sort of stuff. Puppy dog tails. Plus a few other things for flavor.”
“Strong drink can do terrible things to a man,” Steve pointed out.
“And this drink could do even worse. I’m telling you, leave it, Tony,” Bruce said, still trying to take the beaker away from the man. Tony just held it higher.
“You can’t have any. You’re a mean drunk,” Tony told him.
“I don’t want any,” Bruce insisted. “And he shouldn’t have any, either. No one should drink that. That would never get past the F.D.A.”
“It doesn’t need to! It’s just some harmless hooch. Don’t you guys trust me?” Tony asked, giving them his puppy-dog look.
“No,” they replied in unison.
“Come on, it won’t kill you, I promise. Just take a sip. Tell me what you think. I’m just going to keep bugging you until you do.”
Steve finally heaved a sigh, accepted the beaker, and took the teeniest, tiniest sip. “Hmm. Tastes like ghsudhfahmapgh. Wow.” He coughed, looking down at the beaker. “You know, this isn’t half bnghwump.” He felt good. Really good. A bit fuzzy, but good. “We should gylrp out and partibblewible,” he suggested to Tony, who was standing at a funny angle.
Tony nodded. “We totally should,” he said very seriously.
***
The next thing Steve knew, they were crashing a bar. It was a real dive, crawling with scummy guys who had scars and tattoos and lengthy criminal records. One of them tried to put a hand on Natasha’s breast.
Approximately ten seconds later, the place had been totally cleared of ruffians. Well, except for the one whose head was still embedded in the plaster. But Natasha was using him to set her drink on, so that was all right.
“This place is great,” Tony said. “We should make this our regular hangout. Like our lair, you know? Only for like, our nights off. I should call Pepper!” he added brightly, taking out his phone.
Bruce’s nose was wrinkled. “I think I sat in beer. Or blood. Or something. Tony, don’t you own a clean bar where we could hang out? I mean, what’s the point of being a billionaire if you have to sit in . . . stuff? Can’t we find someplace better?”
“No!” Tony exclaimed. “You’re missing the point! This place has ambiance. This place is authentic.”
“Stark, I am sitting in a puddle of blood!”
“But it’s authentic blood! Besides,” Tony added, “Natasha probably put it there.”
“Oh, that makes it all better,” Bruce muttered. He tried mopping at himself ineffectually with a dirty napkin.
Steve just tried to follow the conversation without falling over. Tony was asking Jarvis things and talking enthusiastically to people and drinking a scotch.
“This is a bad idea,” Bruce moaned.
“Shut up and order a cosmopolitan or something,” Tony told him. “I’m on the phone, here.”
“I want a drink,” Steve told Bruce.
Bruce looked dubious. “Okay. I’ll get you a Shirley Temple.” He got up and came back with drinks for both of them. Steve was disappointed Bruce wouldn’t give him more liquor. It wasn’t like Steve was about to go on a drunken rampage and be found hours later stomping around Soho big, green, buck-ass nude and grunting show tunes.
Well, maybe he would, except for the green bit. Steve had never had a chance to get drunk enough to find out. He wondered if the Hulk was even capable of show tunes. He bet he could at least train him to belt out, “New York, New York,” on cue. The real trick would be in getting him to stop smashing the city long enough to sing about it.
Steve shook his head a little. He felt awfully woozy.
In the corner, Tony was still chatting airily. “Clint? Teambuilding exercise at the . . . what is this place? The Black Magnum Honky Tonk. Yeah. Yeah, that’s its real name. Yeah, no, Fury says it’s mandatory. I know it’s nearly two in the morning. Take it up with Fury! Okay, yeah.” Tony put his phone away. “Okay, so Clint’s on his way, Pepper’s got the jet, and Thor will be here when he gets here.”
“You called Thor?” Bruce squawked. “How?”
“Okay, so the reception’s not great in Asgard, but I worked it out,” Tony told him. “The real problem is the butt-dialing.”
“Butt-dialing?” Steve repeated, confused.
“Yeah, he’s got a serious problem with that—don’t even ask me how. I don’t know if he has pockets sewn into his freaking cape or what. All I know is, in the middle of the night, every night, I get a call from him. It’s like clockwork. It drives me nuts. You can hear him shouting, “ANOTHER ROUND OF ALE FOR MY BRAVE COMRADES!” and “I REQUIRE A VOLUPTUOUS MAIDEN TO WARM MY BED THIS NIGHT!” The guy really needs to learn how to dial it down a notch.”
Steve snorted.
“You’re kidding,” Natasha said, taking a seat and setting a bottle of whisky on the table. She smiled wryly. “You sure he’s not doing it on purpose?”
“You mean, am I getting prank calls from a rather obtuse mythical Norse demigod? I kind of doubt it, but who knows?”
“Tony,” Steve interrupted.
“Yeah?”
“I’m really drunk.”
“Yeah. You can thank me later.”
“No, I mean it, reeeeeeeeeally drunk,” Steve insisted. He wasn’t sure why this point was so important, but it clearly needed to be driven home, because Tony didn’t look all that impressed. Steve rested his head on Tony’s shoulder.
“Oh, wow. We need to get you laid, Captain Choirboy.” Tony tossed back the rest of his scotch and signaled for another, but Bruce grabbed it and downed it before Tony got a chance. “I said no booze for you!” Tony reprimanded.
“It’s only my third . . . fourth? It’s only my fourth shot,” Bruce said.
“What does ‘laid’ mean?” Steve asked drowsily.
“Laid. Screwed. Fucked. Whatever you called it back in the day. I’m sure you must know some quaint old-timey euphemism for it, like hitchin’ up the wagon, or something sufficiently suggestive.”
Steve jerked away, blushing brightly. “I really don’t need anything like that,” he muttered.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to offend your delicate sensibilities. I shouldn’t say things like that when there are children or puritanical super soldiers from the second world war around, and I—” Tony cut off as the door slammed open. “What—what—what the hell is he doing here?” A beaming Thor was escorting a chained Loki into the bar. “Thor,” Tony said, standing to intercept them. “Buddy. Big thunder. Captain Crackle. Whatever you like to be called. Look at your life. Look at your choices. You do not bring violent, psychotic drama queens to dive bars. You just don’t.”
“Yes,” Steve put in. “You should take him somewhere nice.” Loki glowered at him.
“Yes—no,” Tony said. “Now you march him right back up to Asgard, young man, or so help me—”
“My brother is well secured,” Thor assured them. “His chains are of an unbreakable metal and I shall be his keeper. I vow this, that he is as harmless right now as if he were a kitten.”
Natasha, Bruce, Tony and Steve all looked at Loki, who flashed them a quick, slick, sly smile that implied the exact opposite of everything a smile is supposed to convey.
“Okay, first place, not a kitten,” Tony countered. “This face? Not the face of a loveable little fluffball, no siree. In the second place, why the hell would you even want to bring him to this little shindig? I’m going to level with you here; he’s kind of a buzzkill.”
“He is harmless,” Thor said, pulling up two chairs. Loki took one in stony silence. “Besides, what would you have me do? Leave him unwatched? Unattended? He is much too clever; I shouldn’t dare turn my back on him. It’s a lesson I have learned too well.”
Tony heaved a sigh. “You mark my words, he’s going to get you plastered and then he’s going to escape, and the next thing you know there’ll be giant mechanical deathfish swimming all over Manhattan again, and when there are, don’t come crying to me.” He tossed back a shot.
Thor slapped him on the back with a raucous laugh, making Tony spray scotch across the table. “Such nonsense! He could not possibly trick me into a state of intoxication—not on this weak mother’s milk you Midgardians quaff.”
“Yeah, well,” Tony said, coughing a little and pouring himself another drink. “If you say so. I do like your new bracelets,” he informed Loki. “They really add a certain something to the outfit.” Loki ignored this completely.
Steve watched Loki sit there, stiff and straight, his lips set in a thin line. For some reason it troubled Steve. It was against everything he stood for to abuse a prisoner. Of course, that was silly; dragging someone to a party was hardly abuse. But still, it did feel a bit rude to sit a man down in chains while all around him people drank and lived free and laughed at him. To a man as vain as Loki, it had to chafe.
Steve turned to Thor. “Let me buy your brother a drink,” he suggested. Thor raised his big blond eyebrows. “It can’t hurt anything,” Steve added defensively.
“By all means!” Thor said with a thunderous laugh.
“Sure, get the crazy murderer drunk; that sounds like a great plan,” Natasha grumbled.
Loki scowled. “I am uninterested in your mind-stultifying potions and your . . . camaraderie,” he said with a contemptuous lift of his lip.
“Just one,” Steve cajoled. He didn’t know why he cared so much. “I’ll even join you,” he offered.
The look the man gave him was long, cool and appraising. “Very well,” he said. “One drink.”
Tony handed Steve the beaker. It was still mostly full. Steve smiled. “Great.”
That was the last thing he remembered for several hours.
***
Unlike many other boys, Steve Rogers had not wasted a whole lot of time wondering what it would be like the first time he slept with a woman. He did make the assumption that it would be a woman. Back then, it was just to be expected. And he’d assumed he’d be married to her, as well.
And he’d always thought there would be a dance, first. Something slow in soft candlelight, something that just felt right. The dance was, in many ways, perhaps more important than what came after. So Steve had thought about it, at least a bit. But not much. Nazis were kind of his overwhelming interest. But he would have said he had some expectations.
He had not expected to find himself in bed with a mad alien terrorist after a night of carousing with the boys.
Loki was in his bed!
With that thought, Steve fell out of said bed and landed on the floor with a crash.
