Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s really weird being back in my bunk. Even if it is weirdly Sahara-hot in here, and there’s a bunch of boxes stuffed floor to ceiling for some reason.  Nothin’ else has been touched, the boxes just shoved in around my shit, though it ain’t like we’re all exactly overwhelmed with stuff up here so it was mostly stuff on my desk.

But it’s also real obvious that someone had been making themselves comfortable in my bunk, and I’d bet my life savings that if I were to turn and look at Steve in that moment, the tips of his adorable ears would be pink and he’d be unable to meet my gaze.

As promised, I gave my entertainment drive a quick kiss but it’s the picture of my ma and Becca that gets my heart beating all funny. Back down on Mars I was starting to get shit scared that I was going to forget their faces, that the people in the photos on the wall of the Hab would become, as starvation inched ever closer, mere strangers to me.  That one day I’d take them down, confused as to why there were displayed in the first place, their faces nothing to me. That I’d wake up and not be able to remember my ma’s smile, or the way Becca’d smirk when she got me in trouble.

But there they are, smiles bright, hair caught up in the winds that’d plagued the barbeque their apartment block had thrown when the Ares 3 crew had been announced.  My girls.  They must have been as terrified as I was elated about making the crew, but there they were, beautiful as could be, smiling for me as broad as I’d ever seen.  Delighted for me that I’d achieved something I’d wanted for so long, something Pop had wanted for me.

My chest got all tight, my breathing shallow and fast, matching my heart, and for a moment, for just a couple of my racing heartbeats, fear gripped me once more that I was hallucinating, that I’d finally gone insane down on Mars.

The frame creaked with how hard I gripped it.  My mind went blank.  My heart thumped.  My legs shook so bad I didn’t know how I was standing and I could feel my breath turn quick and shallow as my throat tightened.   Unlike the hallway with Barton, though, I knew this was real. I knew I was aboard Valkyrie. I knew I was really going home. I know I was not dyin’.

Maybe ‘cos Steve was there.

Maybe ‘cos I’m outta the suit.

Maybe ‘cos the painkillers are really kicking in and my muscles are relaxing too much to wind into a real attack.  Maybe ‘cos the situation is so unreal it’s keeping me sane.

Fucked if I know.

Does it matter?

‘Just breathe.  Just breathe.’ 

When did my inner voice start sounding like Barton? 

I have to sit my ass down real quick before I fall down, and Steve immediately ceased his search for my shower kit and knelt at my feet, hands resting on my knees, heavy and reassuring and real.  There must have been something desperate in my expression though, ‘cos he didn’t waste any time with questions, hands flowing up my thighs to grip my wrists, thumbs rubbing against the back of my hands.

“Bucky?”

I could only throw him what I hoped was a passable grin, stroking my fingers over the frame. Steve peeked over the top edge to see what I was looking at.

“You wanna send them a message?”

I nodded, squeezing the frame to my chest, eyes closed as I tried to collect myself.  I focused on the whooshing sound of my breath as I repeated the trick Clint had taught me, my mind’s eye providing me with memories of my girls – grocery shopping, watching tv, that time we nearly sank a gondola we rented from Loeb boathouse the summer before I left for college.  All the mundane moments that filled a life and made it wonderful.

My heart slowed and I opened my eyes, met with a dazzling smile as Steve looked up at me.

“We can film it for you, send ‘em a video. They haven’t seen your handsome face in a while.”

“After,” I mumbled, gesturing to my beard, unkempt and uneven even after Barton had trimmed it.

“I’m in love with a vain man.”

That got a chuckle out of me, and he looked real pleased with himself.  It was enough to staunch my residual panic.

“You want your ma to see you like this, if it were you?”

He wrinkled his nose at the thought, looking less like a military hero in charge of a fucking spacecraft and more like a five year old boy told to wash behind his ears by a mother unimpressed with being presented with a filthy child.

“Exactly.”

Looking at the picture reminded me of something I carried for tens of thousands of miles.

“Oh, hey. I have something of yours.” I leaned the frame on my lap, resting safe between Steve’s hands as I freed one of mine, and dug around in my pocket, drawing out the little baggie I’d secreted there, sliding the picture free and handing it over, fumbling the rock atop the entertainment drive as I watched Steve’s reaction.

It was Steve’s turn to go quiet, referent fingers taking the picture I held out.

“You really found it.”

“Couldn’t leave her behind. She was really somethin’, huh?”  I knew Steve had few pictures of his family.  They’d been poor, the sorta poor where you worry about making rent and feeding yourself.  There hadn’t been a lot of money to spare on things like cameras and printing out photos.  The photo I’d brought back to Valkyrie was, as far as I knew, one of only a handful Steve had.     

In lieu of an answer, Steve reared up on his knees, one hand curling around the picture and my fingers, the other squeezing my knee, his kiss soft and slow and grateful.

“If that’s how you’re gonna thank me for stuff, I’m gonna be doing the dishes the rest of my life, ain’t I?”

Steve smirked, offering his mouth for another kiss.

Twist my arm why don’t you.

I felt Steve shift, and when he pulled back from the kiss, lingering over releasing my lower lip – real fucking’ gratifying lemme tell you – he’d tucked the picture of his mom into the edge of the frame, a look of slight apprehension in his eyes as he judged my reaction.

It was perfect, our women together.

“You know they’re gonna give you the mother of all shovel speeches?” I gestured to the photo    

“Nah,” Steve grinned, getting to his feet. “They’re gonna love me.”

“That certain?”

“That certain.”

That damn smirk does something to me. Something I really wish I was in a position to do something about.  But now I finally had my dream combination – bed and Steve – the overwhelming desire I had was to sleep.

Actually, fuck desire.  It wasn’t even that I wanted to sleep, my body just wasn’t taking my wishes into consideration and was determined to override my want to stay awake and with Steve, and I was ten seconds from sleep.

Which was, because Steve is an asshole, when the fucker stood up and offered his hand.

“C’mon, shower. Now.  I’m not having you stink up my ship.”

“Your ship?” I slurred, stumbling to my feet, only partially on purpose so I could fall against his chest.

“I stole it, it’s mine.”

“Oh God, I finally met the Space Pirates.”

“Huh?”

For reasons known only to a select few assholes at JPL, Valkyrie’s bathroom – such as it is – is a ways away from the bunks.  Instead, maybe so the commute is short enough for Barton to maybe arrive at work on time, it’s the MedBay that sits at the end of the housing corridor.

En-suite is not in NASA’s vocabulary. It’s a real pain if you wake up dying for a piss.  Here’s the thing about zero/low gravity and your urinary tract; you tend not to know you need to piss right up until it’s a full alert ‘I gotta piss now, now, now’ situation.  By which time, if you’re unlucky – or Clint, which is much the same thing – you’re already pissing your pants.

I keep telling ya, space travel ain’t glamourous.  Y’all think we wear diapers sometimes even outside of launch events for fun and fashion?

So if you wake up, and you’re already dying to piss, having to traverse the whole damn ship just to get to the toilet isn’t fun. 

You will never convince me that Wade Wilson was not entirely behind that stunt.

It does not endear engineers to astronauts, lemme tell you.  Nat, for one, would like to behead whomever made the decision.  The electrical short that was caused the last time a crewmember was caught short – naming no Sams – took her the better part of three days to fix and the better part of a month to stop bitching about.

On the way, we dropped off the picture, drive and a few of my clothes into Steve’s bunk – our bunk.

We can move the rest of my shit another time.

You know, as I’m writing this, I’m thinking I ain’t the only one that’s a little antsy about everything being a dream; Steve’s been keeping an eye – and a hand – on me at all times, even as he shut us into the bathroom.  I ain’t complaining, just making an observation. Recording it, you know, for science. If I write it down, it’s science.

It was helpful for me though – I felt a little out of control, a little like I didn’t quite know what I wanted, or even how to get it, but at least being with Steve, I had what I knew I needed.

When I rocked forward for a kiss, Steve’s lips met my own without hesitation despite his complaints about Eau D’Mars, a little tentative, a little desperate and a lot reluctant to let the kiss end.

“Handsy guy.”

“Waited years to get my hands on you.”

“Whose fault is that, huh?” I nipped at his jaw, soothing it with a kiss. “I’da gone home with you that first night.”

“And slunk outta my room at dawn?”

“I’m not that kinda boy!” I protested. Sure, maybe at one time, I mighta been that sorta fella, but I ain’t anymore. Not since the idiot in front of me walked into that pub.

Steve had the audacity to raise his eyebrow at me as he unzipped my toiletries kit.

“In the years you’ve known me, you seen me go home with anyone?” I defended myself, puffing up a little.  Which was a mistake ‘cos it hurt like all holy fuck.  While I was wincing, Steve was fumbling with my kit, almost dropping my razor with how sharply he turned to me.

“Really,” He sounded utterly disbelieving. “Not in three years?”

“Shut the fuck up! You romance anyone besides your right hand since that night, Rogers?”

“Yeah,” he answered with a shrug, and my breath punched out of me.

Fuck. 

Forget my ribs, that hurt worse.  The thought of him with someone else, no matter how I’d had no right to be jealous seeing as how he wasn’t mine and you can’t lose what you don’t have, made my stomach roil and twist in a manner that made the reappearance of the Ensure seem pretty likely and I didn’t think it’d taste any better coming back up.

“Sometimes, I let my left hand drive.”

I take it back, the smirk does nothing for me. Nothing at all.

“You fucker!”

Bastard just threw me that million dollar smile of his that had most of America swooning before we left.  Almost like he knows just what that does to me.

Told you he ain’t the Boy-Scout ya’ll think he is.  Thank fucking God.

It makes the idea of showering with him even more fun.

Actually, ‘shower’ ain’t quite the right word for what we got up here.  In the years since the ISS was the cutting edge of spacecraft, personal hygiene has become a lot easier to upkeep.  Back then it pretty much consisted of no-rinse shampoo, a pouch of pre-mixed soapy water, and a towel.

Scrub a dub-dub.

Don’t even try to correct me that Skylab totally had a shower and ISS was a step backwards. Sure, the Skylab ‘shower’ seemed cool, but it was difficult to use and was like washing with a spritz bottle.

Real fucking effective, as you’d imagine.  

I haven’t showered or cleaned up with more than a wet-wipe and my hastily cobbled together body wash in eighteen months. Spritzing water on myself and scrubbing with a towel wasn’t gonna do shit.  Except maybe leave us with a few towels less after the team jettisoned them into space for being too repugnant to ever want to wash with ever again.

With Valkyrie's artificial gravity the water is able to fall, rather than float about the place getting all up in the ship's shit, so we can have something like a real shower. Not a lotta water, but more than trying to shower with a bottle of Windex. It’s all collected and filtered for the next shower so we ain’t wasting stuff.

Space travel sure is sexy, huh?

I’m pretty happy with the arrangement we did get.  You shoulda seen the shit some of the teams came up with when Valkyrie was being planned; one guy proposed a shower like a human-sized car wash. I ain’t kidding – rollers of strips of fabrics that contained soap pellets that reacted with the water and span around, wiping the astronaut clean.

Looked more like a torture device than something for hygiene. Seriously, look it up, it should be in any number of books on the Ares Programme.

But even with the gravity we got on this part of the wheel, it still ain't the same as Earth and with the wheel not back up to full rotation speed, we don’t have enough gravity to use the shower stall, even with the vacuum at the base of it.

So I guess it’s back to the space equivalent of a bed bath.  Too damn bad Steve ain't in a nurse's outfit - he's got the legs for it.  Chest too.

Stored in a container on the wall opposite the shower stall are large sheets of dry-soap towels, which you moisten and rub a dub dub when you need to get clean in these sorta situations.  So you can imagine my surprise when Steve headed to the small stall.

“What about the gravity?” I asked as Steve started unpacking my kit and sticking the relevant items to the Velcro patches placed high on one wall of the stall.  Hey, space is at a premium. And you don’t want stuff floating around in case the ship loses gravity when someone’s in the shower.

Which’d be fucking embarrassing.

Speaking of space, the shower stall isn’t exactly designed for two, so we’re gonna have to get all up close and personal.

What a shame.