This was his bed. Steve didn’t know how they’d got there, what they’d done or were planning to do, but Loki couldn’t be in his bed. And he was wearing—he was wearing—the mind simply couldn’t handle it. And Steve didn’t know what to call it anyway; lingerie wasn’t exactly his area of expertise. It was lacy. It had bows on. It tried to accent bits of Loki that Loki didn’t have, and failed to mask Loki’s erection. Also, the outfit was pink.
God help me, Steve thought; there were tassels. They looked like they were supposed to swing from bits Loki couldn’t swing, but they jiggled gamely anyhow. Steve couldn’t stop staring at them.
And Loki, crazy Loki who wanted to kill him, was in his bed! Wearing that outfit! And weirdly, despite its ill fit, it didn’t look too bad. Its soft, gossamer folds contrasted beautifully with the paleness of Loki’s skin and accentuated the liquid green of his eyes. Steve couldn’t stop staring.
“Is it not to your liking?” the man asked.
Steve blinked. In the interest of inter-universal relations he said, “No! It’s fine. It’s . . . nice. You look nice. It’s just not . . . what I would typically expect to see you in.” He looked around his room. It was Spartan and clean, the way he liked it. There was a small bed, a map on the wall, a dresser, and . . . that was it. He didn’t go in for decoration. Even Peggy’s picture had been put away in a drawer. Everything in the room was very simple.
Except for the overgrown, lace-clad demigod lounging on his bed. The one who trailed a hand along his thigh in a way even the oblivious Steve Rogers had to admit was pretty erotic.
Steve cleared his throat. “Um. So. How about those Yankees?” he managed.
Loki squinted and let out a disgusted, gin-soaked noise of contempt. “Is that your very best? I am a God, for pity’s sake. I require a certain . . . . elevation of skill, one might say, from a potential bed partner.”
“Well, then I should go get Tony,” Steve quipped. “I bet he’s got enough experience.”
“Stop being an imbecile. You were doing fine. Just stop . . . saying things,” Loki told him.
Steve sank back onto the bed, thinking this over. He’d been doing fine? Him? What had he been doing? “Did we—did we . . .?” he croaked.
Loki arched a brow. “Oral copulation was imminent, but then you had a little moment. Does the thought repulse you that much?”
With difficulty, Steve focused on Loki. On his face. His lips. On his clever, clever eyes, which seemed to hold a challenge even now. “Um,” Steve croaked. “It’s just that I’m not—you know. Like that.”
“Oh. I see.” Loki’s lips flat-lined again, but Steve could read a novel in his eyes.
The idea of Loki touching him that intimately should have bothered him, he knew. Loki was an enemy. He was simply bad. He was a bad person who did bad things and would continue to do them until the day he died, if demigods ever did die. He very probably had no redeeming features whatsoever, except for the fact that he’d entertained the idea of doing dirty things to Steve and was now looking up at him like a kicked puppy.
God, Steve wanted to kiss him.
What the hell was wrong with him? He was pretty sure it wasn’t Loki’s doing. He’d had thoughts like this in the past. He thought about how Tony made him laugh, how he strutted and smiled and charmed. He thought about the tender lurch he got deep in his chest when Bruce looked especially tired or alone. He thought about Thor’s big, strong arms, arms as strong as his, his whole being fierce and full of laughter. But Loki? That was just wrong. There was really no point in admiring the male form when said male form wanted you dead. And Steve couldn’t help it.
Steve fell back against his pillow. “There’s got to be something wrong with me,” he mumbled.
Loki laughed softly, as though Steve had said something reassuring.
To Steve’s astonishment, Loki stretched out against the bed. Because of the size of the mattress, most of the room Loki was taking was actually Steve. Not Steve’s side of the bed, but actual bits of Steve, because Steve was a big man in a small bed, and Loki didn’t seem to notice.
“Wait, are you drunk, too?”
“I could not possibly become intoxicated on the meager brew you pathetic mortals produce.” Loki hiccupped. He sat up and looked rather abashed. “At least not until my thirty-fifth glass,” he mumbled.
“I’ve still got a bit of a buzz on myself,” Steve admitted.
Loki sneered. “Yes, and barely a drizzle of that foul-looking drink had passed your lips before you were falling all over me, begging me to touch you.”
Steve felt himself go hot from his neck all the way up to his hairline. “I did?” he said. “And you didn’t . . . kick me across the room?”
Loki turned his head away. “The chains and Thor’s presence prevented me from punishing you as you so richly deserved,” he noted lightly. He looked at Steve from the corner of his eye. “Though I must admit, I did rather like it when you said you wished to worship me.”
“I said that?”
“I wish to unclothe you and worship at the temple of Loki, you said. Yes. I did like that bit.” Loki smiled at him. It almost looked like a genuine smile. It was a nice smile. Almost an inviting smile.
Steve stared at him. “Oh, the hell with it,” he muttered, and kissed him, hard. Loki seemed taken aback for a fraction of a second, but then he kissed back just as hard. Harder, in fact; he pushed Steve down on the bed and straddled him. Even with the chains, Loki managed to pin Steve’s arms above him. Steve’s heart pounded wildly, and he had to admit it wasn’t from fear.
Steve didn’t even know he could get this aroused. Loki trailed a wet, hot series of kisses down his jaw, his throat. Steve felt like each time Loki’s tongue touched his skin, it drew Steve’s pulse to the surface. His whole body felt hot and tense and sort of trembly.
Steve managed to jerk one hand free and used it to reach up and touch Loki’s face, running his thumb over his jaw, and Loki made a low, vulnerable sort of noise.
“Oh, Jesus,” Steve whispered.
Loki drew back and smiled wickedly. “Wrong,” he said. He surveyed Steve’s body like a land he had just conquered, which wasn’t far off the mark. “You really like this,” he said with a hint of surprise.
“Yeah,” Steve admitted. The evidence would have been difficult to hide, considering Loki was pretty much sitting on it. “I do.”
“But why?”
Steve was puzzled. “What do you mean, why? It seems obvious.”
“And yet I am not even trying to satisfy your needs,” Loki told him.
“Well, that’s . . . honest,” Steve said. He grinned. “Guess that means you like it, too.”
Loki gave this a moment of consideration, shrugged, and went back to nipping at Steve’s neck and rutting against him. That suited Steve just fine.
“More,” he begged.
Just then, the door slammed open, and Tony and Thor sort of wavered in the doorway, holding onto one another’s shoulders and trying to stay upright. They were totally hammered, and it wasn’t Thor’s kind of hammer. Steve and Loki scrambled away from each other.
“FOUND YOU, BROTHER!” Thor yelled jubilantly, raising a drunken fist in triumph. “NOW IT IS MY TURN TO HIDE!”
“No, I told you, that is not what we’re doing,” Tony corrected. “That was not the plan.” He stared at Loki and Steve. “Jesus. Didn’t think you had it in you, Boy Scout. Sleeping with the enemy, huh?”
Steve bolted up. “No,” he said. Loki looked away. On impulse, Steve added, “He would never sleep with a mortal,” just to try to help Loki save face.
Tony pursed his lips. “But he will put on a cute little pink number and climb in bed with one,” he pointed out.
With a snarl, Loki lunged at him, his skin suddenly becoming a deep blue, his eyes blazing red. Before he could leap on Tony, Thor stepped in, his eyes flashing a warning, and Loki halted, resentment rising from him like steam.
“Whoa, there, Papa Smurf,” Tony protested, putting his hands up. “It wasn’t a judgment; it was just an observation. A totally neutral, entirely passive observation. Are his eyes supposed to do that? Doesn’t that hurt?” he asked Thor. “I could get you some Visine or something,” he offered.
Thor was suddenly looking somewhat more sober. “I believe it is his blood,” he murmured.
“I wish to leave,” Loki snapped. His skin began to lose the blue tint, and his eyes were no longer blood red, but he still seemed very angry.
“Brother—” Thor began, but Loki interrupted, his face furious.
“I demand you return me to Asgard at once!” he snarled. “Have you not mocked and shamed me enough for one evening? Would you see me as a plaything to a mortal man, just to degrade me? This is intolerable. ”
Steve rubbed the back of his head. He’d bet his last dime that the statement was pure manipulation on Loki’s part; Steve certainly hadn’t mocked or shamed him, and he suspected the man had even put on the lingerie himself—but it got the desired reaction out of Thor, who looked like he might cry. Instead he hurried to get the Tesseract so they could return.
Maybe Loki had planned to escape when Thor left him alone, but Tony still blocked the doorway, and Loki made no move toward it.
As they waited Thor’s return, Loki ignored them.
Tony cleared his throat. “So, yeah. Thanks for coming, it was great having you,” he said. “Next time, just so you know, it’s customary to bring your host a little something. You know, a bottle of wine, something of that nature.” Loki glowered at him. “Okay, be that way. I was just making small talk. Shouldn’t have mentioned it anyway. I mean, considering that last time you brought something it was an army.”
Even though he had no reason, Steve felt vaguely guilty. “Loki . . .” he said, reaching out to touch his shoulder.
The man jerked away as if the contact burned. “Do not speak to me, mortal,” he spat.
Touch-y, Tony mouthed, making a face, but stopped when Steve frowned at him. “I just wanted to say that it was, well, kinda nice to see a softer side of you. Take care,” Steve said. Loki’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
Thor was back in a moment. “I am truly sorry, brother,” he said. “I would not see you humiliated. That was never my intention.” Loki sniffed and reached a languid hand to the Tesseract, and shortly the two vanished in a flash of blue light.
“That was . . . weird,” Steve commented. He wasn’t sure what else to say, but luckily, before Tony could start in, Bruce popped up behind him. He slung an arm around Tony’s shoulders.
“You guys,” he said. “You guysss. Guess what?”
“What’s up?” Tony said.
Bruce grinned. “I love you guys,” he said, and fell over. Tony just managed to sort of catch him, and Steve helped him pick Bruce up off the floor.
“Bruce, you are a major disappointment tonight,” Tony sighed. “Did you think he’d be a sloppy drunk? I never would have pegged him for a sloppy drunk.”
“He can sleep it off here. I don’t need much sleep; a couple hours on the couch is fine.”
“You sure Loki won’t get jealous if you let another man in your bed?”
“Shut up.”
They maneuvered Bruce onto the bed. Tony poured the man a big glass of water and set it nearby. “Sleep well and dream of large, green women,” Tony said to the dozing man, patting his curly head. Bruce snored in response.
Steve flicked off the light and they both went out into the hall. Steve still couldn’t believe he’d nearly had sex with Loki, of all people. He must be out of his tree. “That was really weird,” he repeated numbly.
Tony patted his shoulder. “It was a weird night all around,” he agreed.
***
Steve came down to breakfast slowly the next morning. He hadn’t slept well. His emotions were a mixed bag of confusion, lust, resentment and revulsion. Loki was a monster, and Steve knew it. And in spite of it all, he’d pay quite a lot just to see the man smile one more time. He sighed and rubbed his face. This couldn’t be real. Maybe the prior night had just been a very realistic dream.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Tony greeted Steve as he walked into the kitchen. “Was that a great party last night or what? Hope Thor made it home okay. We need to get him a designated Valkyrie if he’s going to get that trashed. Shit, there’s money in that. Think about the ads. Too much mead? Get your Valkyrie-d home. Well, it needs work, but hey, I could make it fly.” You’d never have guessed that Tony had been drinking all night. He seemed chipper and fresh and was drinking a big glass of juice and burning some eggs on the stove. “How are you feeling? Ready for your Wheaties?”
Steve groaned. “I have a slight headache,” he admitted.
Tony looked surprised. “Slight?” he repeated. “Wow, I kind of expected more, after your wild night. You were practically swinging from the chandeliers. You sang old war songs, got maudlin and cried a bit, told me I was your best friend, and went home with—”
“I remember,” Steve said shortly. “My metabolism is fast and my cells heal quickly. I don’t get tired, I don’t get bruises, and I don’t get hangovers.” He went to the fridge, got out the orange juice, poured himself a big glass, and gulped it down in five or six swallows. Then he wiped his mouth and gave Tony a slightly battered smile.
“Yeah?” Tony’s brown eyes twinkled. “Well, don’t look now, but I think the good Captain actually got wounded in battle last night.”
Steve raised his eyebrows quizzically.
With a grin, Tony tapped the side of his own neck. “You got a little somethin’ right there, Cap. Maybe a bruise or something?” he said with faux innocence.
Still puzzled, Steve rooted around in a drawer and took out a big, shiny ladle. He peered closely at his distorted reflection. There was a small, reddish mark on his skin just above his collar. A bruise? It must have been a monster at one point, for his body to have only healed it up to the size of a thumbprint. And he didn’t remember getting hit in the throat. Then again, he didn’t remember much of anything from last night. “Huh,” he said. “What is that?”
Tony winked at him. “You tell me, lover boy.”
Steve watched his reflection turn pink as realization dawned. He jammed the ladle back in the drawer and stiffly hurried out of the room to take a shower—and find himself a turtleneck.
“No eggs?” Tony called after him.
“Not hungry!” Steve yelled back. Last night had really happened, and there was proof right there on his neck. He didn’t have a bruise. He didn’t have a bruise at all.
Captain America had a love-bite.
***
Steve spent the next few days keeping his mind occupied with other things. He worked out, he saw a couple of movies, and he helped promote Food Bank for New York City, meeting the mayor, shaking hands, and signing autographs. It helped pass the time and, more importantly, the good actions Steve made hopefully offset the naughty thoughts Steve couldn’t stop himself from having.
When he got home that afternoon, he found Tony and Natasha playing a game of billiards. “That looks like fun,” he said approvingly.
“Yep,” Natasha agreed. “And when I win one more game, he’s out a pair of boxers.” She narrowed her eyes, lifted one leg onto the table, and made a hell of a bank shot. One that didn’t require her to get up on the table at all, Steve noted, feeling a bit at sea. He turned and looked at Tony.
For the first time, Steve noticed Tony wasn’t wearing much. He tried hard not to stare. “You’re . . . playing strip-billiards? That’s somewhat less wholesome than I first thought,” he mumbled.
Tony did not seem to be bothered at all, standing about in his underpants and smoking a gigantic cigar. “Yeah? And what did you do all day?” he asked. “Let me guess; you gave every orphan you could find a whole dime, a kiss on the cheek and a handshake.”
Steve was hurt. “I did a bit of charity work, it’s true—”
“God, don’t do the pouting thing,” Tony pleaded. “When you do the pouting thing, you out-cute me, and I don’t like that.”
Natasha nodded, her face sober. “You are about nine-hundred percent more attractive when you stick your lower lip out like that,” she agreed. “And it does make you cuter than Stark.”
“Don’t agree with me!” Tony yelped in outrage.
Steve went over to Tony’s bar and poured himself a seltzer water. “I may have helped out a charity and jogged around the block . . . seventy times,” he admitted.
Tony groaned.
“Well, not all of us are geniuses who can benefit the world in other ways,” Steve pointed out.
Natasha tapped the cue ball ever so lightly. It rolled lazily across the table, gave the eight ball a friendly nudge, and the game was over. She smirked.
“That is so true,” Tony said to Steve, ignoring Natasha’s win. “Do you know what happened to me today?” Steve shook his head obediently to allow Tony to continue the story. “I suddenly got this brilliant insight into cold fusion—I’m not saying I’m there, but I’m saying there’s a bit of math we may have overlooked. Now, I know what you’re thinking; is he actually going to remove his shorts? But let’s stay on point. I understand the transitional atomic state! And I said so! Noon today. I said so!”
Steve gave Natasha a confused look, and she just rolled her eyes. “He’s stalling.”
“No. I’m just saying that Steve is right. There aren’t many geniuses in the world, and you squander the ones you have! The point is; I was buying a hot dog today in central park—no you do not need to tell me what’s in a hot dog. I’m a genius; I know what’s in a hot dog. I wanted one anyway. So he’s handing me the dog and BAM, it hits me! THE TRANSITIONAL ATOMIC STATE! I can explain it! It makes perfect sense! So I tell the hot dog vendor—his name is Vinny, by the way—I tell Vinny all about transitional atomic states and what this will do to the field of physics and I’m telling you, Stephen Hawking would be weeping—I assume he can cry? I don’t meant to sound insensitive, but I don’t actually know whether he can cry, but if he could, he would. And I laid it all out like a glittering path leading straight toward our glorious future and I told him, ‘And that, Vincent, that is how cold fusion can be achieved in six months, or possible three, if you can get me enough tin foil.’ And do you know what he said to me?”
Steve and Natasha wordlessly shook their heads.
Tony slammed his cigar down in an ashtray and mashed the lit tip out. “He said to me, and I quote, ‘Would yous like mustards with that?’ That is what Vinnie the Vendor said to me. And do you know, I was so taken aback, I completely forgot whatever brilliant idea I had? He set cold fusion back by ten years!”
There was a knock on the door, and Steve blinked a little, waiting for his head to clear. Sometimes when Tony talked, you just got swept up in the story. It was like a sort of spell.
Pepper poked her head in. “Are we having dinner?”
Tony brightened. “Does that mean I get to put my pants back on?”
“Why were you taking your pants off?”
“Don’t ask me; Natasha was making me; I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“You didn’t have anything to do with it?” Pepper inquired. Steve didn’t know much about women, but every instinct he had was screaming at him to pick up his shield and get into fetal position behind it and not move until Pepper was at least one hundred miles away.
Tony didn’t seem too fazed, though. He gave Steve a smile and patted his arm as he passed. “Yeah, it was a terrible loss for science and a tragedy for mankind, but what are you gonna do?” he said with a wink. “Anyway, Vince makes a hell of a dog. Which just goes to prove your point.”
“My point?” Steve repeated blankly. He couldn’t even remember how the conversation started, let alone what his point was.
Tony allowed Pepper to drag him to the door. Over his shoulder he said, “Yeah, your point—that some people are put on earth to be geniuses, some people are supposed to sell hot dogs, and some people are supposed to sign autographs for charities while they pine away for their long-lost archvillains.”
Steve’s head whipped around and he glared daggers at Tony.
“Hey, don’t look at me that way—I’m on your side. I think he’s totally dreamy! Sure, he looks at me like he might rip my intestines out while I sleep, but he only looks at you like he worries he’s not the prettiest princess you know, so . . . I think you two kids could have a real chance.”
“Shut up, Tony,” Steve spat. His nerves felt jangly. And he didn’t like the knowing way Natasha was looking at him.
“Stop changing the subject,” Steve heard Pepper order.
“I know you’re upset with me, but my best bud just fell in lust with an alien freakjob. I think he’s in more trouble at the moment.”
“No,” Pepper said, yanking him out the door. “You’re the one wearing the boxers, so you’re the one in trouble.”
“You have a problem with Bugs Bunny?” Steve heard Tony protest before the door cut him off.
Steve buried his face in his hands.
Natasha tossed her stick aside. “As I see it,” she said, “you have three options here. You can finish what Stark started and take off those clothes; you can explain cold fusion in a way that doesn’t make me feel stupid, or you can let me paint your toenails pink and confess your state of smitten-ness for Loki.”