“What about it?” Steve countered with a smirk as he tugged his shirt over his head.  I’m not the only one that’s lost weight but God is he ever gorgeous.  The broad span of Steve’s phenomenal shoulders and back are mesmerising.  He hasn’t seen real sunlight in a long ass time so his skin is pale, the myriad of scars from a hard career silvery in the light, and watching every shift and twitch of his muscles as he moved around the small room was something I coulda done for hours.  The long valley of his spine drew my eyes down to the delicate curve of the small of his back and where I could, thanks to the low-riding waistband of his pants, just see the sweet dimples on either side of his spine, just above the plump curve of his ass.

I wanted to spend roughly five hours swirling my tongue into those little hollows and up that spine, driving him crazy with want, teasing him ever lower, and lower, and lower…but that thought was derailed when Steve turned back to face me, and as impressive as his back are, his chest and abs are something else and all that perfection was in reach and I was finally allowed to touch.

I tsked softly to cover that I’d been caught blatantly staring and then remembered, to my delight, that I didn’t have to hide that anymore.  I could stare all I wanted.  I was invited to stare all I wanted.

So y’all can’t blame me for reaching out to press my hand against the swell of one pectoral, loving the feel of a nipple pebbling against my palm, and I didn’t miss the way Steve’s eyes darkened.  Stevie Wonder wouldn’t have missed it.

Still, I’m a little shit so…

“You stage one little mutiny and suddenly you start throwing out all the rules?

“Something like that.”

“I always did love me a bad boy.  Get you on your Harley, leather jacket.  Hmmm, only your leather jacket…could get real messy.” I trailed my hand down over the ridges of his abs. “But you ain’t gonna let me get us all messy, are you?”

“Bucky…”

“Can’t blame a fella for trying.” My hand got intercepted before I could reach his waistband, let alone show him a magic act I’d spent my teens perfecting.  Making underwear disappear, if you gotta know.  Shut up about Prom, I got way better at it after that.  I’m just sayin’, college Bucky did alright for himself.

“So, if I can’t get handsy, are we going to take this time to talk about how on a ship with plenty of food, you’ve lost so much weight?”

Steve scowled and stepped away, focused on arranging the towels on the wall, adjusting and re-adjusting how they were falling before fussing with the levels in the pouches of body wash and shampoo.  But I could wait him out.  Mars taught me patience.

“This coming from you?” He finally uttered.

“I had an excuse, sweetheart.”

“I had a reason.”

I swallowed hard.  He sounded so broken, so vulnerable that I didn’t even think about it, just stepped over to where he stood, back to me, and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, nuzzling against his temple, kissing his hairline and cheek as far as I could.

“I…I couldn’t…You were down there, starving and alone and I didn’t deserve anything less.”

For all I could have punched him, stupid self-sacrificing idiot, instead my arms tightened.  In the ring of my hold, Steve tipped his head to the side to look around at me, eyes dark and wounded, expression guarded.

“When Stark finally told us, when I learned what I’d done, I threw up what felt like most of my internal organs and after that, I didn’t – I either didn’t feel hungry or just nauseated.”

His chest hitched with a shaky breath and his voice trembled.  I pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, lingering and firm.  Then another.  And another. 

“Sweetheart.  You gotta stop blaming yourself.  I’m here.  We’re together.  It’s over.”

“I searched.  I looked for you but still I left you there.”  The pain on Steve’s face constricted my chest with more agony than any broken ribs.  Curving my hands around his biceps I tugged until he got the idea and, because I wouldn’t relax my hold, turned clumsily in my embrace.  I drew him close, urging his head to rest on my shoulder, his face pressed into my apparently disgustingly-fragrant throat, hands stroking up and down that beautiful back.

It was quiet in the small room as I held him, rocking softly from side to side in a bastardisation of a slow dance.

“It was my fault.”

I hissed between teeth I wasn’t aware I’d clenched.  My stomach roiled at the absolute, soul-deep belief in his tone.

“Don’t.  Don’t ever say that to me again,” I ordered.  “We can’t go back to Sol 6, can’t undo all this shit, and if I gotta go the rest of my life figuring out a way to get you to believe me, then I guess that’s just what I gotta do. We gotta move past this, sweetheart.  You gotta let it go.”

I reached my fingers up to cover his lips.  I try to shift my head to look at him, but he wouldn’t meet my gaze, burying his face further into the crook of my neck instead.  I knew the ruddy pink of his cheeks was from shame.  I could feel the hot burn of tears behind my eyes and pressed my lips to his forehead, crushing my lips against his warm skin as though I could press the truth into his brain, that I could brand it into his soul.

“No more, Sweetheart.  No more of that,” I whispered softly into his skin, smudging kisses along his hairline to whisper into his ear.  “No more blaming yourself.”

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

A bubble of anger bloomed in my belly, overwhelming the tender compassion.

“And I don’t get a say in that?” I can hear the edge in my voice, the dare for Steve to say the wrong thing.  “Sweetheart, I ain’t been overburdened with an abundance of choice the last year, but I do get to decide how I fucking feel, and guess what? Forgiveness ain’t your choice.  You don’t determine if you do or don’t ‘deserve it’.  And once it’s given, you can’t give it back, so fuck you and your ‘don’t deserve’ it shtick.”

“But-”

“You wanna Rochambeau for the privilege of determining if you get to forgive yourself for something that ain’t even your fucking fault in the first place?  Want Lady Luck to determine my goddamn feelings?” I wanted to shake him, but I wanted to hold him more.  “It wasn’t your fault.”

“But I still did it.  I still left you there.”

Maybe shaking him was the way to go.

But it was when I pulled back a little to really let rip on the stubborn idiot, that it really struck me how changed he was.  He was still strong, muscular and built in a way most men would be envious of, but he’d dropped weight, his face leaner, and it was more than just the physical.  His exhaustion seemingly soul deep.  He appeared so much older, so much more resigned to pain.  He looked like a broken man holding himself together with all that he had left, and what was left was faltering.  Strange as it sounds, it made it all so real – in my dreams Steve was never in anything less than perfect health, eyes bright and smile wide.

Not like this.

And so I shut my mouth, dropped my head back to his shoulder, and tightened my grip as I held him hard enough that I’m pretty sure caused his ribs to creak let alone mine, but I didn’t care.  The bravest, strongest man I knew was standing before me bowed and so very near broken and it rocked me down to my soul.

I replayed his whispered words, shrugging aside my anger and despair, and truly listened to the pain and yearning in his tone.  Steve was so very desperate to be forgiven but he didn’t know how to be, didn’t know how to accept my words and he really didn’t know how to forgive himself.