Steve was not taking his underpants off in front of a lady; that was straight out. And he thought he might be able to make up something about cold fusion (if the horses run fast enough, it might get up to eighty-eight miles per hour and . . .) but he just wasn’t a good liar. Which left him with the one option.
***
“I shouldn’t like him,” Steve bemoaned.
“You definitely shouldn’t.”
“I shouldn’t even think about him.”
“Amen,” Natasha agreed. “But it’s not like playing that game works.”
Steve watched mournfully as Natasha carefully applied the brush to his pinkie toe. “So what does work?” He’d have given anything to know.
She blew on his nails, then sat back on her haunches and gave him a sympathetic look. “There’s only one thing that works,” she informed him, brushing a lock of red hair behind her ear.
Steve would do anything to stop pining over Loki. He’d have a damned brain transplant if it would help. “What is it? What can I do?”
Natasha put her hands on his knees and let out a long sigh. They were in her room, which was moderately more comfortable than his, though still simple. He did like the satin bedspread, though. It felt cool against his fingertips.
“There’s only one thing you can do,” she said. “You give yourself one night with him—”
“Dinner? A show?” Steve asked. He wished he could take notes.
“It doesn’t matter. Do whatever you want. Just one night. You have a good time. You take him home. You do him.” She paused. “Like . . . sexually. You make love, if that sounds better. Get something out of it. Take your time, but don’t let him get the jump on you.”
“Mmm-hmmm. Okay, yes, I think I understand. And then?”
Natasha looked blank. “And then you kill him.”
Steve blinked, uncomprehending. “Why?”
“What do you mean, why? You motherfucking idiot. He’s Loki! He’s a sadistic piece of fuck who’s ten times smarter than you are. In fact, this is a bad idea. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Maybe I should sleep with him instead.”
“Well, I—what!?”
“At least I wouldn’t have any compunction about killing him afterward. Look, the point is, we don’t want him getting up the next day. I get that you feel you have unfinished business, but trust me, my way is best.”
“That is not what I want.”
Natasha rolled her eyes. “And what do you want, sunshine? What’s your way?”
“Well, I would take him flowers, and we would take a walk in the park, and we would talk awhile and then—” in a split second, Steve saw Natasha’s point. There was no ‘and then,’ not with Loki. Not unless you were willing to concede, And then we’ll slaughter the first born of every noble family, and force every ruler bow at our feet, and then we might choose a couple of random people to dissect on the top of a Volvo, just for laughs, and speaking of laughs, we’ll probably practice our best insane mwhahahas . . . no.
Loki was bad. Loki was crazy. No amount of secret wishing would ever change that.
Steve flopped back against the bed pillows. “Fuck,” he said with feeling.
“You and me both, brother,” Natasha said. She poured him a glass of whisky that she had taken from Tony’s little cabinet, the one made of some rare wood that Tony was very proud of. Steve finished the whole glass.
And then he had the bottle of gin.
He lost six rounds of billiards to Natasha, though nobody got naked or drunk or sexy.
And then he polished off the bottle of rum, too.
Steve never felt a thing.
***
The next morning Steve felt considerably better about the whole thing. Maybe he’d just needed to get it off his chest. Now that he’d talked about Loki, he was sure he could forget him. He was practically over it all ready.
“Mr. America!” Thor boomed at him as he came downstairs. “A fine morning, is it not?”
Thor’s bellow was not something you wanted to hear first thing after rising. “Captain America,” Steve corrected with a wince, feeling like he was suddenly about to be judged in a swimsuit competition. “Or just Steve is fine.”
Thor slapped him on the back. “I must tell you how grateful I am for whatever it was you did.”
“What? When?”
“For my brother, of course! His improvement is astounding.”
Steve blinked. He would have reacted very differently if he’d caught someone doing something like that to a younger sibling of his, but he supposed Asgard was just different. “Oh,” he said, blushing. “You’re welcome?” he added, voice rising into a question.
“He is like a different person. He has only tried to kill me once in the past two days, you know.”
“That’s . . . great,” Steve said. He got himself a cup of coffee and a banana and reflected that Asgard must be the strangest place that ever existed.
“Is it not remarkable?” Thor said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “His words are still cruel as the winter’s frost, but do not carry the same bite. And where once he paced restlessly in his cell, he prefers to sit now, quiet—almost meek, for Loki! He even requested a book, and once I crept upon him, unobserved, and discovered him reading a poem on flowers—and smiling! And I am sure it is somehow due to the influence of our good Captain.”
Bruce raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, you broke the crazy person. Nice going, Captain,” he joked.
“Wh-why would you think it had anything to do with me?” Steve asked as casually as he could. He blew lightly on his coffee, which was much too hot, and darker than he liked it.
“I can think of nothing else that has influenced him recently,” Thor said with a shrug. “Also, he asked after you.”
“He asked about me? What’d he say?”
Thor laughed and laughed.
“What? What’s funny?”
Thor finished his coffee and set the cup gently—respectfully—back on the counter so it didn’t break. “’Tis nothing, my friend. He just wanted to know if I had heard from you—and whether you had asked after him.”
Steve could feel Bruce grinning at him across the table. Why was everyone smiling at him like that? It was very weird. “Oh,” Steve replied. “Well . . . oh. You should—you should tell him that I asked after him. And that I hope he’s well,” he said.
Thor’s grin was very broad indeed. “Oh, I will,” he promised.
“So why are you here, anyway?” Bruce asked.
“I have matters to attend this day,” Thor said. “I must meet with Director Fury.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“My business is my own. You need not concern yourselves,” Thor assured the man. He clapped Bruce on the back as he left.
After he was gone, Bruce looked at Steve. “What was that about?” Steve wondered.
Bruce could only shrug. “We’ll find out when the explosions start,” he guessed. He smiled at Steve. “Just so you know, your pick-up lines could use some work,” he teased. “I could give you a few pointers. Maybe you could send Thor back with flowers next time,” he suggested, his warm eyes twinkling.
Steve made a face and flicked his spoon in Bruce’s direction. Bruce ducked and the thing embedded itself in the wall an inch deep.
Tony came in just then. “How come you’re allowed to throw things at Banner?” he demanded to know. “I’m not allowed to throw things at him. Whenever I get playful it’s, ‘Stop poking Dr. Banner and trying to make him turn into a rage monster,’ and ‘Stop squirting water on Dr. Banner and trying to upset him,’ and ‘Stop pouring hot coffee on Dr. Banner and trying to make the other guy come out.’ You guys never let me have any fun at all.”
“To be fair, even I object to having hot coffee poured on my lap,” Bruce told him wryly.
“That one was very nearly an accident,” Tony promised.
“I don’t know why you want him to turn into the Hulk and destroy Stark Tower anyway,” Steve put in.
“I have insurance. Besides, have you no sense of scientific curiosity?” Tony said. He passed Bruce on the way to the fridge and gave the man’s hair a tug.
“Ow,” Bruce complained. He squirmed in his seat so that he could glare at Tony as the man walked away.
“I’m beginning to think it has less to do with scientific curiosity and more to do with a man-crush,” Steve remarked.
“What are you talking about? Psh. ‘Man-crush,’” Tony repeated. He got out some milk and cereal.
“Please, you just pulled his pig-tails. Almost literally,” Steve retorted.
“Oh, are we going there? Because if we’re talking man-crushes, you’re the one with stars in his eyes. O Loki, O Loki, wherefore art thou, Loki? What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Captain America is the sun!” Tony gave Steve a cheesy grin.
Steve let out a breath. He would not let Tony get a rise out of him today. “That’s enough,” he said, peeling his banana. “I want you both suited up and ready to go in ten minutes.”
“What?” Bruce said. “You know I don’t even have a suit.”
“You have those special pants we made for you.”
“That isn’t a suit. Stretch pants aren’t exactly superhero haute couture.”
Steve had to swallow a big chunk of banana before he could talk. “Would it help if I put some stars and stripes and perhaps some glitter on them?” he offered dryly.
“No.”
“Not to mention I have plans,” Tony added. “Some super secret modifications. Or wait, an hour—that’s eleven. I think that might be what I have down for that meeting with the hot Swedish twins. Er. Swedish scientists.” He cleared his throat. “Jarvis, what did I have down for eleven this morning?”
“That time is allocated for training with Mr. Rogers and Mr. Banner,” Jarvis informed him politely.
Tony swore. “That was not on there the last time I looked,” he growled.
“It’s been marked off for weeks, sir,” Jarvis said.
“Well, move it. I’m in the mood for some seductive Swedish engineering. Get me some Swedes.”
“I’m sorry, sir. The Swedish engineers will not be available until after lunch,” Jarvis informed him.
Tony spun to fix Steve with a scowl. “That leaves just enough time for a good, rough workout,” Steve said cheerfully. “See you back here in a ten minutes.”
--
Part 2
Pairings: Steve Rogers/Loki Laufeyson (implied Clint/Natasha and some Tony/Bruce flirting in the background)
Betas:
snakeling Prompt: For
downbythebay_4 on the kinkmeme who requested: Steve/Any, first time; Before the war, Steve didn't take much interest in romance and after . . . Word Count: 24,000+
Rating: R
Content: Humor/crack, romance, bondage, blindfolding, hair-pulling.
Summary: Steve was always too busy fighting Nazis to worry about sex. All the same, he never expected his first time to be with a weird blue alien bent on the destruction of the human race. References to The Princess Bride, Back to the Future, and Sassy Gay Friend
Whoever thought it would be impossible to get Captain America drunk hadn’t counted on Tony Stark’s inventiveness. Steve still wasn’t sure why Tony wanted to get him drunk—he had suspicions he wasn’t entirely comfortable with—but after Steve had explained to him about how he metabolized alcohol, Tony’s whole face had lit up. Like a Christmas tree. Or a mad scientist. Then he’d gone away without another word.