I don’t know how he’s feeling ‘cos I can barely figure out my own shit about it, but I do know one thing – it wasn’t his fault, and I ain’t lettin’ his self-sacrificing ass marinade in guilt and loathing forever.

That shit just ain’t good for you. 

I’m all over the place myself, emotions I can’t put a name to coursing through me, some bittersweet and twisted, others jubilant and uplifting.  I wanna weep for all the time that was lost.  I wanna weep out all the pain and hurt and fear that weigh us both down.  I wanna run naked through the halls of Valkyrie that I loved an idiot called Steve and even more amazingly, he loved me back.

In the end, I did none of those things, tempting though they were.  Rome wasn’t built in a day, and undoing all the shit we’d both gone through wasn’t gonna be instantaneous either.  But we could heal together now.

See, I told ya - Mars taught me patience. 

I brought a trembling hand up to Steve’s hair, so much longer than I’d ever seen it, to stroke my fingers through the strands and along his neck, over and over, murmuring utter nonsense and contentment into his ear.

I lost all track of time, happy, safe, and secure in his arms until a memory came to mind, a memory of a cool night and high moon, of two men sitting alone on a rock while their teammates slumbered in tents behind them.

“You remember when we all went to the Grand Canyon and camped out in the bottom, and I got all caught up in how my Pop and I had always planned to go but then he got sick, and shit?”

Against my shoulder, Steve merely nodded.

“You told me somethin’ that night.  You were sitting on a rock, probably freezing your fine ass off, and you were sketching and you didn’t even look up when I sat down next to ya, just let me talk and when I was done, you remember what you told me?”

Another nod, that morphed into him nosing against my throat.

“Well?”

This time Steve’s head rocked side to side in a ‘no’ but I wasn’t gonna be swayed.

“Steve.”

“How’d you even remember that?” It was muffled against my shirt but understandable.

“I remember everything you tell me.  Everything important.”

His huff of amusement was warm and moist through my shirt.  He had to be suffocating, nose deep in clothes I’d been wearing for 18 months but for all his earlier complaints, Steve didn’t seem all that concerned with moving.

“C’mon, tell me what you said.”

Reluctantly, painfully slowly, Steve lifted his head from my throat, eyes red-rimmed and a little puffy though his cheeks were dry.

“I told you that it was tempting to live in the past, that it was familiar and even comforting, but that it was also where fossils come from.”

I nodded.  One corner of his mouth ticked up a little in a hint of a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Which I wouldn’t have done if I knew you were gonna use it against me.”

“What are friends for?  Other than to remind you not to wallow.  You gotta move on.  With me.  Clean slate and all that shit.”

He glared at me in a decidedly un-friendly manner, but he couldn’t keep it up, that little tick curving the edge of his mouth upwards again.  Which was better than the self-recrimination and doubts.

“You still need to shower,” he accused, feet shifting restlessly now the emotional edge had been taken off, though he didn’t remove himself from my hold, nor shrug my hand from his head where my fingers had stilled, but twined in the strands. 

I ain’t stupid, I know it’s something we’re gonna revisit, probably on the daily, somethin’ we’re gonna have to work on.  Fuck me, we might even need to involve Garner, or some other headshrinker that I’m less pissy about.  But I’m happy to let him change the subject.  He and I both know I ain’t letting him off the hook just ‘cos I’m letting it drop.  I’m a stubborn fucker, and he knows it.

But I’m also a dirty one and not in the way that’s fun.

So Option B was way better.

Steve, without stepping back and thus making his life more difficult because that’s how he rolls, was divesting me of my clothes.  His hands were trembling slightly still, as he pulled my shirt from my pants, up under my pits and then grunted at me until I released him to lift my arms, Steve’s touch was so unbearably gentle as he eased my scummy shirt over my head.  Murmuring apologies for my hiss of pain, his nose crinkled as he helped me lower my arms and he got a good waft of pure Malodourous Mars, available in all good retailers now for the low, low price of several billion dollars.

Steve hissed as he dropped my shirt to the floor and helped me lower my arms.

“Jesus, Buck.”

Lemme tell ya – his appreciation made the pain worth it and distracted me from feeling like I was 90 and doddery.

Except…

From the way he was staring at my chest, appreciation wasn’t the right word.  Disbelieving would be closer.  Horrified would be more on the money.  So of course I looked down too.

Sure, when Barton had been all ‘turn here, bend over, cough’ there’d been some bruises starting to bloom, as well as a lot of petechiae in my hands, but in the time since then it’s really had time to develop.

I’m a walking Monet.

As of now, from neck to…well, let’s just go with knees, everything is purpling up. My chest is swollen from the broken ribs, and darkening up all pretty.

I couldn’t help it, I checked out my ass in the mirror.

It wasn’t vanity.  It was curiosity.

Not since Sara Quinn have I ever fumbled so much with the fastening on my pants, but I managed, the fabric hitting the floor with a soft whomp, underwear following seconds later.

It’s gonna sound stupid, but I hadn’t seen myself naked in a while, not since my baths back in New Brooklyn. Why the fuck would I want to?  I’d looked like the Grim Reaper back then, so how much worse could it be?

Yeah.

That much worse.

As expected, I got a wicked case of geasles. Little punctate bruises that are the result of overwhelmed capillaries that rupture as a result of serious G-force. I was lying reclined on the acceleration seat so my back, and ass, are deep red and speckled purple.  Our suits allow us to withstand greater amounts of g-force than we could alone, but I just pulled a Hail Mary and my skin is left cashing the checks.

Which means I look like I got a bad case of the measles, hence the name.

My feet and hands are much the same, but while my feet are still a pretty vibrant red, my hands are, in comparison, still pretty fucking pale beneath the pinpricks of the geasles, a lingering effect of the tissue ischemia that was also responsible for my blurry vision.

Sexy, it ain’t.

Anti-G straining manoeuvers don’t really work out so great if you’re unconscious. Or at all in 12 G conditions.  Which means that not only am I filthy, greasy, half-starved, hidden behind a beard, and my left arm scarred up, I’m also pale wherever I’m not covered in bruises and one of my best features looks like I fell asleep ass up in the mid-day sun.  In Greece.

No wonder Steve can resist my charms.