And had come back a couple of hours later a beaker full of questionable liquid, a protesting Bruce Banner, and a mad gleam in his eye.
“Try this,” Tony said, shoving the beaker under Steve’s nose. Steve couldn’t say what it smelled like, because at a certain point his sinuses just sort of stopped working. He was pretty sure it burned away any nose hair he might have had, though.
“I don’t think so, but I appreciate the offer,” Steve replied, pushing Tony’s hand away, but gently, so that the frothing green concoction didn’t drip over the rim and eat through the floor.
“No no, see, I have it all worked out. It was just a simple matter of chemistry. And pharmaceuticals. And a potent concoction brewed and blessed by a powerful god, and maybe a couple of eyes of newt, that sort of stuff. Puppy dog tails. Plus a few other things for flavor.”
“Strong drink can do terrible things to a man,” Steve pointed out.
“And this drink could do even worse. I’m telling you, leave it, Tony,” Bruce said, still trying to take the beaker away from the man. Tony just held it higher.
“You can’t have any. You’re a mean drunk,” Tony told him.
“I don’t want any,” Bruce insisted. “And he shouldn’t have any, either. No one should drink that. That would never get past the F.D.A.”
“It doesn’t need to! It’s just some harmless hooch. Don’t you guys trust me?” Tony asked, giving them his puppy-dog look.
“No,” they replied in unison.
“Come on, it won’t kill you, I promise. Just take a sip. Tell me what you think. I’m just going to keep bugging you until you do.”
Steve finally heaved a sigh, accepted the beaker, and took the teeniest, tiniest sip. “Hmm. Tastes like ghsudhfahmapgh. Wow.” He coughed, looking down at the beaker. “You know, this isn’t half bnghwump.” He felt good. Really good. A bit fuzzy, but good. “We should gylrp out and partibblewible,” he suggested to Tony, who was standing at a funny angle.
Tony nodded. “We totally should,” he said very seriously.
The next thing Steve knew, they were crashing a bar. It was a real dive, crawling with scummy guys who had scars and tattoos and lengthy criminal records. One of them tried to put a hand on Natasha’s breast.
Approximately ten seconds later, the place had been totally cleared of ruffians. Well, except for the one whose head was still embedded in the plaster. But Natasha was using him to set her drink on, so that was all right.
“This place is great,” Tony said. “We should make this our regular hangout. Like our lair, you know? Only for like, our nights off. I should call Pepper!” he added brightly, taking out his phone.
Bruce’s nose was wrinkled. “I think I sat in beer. Or blood. Or something. Tony, don’t you own a clean bar where we could hang out? I mean, what’s the point of being a billionaire if you have to sit in . . . stuff? Can’t we find someplace better?”
“No!” Tony exclaimed. “You’re missing the point! This place has ambiance. This place is authentic.”
“Stark, I am sitting in a puddle of blood!”
“But it’s authentic blood! Besides,” Tony added, “Natasha probably put it there.”
“Oh, that makes it all better,” Bruce muttered. He tried mopping at himself ineffectually with a dirty napkin.
Steve just tried to follow the conversation without falling over. Tony was asking Jarvis things and talking enthusiastically to people and drinking a scotch.
“This is a bad idea,” Bruce moaned.
“Shut up and order a cosmopolitan or something,” Tony told him. “I’m on the phone, here.”
“I want a drink,” Steve told Bruce.
Bruce looked dubious. “Okay. I’ll get you a Shirley Temple.” He got up and came back with drinks for both of them. Steve was disappointed Bruce wouldn’t give him more liquor. It wasn’t like Steve was about to go on a drunken rampage and be found hours later stomping around Soho big, green, buck-ass nude and grunting show tunes.
Well, maybe he would, except for the green bit. Steve had never had a chance to get drunk enough to find out. He wondered if the Hulk was even capable of show tunes. He bet he could at least train him to belt out, “New York, New York,” on cue. The real trick would be in getting him to stop smashing the city long enough to sing about it.
Steve shook his head a little. He felt awfully woozy.
In the corner, Tony was still chatting airily. “Clint? Teambuilding exercise at the . . . what is this place? The Black Magnum Honky Tonk. Yeah. Yeah, that’s its real name. Yeah, no, Fury says it’s mandatory. I know it’s nearly two in the morning. Take it up with Fury! Okay, yeah.” Tony put his phone away. “Okay, so Clint’s on his way, Pepper’s got the jet, and Thor will be here when he gets here.”
“You called Thor?” Bruce squawked. “How?”
“Okay, so the reception’s not great in Asgard, but I worked it out,” Tony told him. “The real problem is the butt-dialing.”
“Butt-dialing?” Steve repeated, confused.
“Yeah, he’s got a serious problem with that—don’t even ask me how. I don’t know if he has pockets sewn into his freaking cape or what. All I know is, in the middle of the night, every night, I get a call from him. It’s like clockwork. It drives me nuts. You can hear him shouting, “ANOTHER ROUND OF ALE FOR MY BRAVE COMRADES!” and “I REQUIRE A VOLUPTUOUS MAIDEN TO WARM MY BED THIS NIGHT!” The guy really needs to learn how to dial it down a notch.”
Steve snorted.
“You’re kidding,” Natasha said, taking a seat and setting a bottle of whisky on the table. She smiled wryly. “You sure he’s not doing it on purpose?”
“You mean, am I getting prank calls from a rather obtuse mythical Norse demigod? I kind of doubt it, but who knows?”
“Tony,” Steve interrupted.
“Yeah?”
“I’m really drunk.”
“Yeah. You can thank me later.”
“No, I mean it, reeeeeeeeeally drunk,” Steve insisted. He wasn’t sure why this point was so important, but it clearly needed to be driven home, because Tony didn’t look all that impressed. Steve rested his head on Tony’s shoulder.
“Oh, wow. We need to get you laid, Captain Choirboy.” Tony tossed back the rest of his scotch and signaled for another, but Bruce grabbed it and downed it before Tony got a chance. “I said no booze for you!” Tony reprimanded.
“It’s only my third . . . fourth? It’s only my fourth shot,” Bruce said.
“What does ‘laid’ mean?” Steve asked drowsily.
“Laid. Screwed. Fucked. Whatever you called it back in the day. I’m sure you must know some quaint old-timey euphemism for it, like hitchin’ up the wagon, or something sufficiently suggestive.”
Steve jerked away, blushing brightly. “I really don’t need anything like that,” he muttered.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to offend your delicate sensibilities. I shouldn’t say things like that when there are children or puritanical super soldiers from the second world war around, and I—” Tony cut off as the door slammed open. “What—what—what the hell is he doing here?” A beaming Thor was escorting a chained Loki into the bar. “Thor,” Tony said, standing to intercept them. “Buddy. Big thunder. Captain Crackle. Whatever you like to be called. Look at your life. Look at your choices. You do not bring violent, psychotic drama queens to dive bars. You just don’t.”
“Yes,” Steve put in. “You should take him somewhere nice.” Loki glowered at him.
“Yes—no,” Tony said. “Now you march him right back up to Asgard, young man, or so help me—”
“My brother is well secured,” Thor assured them. “His chains are of an unbreakable metal and I shall be his keeper. I vow this, that he is as harmless right now as if he were a kitten.”
Natasha, Bruce, Tony and Steve all looked at Loki, who flashed them a quick, slick, sly smile that implied the exact opposite of everything a smile is supposed to convey.
“Okay, first place, not a kitten,” Tony countered. “This face? Not the face of a loveable little fluffball, no siree. In the second place, why the hell would you even want to bring him to this little shindig? I’m going to level with you here; he’s kind of a buzzkill.”
“He is harmless,” Thor said, pulling up two chairs. Loki took one in stony silence. “Besides, what would you have me do? Leave him unwatched? Unattended? He is much too clever; I shouldn’t dare turn my back on him. It’s a lesson I have learned too well.”
Tony heaved a sigh. “You mark my words, he’s going to get you plastered and then he’s going to escape, and the next thing you know there’ll be giant mechanical deathfish swimming all over Manhattan again, and when there are, don’t come crying to me.” He tossed back a shot.
Thor slapped him on the back with a raucous laugh, making Tony spray scotch across the table. “Such nonsense! He could not possibly trick me into a state of intoxication—not on this weak mother’s milk you Midgardians quaff.”
“Yeah, well,” Tony said, coughing a little and pouring himself another drink. “If you say so. I do like your new bracelets,” he informed Loki. “They really add a certain something to the outfit.” Loki ignored this completely.
Steve watched Loki sit there, stiff and straight, his lips set in a thin line. For some reason it troubled Steve. It was against everything he stood for to abuse a prisoner. Of course, that was silly; dragging someone to a party was hardly abuse. But still, it did feel a bit rude to sit a man down in chains while all around him people drank and lived free and laughed at him. To a man as vain as Loki, it had to chafe.
Steve turned to Thor. “Let me buy your brother a drink,” he suggested. Thor raised his big blond eyebrows. “It can’t hurt anything,” Steve added defensively.
“By all means!” Thor said with a thunderous laugh.
“Sure, get the crazy murderer drunk; that sounds like a great plan,” Natasha grumbled.
Loki scowled. “I am uninterested in your mind-stultifying potions and your . . . camaraderie,” he said with a contemptuous lift of his lip.
“Just one,” Steve cajoled. He didn’t know why he cared so much. “I’ll even join you,” he offered.
The look the man gave him was long, cool and appraising. “Very well,” he said. “One drink.”
Tony handed Steve the beaker. It was still mostly full. Steve smiled. “Great.”