But hey, if he loves me like this, right?

I gave him a smile. “You don’t think I make this look good?” I gestured to the marks across my shoulders from where my flesh had been scored by the harness of my suit, and waggled my ass.  “I think I look good.”

“You look something alright.” He turned away, but I caught how his eyes slid to my ass as he did, and left him to rummage in my kit as I examined my ribs up close.

Don't take this the wrong way, but," Steve spun back around with a toothbrush, already loaded, "Mars breath is real and it's potent."

“Just like me.”

“Did you really…?” The paste threatened to fall off the brush as he laughed, which had a real distracting effect on his abs.  “Looking like that, you-”

“Don’t act like you don’t like my mouth.”

“Hmmm, I do. After it’s been brushed, I’ll like it even more.  Be more inclined to get all up close and personal with it again.”

“Hey! I didn’t exactly have an endless supply of toothpaste!”

The bastard just rolled his eyes, and lunged, stuffing the brush into my mouth.

“You brush, or my mouth isn’t coming anywhere near you. And I know you want it.”

“Fu-ng-igt-id,” I mumbled around the toothbrush, vigorously putting it to work.

“What?”

I spat, dismayed by how the white foam was heavily tinged red, my gums stinging and teeth aching.  “Fucking right I do,” I enunciated before reloading the brush and really going to town.

I might protest, but the man’s got a point. Even I can tell I ain’t exactly minty fresh, Clint’s mouthwash notwithstanding. I know what you’re thinking – I coulda brushed in anticipation of my big day, and getting to land a smacker on Steve. Well, that kinda assumes I didn’t run outta the stuff two weeks ago. Even rationing the shit outta it, six month’s worth of toothpaste wasn’t ever gonna last eighteen months.  I did the best I could with warmed water and an increasingly worn out brush.

More effective than you’d imagine, apparently, seeing as how while my mouth is sore, I wasn’t overwhelmed with the desire to wrench a tooth out with pliars like I was that time at college when I needed a root canal and couldn’t get an appointment for a week and had to ask my roommate to hide my kit from me in case I got tempted to go Sweeney Todd on myself to end my suffering.

Thank God I didn’t crack a tooth when I was blowing shit up – I don’t think I’d trust Barton with a dental drill.  Fun fact – dental surgery in space is so much worse than dental surgery on Earth.  Back on the ISS they’d rather send an astronaut back to Earth than attempt anything unless they had no fucking choice.  Without gravity, the very act of breathing while someone was digging around in your mouth could pull anything lose in your mouth back into the lungs, not to mention your Crew Medical Officer isn’t a dentist, just some poor schumck with the barest training, so if they fuck up, they have to phone home and wait for an answer.  All while they’ve just drilled a fucking great hole in your tooth.

I’ll pass, but thanks for the offer.

After I rinsed, and turned back to Steve, the fucker just dropped a reel of digestible floss into my hand and raised one eyebrow in an order.

“Seriously?”

“Oral health is important.”

“Oral something is important, more like,” I muttered darkly as I ripped off a length of floss and went to town, eschewing swallowing the stuff, dumping it in the trash and making a show of dragging my tongue along my teeth.

“Wanna take it for a test drive?” I asked, waggling my eyebrows.

In response, Steve rewarded me with the other half of the striptease, pushing the waistband of his shorts over his hips to reveal the dark nest of hair at his groin.  He let them slide oh-so-slowly down the long muscled lengths of his thighs and damn did my fingers itch to follow their journey.  To trace the defined quads and sweetly delicate looking knees, over the sharp lengths of his shins. 

God fucking damn I got lucky; even skinnier, even having lost condition in space, Steve is walking power, masculine and strong.  I ain’t even gotten to his cock yet.

I’ve seen it before.  In the years of training and locker rooms and sharing hotel rooms when away from base, I got a little more than passingly acquainted with the naked bodies of all my fellow AsCans.  Lemme tell ya, you’d think Thor was the exhibitionist, but it’s Clint you have to watch out for.  Not because he’s not body shy –he really isn’t – but because he sleeps naked and until he’s had about three jugs of coffee in the mornings his brain doesn’t work and he forgets that he should put clothes on before using a communal kitchen.

Or leaving the hotel.

But I digress.

Steve’s not hard, unsurprising given the visual and olfactory feast that I provide, but he ain’t exactly soft either, which is more gratifying to my ego than being the first person to colonize Mars.

Okay, maybe as gratifying.

Who am I kidding, Steve is naked.  With me.  On purpose.  It’s much more gratifying.

Hell, yeah.

I swallowed, wanting to say something, say anything, but all higher brain function not knocked out of me by Mars had left the building the moment his long fingers had slid into his waistband.

I was only able to take a half-step towards Steve before he was on me, pressing me into that gorgeous chest as gentle hands came to rest on my lower back. His mouth was hungry and hot and I’d have grinned into the kiss if my lips hadn’t been so deliciously occupied.

When he drew back he was lucky I’m in less than great condition, because otherwise, fuck waiting, fuck getting to a bed, I’d have been begging him take fuck me next to the damn shower.

His pupils were blown, eyes dark, lids low and he was rocking some serious beard burn as he slicked that talented tongue over swollen lips.

I did that.  Fuck me.

Really.  Fuck me. Right here. Right now.

I was about to suggest it, real subtle like by getting a palmful of what I could feel pressing into my hip, order him to break me apart and put me back together again, over and over and over again, when Steve cleared his throat, wiped his mouth and stepped backwards into the stall, holding his hand out to me.

I was right – it was a tight squeeze. Pre-Mars it’d have irritated the shit outta me but today, I’m all about the up close and personal.

And I had a feeling that wet and soapy Steve was gonna be a favourite version of Steve.

Even with the shower, we don’t exactly have a tonne of water to play with, and without the gravity-assisted water recovery, it was gonna kinda hang around in there with us, so Steve only ran the water for long enough to soak my hair and get me good and wet, using one hand to sluice the water over my skin.  The stall still managed to fill with steam in seconds, Steve having adjusted the temperature hot as we could both stand it, our own little lazy, hazy cocoon.

Fucking luxury. 

I’ve spent eighteen months fighting for everything Steve just managed in two seconds with the touch of a button.  All he had to do was press on a tablet and clean, hot, running water came a-flowing.  No Hydrazine, no explosions, no box of cancer taking two hours to heat my bath.

Just a fucking button.

That sorta head fuck is gonna take some time to get used to.  I don’t gotta struggle anymore, I don’t gotta risk my life for something to fucking drink.  I just gotta turn on the tap.  I can eat until I’m full – and I can’t describe how exciting that is gonna be for me.  In the event of sudden decompression, my bunk will automatically seal and I’ll have time to get my suit on.  No freezing to death on the surface of an asshole planet.

A fella could get used to that shit.  Once he gets over how fucking easy his life is gonna be now he’s back on board.  And once he stops referring to himself in the third person.

Know what else this fella could get used to?  Soap.  Normally, I’m a shampoo first kinda guy, washing top to bottom, but the moment Steve held the spout of the pouch of suds against my chest and squeezed to send warm, sweet-scented liquid cascading over my skin, I bit back any comment about washing my hair.  Besides, if it was gonna encourage Steve to get his mouth on me again quicker by being all squeaky clean, I was a convert to the soap first initiative. 

Did soap always smell this good or is Natasha’s shit just secretly better than ours?  It’d explain her goddamn perfect complexion.  Steve’s hands gliding over my skin, smoothing over my chest and arms, spreading the soap with this cute serious expression on his face and a little wrinkle between his brows, was heaven. Steve’s gentle hands followed the soap bubbles as they ran down my chest, callused fingers tracing the edges of the worst of the bruising, skimming over my ribs almost light enough to tickle.

He was learning me, in a way we’d always denied ourselves for so long, because we’re fucking idiots.  But don’t think I wasn’t getting in on that act.  As Steve spread the soap over my skin, I ran my hands over his chest, up over his shoulders, cupping the nape of his neck to draw him into kisses, and basically making a nuisance of myself as he worked.

If it meant the shower took longer, I was just fine with that.

He seemed to be too, seein’ as how he let me.

Maybe it seems strange, how we weren’t talking all that much, seeing how I’d spent over a year wanting nothing more than to talk to him again, but we never did need that many words, and right now, none were necessary. 

Besides, ain’t like 55% of communication body language?  ‘Cos his is talking to me, loud and clear.  His touch and the way he’d almost grab for me before softening his grip almost immediately, spoke of his grief, his desperation to get me back, how he was never gonna let me go again.  His body was asking me to press my chest against his, to hold him, to lean into him, get lost in his warmth and the feel of his hands.  To remind him with every passing second that this is real.  That we’re together.

In return, I was letting him know how it’d felt to be without him for so long, to find him and the crew gone, to be so alone, and my utter joy at being home, at being safe in his arms.

It wasn’t so much a shower, as it was a confessional as we clung to each other, trading touches and kisses.  Everything we don’t really got words for, our touch does.

But you ever tried to get clean, really clean just by using your hands to spread soap around?

It’s sorta pointless.

Steve’s not just beauty and bravery, you know. He’s brains too. From God knows where, he produced a mesh-puff thing, turned the shower back on, and saturated the puff with soap.

“Natasha know you’re raiding her shit?”

“Sam actually. Don’t worry, he’s got a bunch of ‘em, all sealed up.”

“I always suspected he had a rigorous skincare regime.”

“The man with thirty hair products on a shelf back home probably shouldn’t throw stones.”

Whomever invented exfoliation is going on the Kiss List.  Has it always felt this good? I gotta apologise to my sister for those jars of sugar scrub shit that always knocked over every goddamn time I tried to shower.  This stuff is the shit.  I am gonna have the smoothest skin and be the prettiest boy on board.

Steve awkwardly bent down to slick his soap filled hands down my legs, and my heart clenched with an unbearable fondness for the man kneeling at my feet.  I ran my fingers through his damp hair, watching droplets cling to the strands, fighting to break free and float away.  Steve followed his hands with the puff, scrubbing gently, oblivious to my adoration.  He was so careful, so gentle with me as he even washed between my toes, the apples of his cheeks rounding out as he laughed at me pitiful attempts to free my foot from his disinfection dictatorship.

Finally, finally, releasing my feet from his tyranny, Steve’s hands made their less-than-professional way back up my calves, to curl his fingers around the back of my knees, fingertips stroking the soft skin he found there, thumbs sweeping in tight circles over my kneecaps, and if I coulda done something about it, I’d have wrestled him outta that shower cubicle in a heartbeat.

Maybe, maybe, Clint had a point about the no sex thing.

I had Steve inches from my dick, and while heat pooled lazily in my gut at the sight of him looking up at me, all spiked eyelashes and heat flushed skin, those full lips quirked in a grin, my dick could barely give reciprocate with little more than a twitch.

The spirit was willing – so fucking willing, believe me – but the flesh was apparently exhausted, bruised, drugged and a little starved.

But you ever known me to give up?

I could feel my mouth stretching wide into what was probably the biggest, dopiest, smuggest smile ever, but damn, as he looked up at me, water droplets clinging to him in a way that’d make me jealous if I were just a smidge more brain-rattled, those broad shoulders taking up most of the cubicle, I knew that even if I couldn’t exactly participate with more than an enthusiastic hand or two, it was a really enthusiastic hand, and I was gonna get ‘em all over Steve. 

Fuck getting clean.  I really wanna get dirty.

Steve’s adoring gaze turned suspicious, so I toned the grin down by about 15%, and meekly accepted him bypassing my groin, which probably should have made him even more wary, but I guess I wasn’t the only one distracted.  I let him scrub down my chest, and arms, scowled when he gave my hands the same treatment as my feet, and almost lost all composure when he started to wash my back.

Moaning like a porn star wasn’t gonna make him less suspicious, but it felt amazing.  What was a little less amazing was him taking about five minutes per pit to declare my underarms less offensive, which, rude.  Was my skin not already pink and blotchy enough?  Did he really have to exfoliate the living shit out of it there, too?

Actually, from the good old whiff of what could only be described as rotting gym clothes that we both got when I lifted my arms, yes, yes he fucking did and if he hadn’t, I would have.

But it still played right into my hands – nothing as adept at killing the mood like a little overwhelming body odor.  Which was why, when Steve went to kill the water and I blocked him, he wasn’t remotely suspicious.

Trusting idiot.