That was the last thing he remembered for several hours.
Unlike many other boys, Steve Rogers had not wasted a whole lot of time wondering what it would be like the first time he slept with a woman. He did make the assumption that it would be a woman. Back then, it was just to be expected. And he’d assumed he’d be married to her, as well.
And he’d always thought there would be a dance, first. Something slow in soft candlelight, something that just felt right. The dance was, in many ways, perhaps more important than what came after. So Steve had thought about it, at least a bit. But not much. Nazis were kind of his overwhelming interest. But he would have said he had some expectations.
He had not expected to find himself in bed with a mad alien terrorist after a night of carousing with the boys.
Loki was in his bed!
With that thought, Steve fell out of said bed and landed on the floor with a crash.
This was his bed. Steve didn’t know how they’d got there, what they’d done or were planning to do, but Loki couldn’t be in his bed. And he was wearing—he was wearing—the mind simply couldn’t handle it. And Steve didn’t know what to call it anyway; lingerie wasn’t exactly his area of expertise. It was lacy. It had bows on. It tried to accent bits of Loki that Loki didn’t have, and failed to mask Loki’s erection. Also, the outfit was pink.
God help me, Steve thought; there were tassels. They looked like they were supposed to swing from bits Loki couldn’t swing, but they jiggled gamely anyhow. Steve couldn’t stop staring at them.
And Loki, crazy Loki who wanted to kill him, was in his bed! Wearing that outfit! And weirdly, despite its ill fit, it didn’t look too bad. Its soft, gossamer folds contrasted beautifully with the paleness of Loki’s skin and accentuated the liquid green of his eyes. Steve couldn’t stop staring.
“Is it not to your liking?” the man asked.
Steve blinked. In the interest of inter-universal relations he said, “No! It’s fine. It’s . . . nice. You look nice. It’s just not . . . what I would typically expect to see you in.” He looked around his room. It was Spartan and clean, the way he liked it. There was a small bed, a map on the wall, a dresser, and . . . that was it. He didn’t go in for decoration. Even Peggy’s picture had been put away in a drawer. Everything in the room was very simple.
Except for the overgrown, lace-clad demigod lounging on his bed. The one who trailed a hand along his thigh in a way even the oblivious Steve Rogers had to admit was pretty erotic.
Steve cleared his throat. “Um. So. How about those Yankees?” he managed.
Loki squinted and let out a disgusted, gin-soaked noise of contempt. “Is that your very best? I am a God, for pity’s sake. I require a certain . . . . elevation of skill, one might say, from a potential bed partner.”
“Well, then I should go get Tony,” Steve quipped. “I bet he’s got enough experience.”
“Stop being an imbecile. You were doing fine. Just stop . . . saying things,” Loki told him.
Steve sank back onto the bed, thinking this over. He’d been doing fine? Him? What had he been doing? “Did we—did we . . .?” he croaked.
Loki arched a brow. “Oral copulation was imminent, but then you had a little moment. Does the thought repulse you that much?”
With difficulty, Steve focused on Loki. On his face. His lips. On his clever, clever eyes, which seemed to hold a challenge even now. “Um,” Steve croaked. “It’s just that I’m not—you know. Like that.”
“Oh. I see.” Loki’s lips flat-lined again, but Steve could read a novel in his eyes.
The idea of Loki touching him that intimately should have bothered him, he knew. Loki was an enemy. He was simply bad. He was a bad person who did bad things and would continue to do them until the day he died, if demigods ever did die. He very probably had no redeeming features whatsoever, except for the fact that he’d entertained the idea of doing dirty things to Steve and was now looking up at him like a kicked puppy.
God, Steve wanted to kiss him.
What the hell was wrong with him? He was pretty sure it wasn’t Loki’s doing. He’d had thoughts like this in the past. He thought about how Tony made him laugh, how he strutted and smiled and charmed. He thought about the tender lurch he got deep in his chest when Bruce looked especially tired or alone. He thought about Thor’s big, strong arms, arms as strong as his, his whole being fierce and full of laughter. But Loki? That was just wrong. There was really no point in admiring the male form when said male form wanted you dead. And Steve couldn’t help it.
Steve fell back against his pillow. “There’s got to be something wrong with me,” he mumbled.
Loki laughed softly, as though Steve had said something reassuring.
To Steve’s astonishment, Loki stretched out against the bed. Because of the size of the mattress, most of the room Loki was taking was actually Steve. Not Steve’s side of the bed, but actual bits of Steve, because Steve was a big man in a small bed, and Loki didn’t seem to notice.
“Wait, are you drunk, too?”
“I could not possibly become intoxicated on the meager brew you pathetic mortals produce.” Loki hiccupped. He sat up and looked rather abashed. “At least not until my thirty-fifth glass,” he mumbled.
“I’ve still got a bit of a buzz on myself,” Steve admitted.
Loki sneered. “Yes, and barely a drizzle of that foul-looking drink had passed your lips before you were falling all over me, begging me to touch you.”
Steve felt himself go hot from his neck all the way up to his hairline. “I did?” he said. “And you didn’t . . . kick me across the room?”
Loki turned his head away. “The chains and Thor’s presence prevented me from punishing you as you so richly deserved,” he noted lightly. He looked at Steve from the corner of his eye. “Though I must admit, I did rather like it when you said you wished to worship me.”
“I said that?”
“I wish to unclothe you and worship at the temple of Loki, you said. Yes. I did like that bit.” Loki smiled at him. It almost looked like a genuine smile. It was a nice smile. Almost an inviting smile.
Steve stared at him. “Oh, the hell with it,” he muttered, and kissed him, hard. Loki seemed taken aback for a fraction of a second, but then he kissed back just as hard. Harder, in fact; he pushed Steve down on the bed and straddled him. Even with the chains, Loki managed to pin Steve’s arms above him. Steve’s heart pounded wildly, and he had to admit it wasn’t from fear.
Steve didn’t even know he could get this aroused. Loki trailed a wet, hot series of kisses down his jaw, his throat. Steve felt like each time Loki’s tongue touched his skin, it drew Steve’s pulse to the surface. His whole body felt hot and tense and sort of trembly.
Steve managed to jerk one hand free and used it to reach up and touch Loki’s face, running his thumb over his jaw, and Loki made a low, vulnerable sort of noise.
“Oh, Jesus,” Steve whispered.
Loki drew back and smiled wickedly. “Wrong,” he said. He surveyed Steve’s body like a land he had just conquered, which wasn’t far off the mark. “You really like this,” he said with a hint of surprise.
“Yeah,” Steve admitted. The evidence would have been difficult to hide, considering Loki was pretty much sitting on it. “I do.”
“But why?”
Steve was puzzled. “What do you mean, why? It seems obvious.”
“And yet I am not even trying to satisfy your needs,” Loki told him.
“Well, that’s . . . honest,” Steve said. He grinned. “Guess that means you like it, too.”
Loki gave this a moment of consideration, shrugged, and went back to nipping at Steve’s neck and rutting against him. That suited Steve just fine.
“More,” he begged.
Just then, the door slammed open, and Tony and Thor sort of wavered in the doorway, holding onto one another’s shoulders and trying to stay upright. They were totally hammered, and it wasn’t Thor’s kind of hammer. Steve and Loki scrambled away from each other.
“FOUND YOU, BROTHER!” Thor yelled jubilantly, raising a drunken fist in triumph. “NOW IT IS MY TURN TO HIDE!”
“No, I told you, that is not what we’re doing,” Tony corrected. “That was not the plan.” He stared at Loki and Steve. “Jesus. Didn’t think you had it in you, Boy Scout. Sleeping with the enemy, huh?”
Steve bolted up. “No,” he said. Loki looked away. On impulse, Steve added, “He would never sleep with a mortal,” just to try to help Loki save face.
Tony pursed his lips. “But he will put on a cute little pink number and climb in bed with one,” he pointed out.
With a snarl, Loki lunged at him, his skin suddenly becoming a deep blue, his eyes blazing red. Before he could leap on Tony, Thor stepped in, his eyes flashing a warning, and Loki halted, resentment rising from him like steam.
“Whoa, there, Papa Smurf,” Tony protested, putting his hands up. “It wasn’t a judgment; it was just an observation. A totally neutral, entirely passive observation. Are his eyes supposed to do that? Doesn’t that hurt?” he asked Thor. “I could get you some Visine or something,” he offered.
Thor was suddenly looking somewhat more sober. “I believe it is his blood,” he murmured.
“I wish to leave,” Loki snapped. His skin began to lose the blue tint, and his eyes were no longer blood red, but he still seemed very angry.
“Brother—” Thor began, but Loki interrupted, his face furious.
“I demand you return me to Asgard at once!” he snarled. “Have you not mocked and shamed me enough for one evening? Would you see me as a plaything to a mortal man, just to degrade me? This is intolerable. ”
Steve rubbed the back of his head. He’d bet his last dime that the statement was pure manipulation on Loki’s part; Steve certainly hadn’t mocked or shamed him, and he suspected the man had even put on the lingerie himself—but it got the desired reaction out of Thor, who looked like he might cry. Instead he hurried to get the Tesseract so they could return.
Maybe Loki had planned to escape when Thor left him alone, but Tony still blocked the doorway, and Loki made no move toward it.
As they waited Thor’s return, Loki ignored them.
Tony cleared his throat. “So, yeah. Thanks for coming, it was great having you,” he said. “Next time, just so you know, it’s customary to bring your host a little something. You know, a bottle of wine, something of that nature.” Loki glowered at him. “Okay, be that way. I was just making small talk. Shouldn’t have mentioned it anyway. I mean, considering that last time you brought something it was an army.”
Even though he had no reason, Steve felt vaguely guilty. “Loki . . .” he said, reaching out to touch his shoulder.
The man jerked away as if the contact burned. “Do not speak to me, mortal,” he spat.
Touch-y, Tony mouthed, making a face, but stopped when Steve frowned at him. “I just wanted to say that it was, well, kinda nice to see a softer side of you. Take care,” Steve said. Loki’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
Thor was back in a moment. “I am truly sorry, brother,” he said. “I would not see you humiliated. That was never my intention.” Loki sniffed and reached a languid hand to the Tesseract, and shortly the two vanished in a flash of blue light.
“That was . . . weird,” Steve commented. He wasn’t sure what else to say, but luckily, before Tony could start in, Bruce popped up behind him. He slung an arm around Tony’s shoulders.
“You guys,” he said. “You guysss. Guess what?”
“What’s up?” Tony said.
Bruce grinned. “I love you guys,” he said, and fell over. Tony just managed to sort of catch him, and Steve helped him pick Bruce up off the floor.
“Bruce, you are a major disappointment tonight,” Tony sighed. “Did you think he’d be a sloppy drunk? I never would have pegged him for a sloppy drunk.”
“He can sleep it off here. I don’t need much sleep; a couple hours on the couch is fine.”
“You sure Loki won’t get jealous if you let another man in your bed?”
“Shut up.”
They maneuvered Bruce onto the bed. Tony poured the man a big glass of water and set it nearby. “Sleep well and dream of large, green women,” Tony said to the dozing man, patting his curly head. Bruce snored in response.
Steve flicked off the light and they both went out into the hall. Steve still couldn’t believe he’d nearly had sex with Loki, of all people. He must be out of his tree. “That was really weird,” he repeated numbly.
Tony patted his shoulder. “It was a weird night all around,” he agreed.
Steve came down to breakfast slowly the next morning. He hadn’t slept well. His emotions were a mixed bag of confusion, lust, resentment and revulsion. Loki was a monster, and Steve knew it. And in spite of it all, he’d pay quite a lot just to see the man smile one more time. He sighed and rubbed his face. This couldn’t be real. Maybe the prior night had just been a very realistic dream.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Tony greeted Steve as he walked into the kitchen. “Was that a great party last night or what? Hope Thor made it home okay. We need to get him a designated Valkyrie if he’s going to get that trashed. Shit, there’s money in that. Think about the ads. Too much mead? Get your Valkyrie-d home. Well, it needs work, but hey, I could make it fly.” You’d never have guessed that Tony had been drinking all night. He seemed chipper and fresh and was drinking a big glass of juice and burning some eggs on the stove. “How are you feeling? Ready for your Wheaties?”
Steve groaned. “I have a slight headache,” he admitted.
Tony looked surprised. “Slight?” he repeated. “Wow, I kind of expected more, after your wild night. You were practically swinging from the chandeliers. You sang old war songs, got maudlin and cried a bit, told me I was your best friend, and went home with—”
“I remember,” Steve said shortly. “My metabolism is fast and my cells heal quickly. I don’t get tired, I don’t get bruises, and I don’t get hangovers.” He went to the fridge, got out the orange juice, poured himself a big glass, and gulped it down in five or six swallows. Then he wiped his mouth and gave Tony a slightly battered smile.
“Yeah?” Tony’s brown eyes twinkled. “Well, don’t look now, but I think the good Captain actually got wounded in battle last night.”
Steve raised his eyebrows quizzically.
With a grin, Tony tapped the side of his own neck. “You got a little somethin’ right there, Cap. Maybe a bruise or something?” he said with faux innocence.
Still puzzled, Steve rooted around in a drawer and took out a big, shiny ladle. He peered closely at his distorted reflection. There was a small, reddish mark on his skin just above his collar. A bruise? It must have been a monster at one point, for his body to have only healed it up to the size of a thumbprint. And he didn’t remember getting hit in the throat. Then again, he didn’t remember much of anything from last night. “Huh,” he said. “What is that?”
Tony winked at him. “You tell me, lover boy.”
Steve watched his reflection turn pink as realization dawned. He jammed the ladle back in the drawer and stiffly hurried out of the room to take a shower—and find himself a turtleneck.
“No eggs?” Tony called after him.
“Not hungry!” Steve yelled back. Last night had really happened, and there was proof right there on his neck. He didn’t have a bruise. He didn’t have a bruise at all.
Captain America had a love-bite.
Steve spent the next few days keeping his mind occupied with other things. He worked out, he saw a couple of movies, and he helped promote Food Bank for New York City, meeting the mayor, shaking hands, and signing autographs. It helped pass the time and, more importantly, the good actions Steve made hopefully offset the naughty thoughts Steve couldn’t stop himself from having.
When he got home that afternoon, he found Tony and Natasha playing a game of billiards. “That looks like fun,” he said approvingly.
“Yep,” Natasha agreed. “And when I win one more game, he’s out a pair of boxers.” She narrowed her eyes, lifted one leg onto the table, and made a hell of a bank shot. One that didn’t require her to get up on the table at all, Steve noted, feeling a bit at sea. He turned and looked at Tony.
For the first time, Steve noticed Tony wasn’t wearing much. He tried hard not to stare. “You’re . . . playing strip-billiards? That’s somewhat less wholesome than I first thought,” he mumbled.
Tony did not seem to be bothered at all, standing about in his underpants and smoking a gigantic cigar. “Yeah? And what did you do all day?” he asked. “Let me guess; you gave every orphan you could find a whole dime, a kiss on the cheek and a handshake.”
Steve was hurt. “I did a bit of charity work, it’s true—”
“God, don’t do the pouting thing,” Tony pleaded. “When you do the pouting thing, you out-cute me, and I don’t like that.”
Natasha nodded, her face sober. “You are about nine-hundred percent more attractive when you stick your lower lip out like that,” she agreed. “And it does make you cuter than Stark.”
“Don’t agree with me!” Tony yelped in outrage.
Steve went over to Tony’s bar and poured himself a seltzer water. “I may have helped out a charity and jogged around the block . . . seventy times,” he admitted.
Tony groaned.
“Well, not all of us are geniuses who can benefit the world in other ways,” Steve pointed out.
Natasha tapped the cue ball ever so lightly. It rolled lazily across the table, gave the eight ball a friendly nudge, and the game was over. She smirked.
“That is so true,” Tony said to Steve, ignoring Natasha’s win. “Do you know what happened to me today?” Steve shook his head obediently to allow Tony to continue the story. “I suddenly got this brilliant insight into cold fusion—I’m not saying I’m there, but I’m saying there’s a bit of math we may have overlooked. Now, I know what you’re thinking; is he actually going to remove his shorts? But let’s stay on point. I understand the transitional atomic state! And I said so! Noon today. I said so!”
Steve gave Natasha a confused look, and she just rolled her eyes. “He’s stalling.”
“No. I’m just saying that Steve is right. There aren’t many geniuses in the world, and you squander the ones you have! The point is; I was buying a hot dog today in central park—no you do not need to tell me what’s in a hot dog. I’m a genius; I know what’s in a hot dog. I wanted one anyway. So he’s handing me the dog and BAM, it hits me! THE TRANSITIONAL ATOMIC STATE! I can explain it! It makes perfect sense! So I tell the hot dog vendor—his name is Vinny, by the way—I tell Vinny all about transitional atomic states and what this will do to the field of physics and I’m telling you, Stephen Hawking would be weeping—I assume he can cry? I don’t meant to sound insensitive, but I don’t actually know whether he can cry, but if he could, he would. And I laid it all out like a glittering path leading straight toward our glorious future and I told him, ‘And that, Vincent, that is how cold fusion can be achieved in six months, or possible three, if you can get me enough tin foil.’ And do you know what he said to me?”
Steve and Natasha wordlessly shook their heads.
Tony slammed his cigar down in an ashtray and mashed the lit tip out. “He said to me, and I quote, ‘Would yous like mustards with that?’ That is what Vinnie the Vendor said to me. And do you know, I was so taken aback, I completely forgot whatever brilliant idea I had? He set cold fusion back by ten years!”
There was a knock on the door, and Steve blinked a little, waiting for his head to clear. Sometimes when Tony talked, you just got swept up in the story. It was like a sort of spell.
Pepper poked her head in. “Are we having dinner?”
Tony brightened. “Does that mean I get to put my pants back on?”
“Why were you taking your pants off?”
“Don’t ask me; Natasha was making me; I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“You didn’t have anything to do with it?” Pepper inquired. Steve didn’t know much about women, but every instinct he had was screaming at him to pick up his shield and get into fetal position behind it and not move until Pepper was at least one hundred miles away.
Tony didn’t seem too fazed, though. He gave Steve a smile and patted his arm as he passed. “Yeah, it was a terrible loss for science and a tragedy for mankind, but what are you gonna do?” he said with a wink. “Anyway, Vince makes a hell of a dog. Which just goes to prove your point.”
“My point?” Steve repeated blankly. He couldn’t even remember how the conversation started, let alone what his point was.
Tony allowed Pepper to drag him to the door. Over his shoulder he said, “Yeah, your point—that some people are put on earth to be geniuses, some people are supposed to sell hot dogs, and some people are supposed to sign autographs for charities while they pine away for their long-lost archvillains.”
Steve’s head whipped around and he glared daggers at Tony.
“Hey, don’t look at me that way—I’m on your side. I think he’s totally dreamy! Sure, he looks at me like he might rip my intestines out while I sleep, but he only looks at you like he worries he’s not the prettiest princess you know, so . . . I think you two kids could have a real chance.”
“Shut up, Tony,” Steve spat. His nerves felt jangly. And he didn’t like the knowing way Natasha was looking at him.