“You don’t get all the fun.” I held my hand out for the soap pouch, mildly offended at how little was left.  I hoped Houston had sent more in the supply probe because Steve had just used about a month’s worth of soap on my less-than-fragrant ass.

Steve arched into my hands as I took over the washing, my hands smoothing over firm muscles and around his hips.  The whole time, he never took his eyes off me, like he was scared I’d disappear if he so much as blinked.  Never looked away, that is, until, with zero thought of cleansing, I grabbed two handfuls of that perfect, fucking gorgeous ass. 

Almost as gorgeous as the moan that Steve couldn’t hold back, the hitch of his hips and the way he bit his lip.  He visibly shivered as I trailed one hand up over the swell of one buttock, around his hip and ran my fingers along the soft skin of his groin, practically able to feel his pulse thunder towards his cock, could feel it jump against the inside of my wrist, the touch a brand.

“Like that?”

It wouldn’t take anything, just a slide of my hand an inch and I could wrap my fingers around his cock, feel it heavy and thick in my grasp. His skin was millimetres from my mouth and I could close that distance and curl my tongue along his skin, learn the taste of him, suck a rosy mark onto his neck as I slowly jerked him off.

“Bucky.”  If I’d thought he sounded like sex before, it’s nothin’ on now.  His voice is gruff, the last syllable of my name bitten off on a moan.  As I dropped my head to bite kisses into his neck over the pounding pulse between the notches of his collarbones, he stood straighter, those broad shoulders thrown back, pushing his chest forward and into mine, though I barely registered the pain.

Sexual healing, indeed.

As though anticipating my intent or perhaps acting on instinct, Steve spread his legs as wide as he could, cock bobbing against my wrist as he moved, right there for me to close my hand around.  Letting my gaze drop, I watched as Steve hardened further, his cock rising towards his belly, and I wanted it, him, so much. Wanted to lose myself in him. In us.  Steam and droplets created a cloud around us. Heat all around us. From the shower. From Steve. From me.

It could only get hotter.

Which was, of course, when Steve grabbed my wrists and lightly moved my questing hands away from anything fun, firmly replacing them onto his hips, fingers splaying over mine as he pressed them against the swell of bone, holding me still.

I flexed my hands as much as I could in his grip, my nails digging into his skin.  Which elicited an extremely promising shudder that I would have explored further if he hadn’t pressed his hands even more tightly against mine.

“Why?” I whined,

Hey, I ain’t proud.

“Buck…”

“Why not?”

“Not like this. Not here.”

“Why not?” I looked down at the space between us, at his cock pressing against my hip.  The tip of his cock was swollen and flared, begging        for my hand.  “I know you want to.”

“I do. But not like this. You need rest. You need food. I need you to have these things. You’re exhausted and wrecked. We don’t have to rush this, or do it all at once. We’ve got time now, baby. We got time.”

“I ain’t sayin’ we gotta do everything right now,” I grumbled, “but some of it would be nice.”

“We’re naked in a shower together, and we’ll be sleeping together every night from now on,” Steve replied, “that’s a whole lot of nice.”

“I’m fine for this.  Feeling good, feeling great.  Always been a quick healer.”  I grabbed one of his hands and pressed it against my skin.  “Touch and see.”

I knew from the look of determination in his eyes and the set of his jaw, this wasn’t a fight I was going to win.

“You are not fine, Buck. Besides, can you honestly say you’ve got the energy for what I want to do with you?”

Fuck me against a wall.  Please and thank you.

Who knew his voice could get that low and rough? Or so goddamn predatory?  It’s not fair, especially as he wasn’t letting me do a goddamn thing and I know he’s fucking right not to.  I ain’t gonna admit it out loud, but my head is spinning from more than just getting my hands on his naked ass at last, and the weakness of my legs is probably more to my rock-bottom blood pressure and the heat, than it is because  of all that wet skin pressed against me.

So, with a minimum of fuss and whining – you ain’t buying that huh? - I promised to keep my hands in only PG-13 territory but he didn’t seem to believe me, even after I wrapped my arms around his neck and vowed to not try to seduce the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen.  Can’t blame him seein’ as how I wasn’t telling the whole truth.  My hands might stay north of the border, but he hadn’t said a damn thing about stringing any NC-17 sentences together.

But hey, watching him was almost as good as touching.  Just like having my hair washed was almost as good as sex.

Actually, it was kinda gross at first.  Steve had filled the cup of his palm with shampoo and scrubbed it against my scalp, but it was trying to fight again a years worth of build-up and barely sudsed up at all.  It took another two tries to even get my hair to sud up enough to work the shampoo through and Steve was meticulous, ensuring every inch of my scalp was scrubbed, and if he maybe indulged in giving me a suds-mohawk, well I ain’t telling.

So long as he doesn’t tell anyone about me getting all handsy with my aesthetician.

Attached to the wall on the Velcro patches were Natasha’s wide comb and conditioner, and Steve requisitioned them both.

“You gonna make me smell like flowers now?”

“So long as you stop smelling like-” he trailed off, filling his palm with conditioner and running it through my hair.

“You can say it.”

“Shit. You really smelt like shit.”

“100% natural, organic fertilizer. Mars farmers swear by it.”

“Are all botanists this disgusting?”

“All Martian ones are,” I confirmed as Steve shifted us around to direct me back under the water, getting down to the business of rinsing me down.-

I took ruthless advantage of watching the muscles in his chest and arms work as he carefully combed out the snags and tangles in my hair.

Mighta instigated a few kisses under the water when he was done.

“Pep! Pepper!” Tony pushed his way through the crowd of exhausted and rapidly-tipsy NASA employees that had descended on the closest bar.

“Pepper!” Tony shouldered his way between Pepper and Phil, interrupting their conversation without a care. “Hey, Agent. Here, talk to Rhodey for a second.” Tony thrust his phone at Phil, uncaring of the drink the other Director already held, causing him to spill it.

“What, Tony?” Pepper asked as she pulled a Kleenex from her purse, dabbing at Phil’s sleeve as he greeted Rhodey.

“I need your phone.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your phone.”

“Agent’s using it.”

“Tony.”

“I need to call the Big Guy,” Tony wheedled, trying to reach for her purse.