“Stop changing the subject,” Steve heard Pepper order.
“I know you’re upset with me, but my best bud just fell in lust with an alien freakjob. I think he’s in more trouble at the moment.”
“No,” Pepper said, yanking him out the door. “You’re the one wearing the boxers, so you’re the one in trouble.”
“You have a problem with Bugs Bunny?” Steve heard Tony protest before the door cut him off.
Steve buried his face in his hands.
Natasha tossed her stick aside. “As I see it,” she said, “you have three options here. You can finish what Stark started and take off those clothes; you can explain cold fusion in a way that doesn’t make me feel stupid, or you can let me paint your toenails pink and confess your state of smitten-ness for Loki.”
Steve was not taking his underpants off in front of a lady; that was straight out. And he thought he might be able to make up something about cold fusion (if the horses run fast enough, it might get up to eighty-eight miles per hour and . . .) but he just wasn’t a good liar. Which left him with the one option.
“I shouldn’t like him,” Steve bemoaned.
“You definitely shouldn’t.”
“I shouldn’t even think about him.”
“Amen,” Natasha agreed. “But it’s not like playing that game works.”
Steve watched mournfully as Natasha carefully applied the brush to his pinkie toe. “So what does work?” He’d have given anything to know.
She blew on his nails, then sat back on her haunches and gave him a sympathetic look. “There’s only one thing that works,” she informed him, brushing a lock of red hair behind her ear.
Steve would do anything to stop pining over Loki. He’d have a damned brain transplant if it would help. “What is it? What can I do?”
Natasha put her hands on his knees and let out a long sigh. They were in her room, which was moderately more comfortable than his, though still simple. He did like the satin bedspread, though. It felt cool against his fingertips.
“There’s only one thing you can do,” she said. “You give yourself one night with him—”
“Dinner? A show?” Steve asked. He wished he could take notes.
“It doesn’t matter. Do whatever you want. Just one night. You have a good time. You take him home. You do him.” She paused. “Like . . . sexually. You make love, if that sounds better. Get something out of it. Take your time, but don’t let him get the jump on you.”
“Mmm-hmmm. Okay, yes, I think I understand. And then?”
Natasha looked blank. “And then you kill him.”
Steve blinked, uncomprehending. “Why?”
“What do you mean, why? You motherfucking idiot. He’s Loki! He’s a sadistic piece of fuck who’s ten times smarter than you are. In fact, this is a bad idea. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Maybe I should sleep with him instead.”
“Well, I—what!?”
“At least I wouldn’t have any compunction about killing him afterward. Look, the point is, we don’t want him getting up the next day. I get that you feel you have unfinished business, but trust me, my way is best.”
“That is not what I want.”
Natasha rolled her eyes. “And what do you want, sunshine? What’s your way?”
“Well, I would take him flowers, and we would take a walk in the park, and we would talk awhile and then—” in a split second, Steve saw Natasha’s point. There was no ‘and then,’ not with Loki. Not unless you were willing to concede, And then we’ll slaughter the first born of every noble family, and force every ruler bow at our feet, and then we might choose a couple of random people to dissect on the top of a Volvo, just for laughs, and speaking of laughs, we’ll probably practice our best insane mwhahahas . . . no.
Loki was bad. Loki was crazy. No amount of secret wishing would ever change that.
Steve flopped back against the bed pillows. “Fuck,” he said with feeling.
“You and me both, brother,” Natasha said. She poured him a glass of whisky that she had taken from Tony’s little cabinet, the one made of some rare wood that Tony was very proud of. Steve finished the whole glass.
And then he had the bottle of gin.
He lost six rounds of billiards to Natasha, though nobody got naked or drunk or sexy.
And then he polished off the bottle of rum, too.
Steve never felt a thing.
The next morning Steve felt considerably better about the whole thing. Maybe he’d just needed to get it off his chest. Now that he’d talked about Loki, he was sure he could forget him. He was practically over it all ready.
“Mr. America!” Thor boomed at him as he came downstairs. “A fine morning, is it not?”
Thor’s bellow was not something you wanted to hear first thing after rising. “Captain America,” Steve corrected with a wince, feeling like he was suddenly about to be judged in a swimsuit competition. “Or just Steve is fine.”
Thor slapped him on the back. “I must tell you how grateful I am for whatever it was you did.”
“What? When?”
“For my brother, of course! His improvement is astounding.”
Steve blinked. He would have reacted very differently if he’d caught someone doing something like that to a younger sibling of his, but he supposed Asgard was just different. “Oh,” he said, blushing. “You’re welcome?” he added, voice rising into a question.
“He is like a different person. He has only tried to kill me once in the past two days, you know.”
“That’s . . . great,” Steve said. He got himself a cup of coffee and a banana and reflected that Asgard must be the strangest place that ever existed.
“Is it not remarkable?” Thor said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “His words are still cruel as the winter’s frost, but do not carry the same bite. And where once he paced restlessly in his cell, he prefers to sit now, quiet—almost meek, for Loki! He even requested a book, and once I crept upon him, unobserved, and discovered him reading a poem on flowers—and smiling! And I am sure it is somehow due to the influence of our good Captain.”
Bruce raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, you broke the crazy person. Nice going, Captain,” he joked.
“Wh-why would you think it had anything to do with me?” Steve asked as casually as he could. He blew lightly on his coffee, which was much too hot, and darker than he liked it.
“I can think of nothing else that has influenced him recently,” Thor said with a shrug. “Also, he asked after you.”
“He asked about me? What’d he say?”
Thor laughed and laughed.
“What? What’s funny?”
Thor finished his coffee and set the cup gently—respectfully—back on the counter so it didn’t break. “’Tis nothing, my friend. He just wanted to know if I had heard from you—and whether you had asked after him.”
Steve could feel Bruce grinning at him across the table. Why was everyone smiling at him like that? It was very weird. “Oh,” Steve replied. “Well . . . oh. You should—you should tell him that I asked after him. And that I hope he’s well,” he said.
Thor’s grin was very broad indeed. “Oh, I will,” he promised.
“So why are you here, anyway?” Bruce asked.
“I have matters to attend this day,” Thor said. “I must meet with Director Fury.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“My business is my own. You need not concern yourselves,” Thor assured the man. He clapped Bruce on the back as he left.
After he was gone, Bruce looked at Steve. “What was that about?” Steve wondered.
Bruce could only shrug. “We’ll find out when the explosions start,” he guessed. He smiled at Steve. “Just so you know, your pick-up lines could use some work,” he teased. “I could give you a few pointers. Maybe you could send Thor back with flowers next time,” he suggested, his warm eyes twinkling.
Steve made a face and flicked his spoon in Bruce’s direction. Bruce ducked and the thing embedded itself in the wall an inch deep.
Tony came in just then. “How come you’re allowed to throw things at Banner?” he demanded to know. “I’m not allowed to throw things at him. Whenever I get playful it’s, ‘Stop poking Dr. Banner and trying to make him turn into a rage monster,’ and ‘Stop squirting water on Dr. Banner and trying to upset him,’ and ‘Stop pouring hot coffee on Dr. Banner and trying to make the other guy come out.’ You guys never let me have any fun at all.”
“To be fair, even I object to having hot coffee poured on my lap,” Bruce told him wryly.
“That one was very nearly an accident,” Tony promised.
“I don’t know why you want him to turn into the Hulk and destroy Stark Tower anyway,” Steve put in.
“I have insurance. Besides, have you no sense of scientific curiosity?” Tony said. He passed Bruce on the way to the fridge and gave the man’s hair a tug.
“Ow,” Bruce complained. He squirmed in his seat so that he could glare at Tony as the man walked away.
“I’m beginning to think it has less to do with scientific curiosity and more to do with a man-crush,” Steve remarked.
“What are you talking about? Psh. ‘Man-crush,’” Tony repeated. He got out some milk and cereal.
“Please, you just pulled his pig-tails. Almost literally,” Steve retorted.
“Oh, are we going there? Because if we’re talking man-crushes, you’re the one with stars in his eyes. O Loki, O Loki, wherefore art thou, Loki? What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Captain America is the sun!” Tony gave Steve a cheesy grin.
Steve let out a breath. He would not let Tony get a rise out of him today. “That’s enough,” he said, peeling his banana. “I want you both suited up and ready to go in ten minutes.”
“What?” Bruce said. “You know I don’t even have a suit.”
“You have those special pants we made for you.”
“That isn’t a suit. Stretch pants aren’t exactly superhero haute couture.”
Steve had to swallow a big chunk of banana before he could talk. “Would it help if I put some stars and stripes and perhaps some glitter on them?” he offered dryly.
“No.”
“Not to mention I have plans,” Tony added. “Some super secret modifications. Or wait, an hour—that’s eleven. I think that might be what I have down for that meeting with the hot Swedish twins. Er. Swedish scientists.” He cleared his throat. “Jarvis, what did I have down for eleven this morning?”
“That time is allocated for training with Mr. Rogers and Mr. Banner,” Jarvis informed him politely.
Tony swore. “That was not on there the last time I looked,” he growled.
“It’s been marked off for weeks, sir,” Jarvis said.
“Well, move it. I’m in the mood for some seductive Swedish engineering. Get me some Swedes.”
“I’m sorry, sir. The Swedish engineers will not be available until after lunch,” Jarvis informed him.
Tony spun to fix Steve with a scowl. “That leaves just enough time for a good, rough workout,” Steve said cheerfully. “See you back here in a ten minutes.”
--
Part 2
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Well. I love all of the pairings in this fandom, so far. I haven't met one I didn't like. I didn't think you could sell me on Steve/Loki, but you did.