“He’s probably asleep,” Pepper commented, checking her watch. It was only early evening but she knew better than anyone just how exhausted Bruce had become over the previous few months, and she suspected he’d found the first quiet corner he came across – home, hallway or otherwise - and crawled into it to sleep for the next few weeks.

“But he’s gotta strut! They did it! This is not the time for his selective napping!”

“Let him strut in the morning.”

Secretly, Pepper would be shocked if Bruce – or any member of his team – surfaced for a week unless there was some dire emergency.

“Pepper.”

“No.” Using her superior height, and her stilettos, Pepper held her phone out of reach when Tony made a grab for her purse.

“That’s not fair, using the Amazon thing against me. You know how much I like that.”

“No, Tony.”

“See, even the way you say that is sexy.”

“Uh, Tony? Rhodey says to just give up already because you aren’t going to win,” Coulson interjected as Pepper just stared at her partner.

“Then I get to give a speech. It’ll fill in the time before my surprise arrives.”

“Tony, no! What surprise?!”

“Too late! Byeeeeee Rhodey,” he yelled to the phone as Pepper battled valiantly to stop Tony’s advance on the bar, Coulson trailing after, deep in conversation with Rhodey.

“He’s going to make a speech, isn’t he?” Rhodey asked, sounding like he was in a bar himself, a voice surprisingly like Clint’s booming near him.

“What do you think?” Phil asked, shaking his head at Tony’s less than sober vault onto the bar-top, smirking when the Director nearly skidded over the other side face first.      

“When are you back?”

“Aw, you miss me, Coulson?”

“He’s just so…he always like this?”

“Only when he’s awake. Hey, call me back on video, yeah? I wanna see this. Oh, and record it on your phone.”

“What’s he doing?” Coulson hissed at Pepper as he hung up on Rhodey, fumbling with his own phone to follow through on Rhodey’s request.

“Don’t look at me. I don’t know what he’s up to about 80% of the time. I always just pray I know how to fix it after he’s done.”

Up on the bar, Tony swayed slightly, gripping onto the shelf above him for support, running the very real risk of bringing down dozens of glasses onto his head.

“Ooh, it’s good to be back on the stage!”

His proclamation was met with little interest.

“Hey! Listen up!” Tony ignored the best efforts of the barman who was desperately attempting to make him get down.

“Hey!”

The crowd quieted down and turned towards Tony, who manfully ignored the multitude of rolled eyes and muttered threats.

It was strange really, Tony thought as he smiled at his audience; were anyone who’d been living under a rock for nearly two years wander into the bar, the crowd would almost seem no different to the average Friday night crush of workers celebrating the end of the work week.

Except even the most work-hating of individuals facing a long weekend didn’t smile as wide as the people before him.

Of course a couple key people were missing. Rhodey should be indolently leaning against a wall, arms crossed as he smirked at whatever embarrassing thing Tony was going to do next, and Banner should be hunched over a glass of juice, arguing over bio-fuel with whoever would listen for more than a minute.

But from the red light that was down near Agent, the pair were both going to get a video of the good stuff. He threw a wink to the camera for good measure.

“So. Big day.”

A cheer went up from the crowd as people toasted each other, and Tony waved them down into silence.

“Now, I’m not one for big speeches, or showboating,” Tony was almost sure that the disbelieving snort was Pepper, but chose to ignore it. “But I’m gonna give it my best shot. So, drop your socks and grab your Crocs.” He pointed to someone towards the back of the room. “Especially you Killian.”

“Fuck you, Stark.”

“Not until you have more attractive footwear. Observe Pepper’s constantly flawless wardrobe. That is the sort of perfection that gets to fuc-”

Pepper cut him off. “Tony, I need you-”

“Aww, I need you too, honey. That’s what I’m trying to tell Killian! Though it’s not clear if he wants me or you. I’m kind of confused on that issue.”

“- To move on. I need you to move on, now.”

Tony made a show of bowing to her, almost tottering off the bar in the process.

“Some of you know my part in the Initiative, others have only heard the rumours. Now, I’m not comfortable, what with the myriad of public mistakes and unfortunate incidents in my past, with the moniker of superhero-”

“That’s good, ‘cos nobody is calling you one!” Mike Peterson yelled out from the back of the room, many of the crowd agreeing, which was, to Tony’s mind, grossly unfair.

“However, in my experience,” Tony carried on, flipping off the dark corner where Mike stood with Fitz-Simmons and Skye, “‘Stark saves the day’ has a pretty good ring to it, and it’s times like these that I realize how much of a superhero I can be-” A number of balled up napkins, a couple ice cubes, some chicken wings, and from Tony’s left a toothpick with three olives on it, all flew through the air aimed at his head.

He couldn’t duck them all.

Thankfully, a well-dressed gentleman was always prepared. He removed the pocket square from his jacket pocket with a flourish and made a show of wiping away the smeared BBQ sauce on his cheek.

“Now, I’m not saying that I’m single-handedly responsible for what happened today.”

“Damn right!” Erik Selvig’s words were followed by a cheer, many in the crowd raising their glasses in toasts to Jane Foster, the woman looking faintly bemused at being at the bar at all, her intern Darcy laughing by her side and not-so-subtly doctoring her boss’ drink further with something green from a hip flask she then secreted away in her cleavage.

Tony urged them all back into something close to silence, noting with surprise that Selvig still had his pants on which was never actually a given when the man hit the town.

“I’m not saying that from the ashes never has a Phoenix metaphor been better personified than in Bucky Barnes and in the public’s interest in space travel and the Ares programme-”

“Tony,” Pepper called out over the din of the crowd’s disdain, “if you say ‘I’ one more time, I’m gonna actually hurl something at your head.”

“You love me, Pep, you’d never-” A stirrer whizzed past his head.

“Would you hurry up with you not saying all that crap?” Kate yelled.

“Katie-Kate, you wound me.”

“Enough for you to shut up? I wanna go back to celebrating the fact I’m no longer straight up creeping on a guy!”

“For once,” Tony continued, ignoring her jab, “and nobody is more surprised than me, this isn’t about me.”

“Damn right it’s not,” someone heckled to great applause.

“And it isn’t even about you, even if certain people among you can claim at least twelve percent of the credit.” This was met with general booing. “It’s about the legacy we’re leaving behind. It’s about-”

“Bucky Barnes,” Phil bellowed.

“Yeah!” The crowd agreed.

“The Ares 3 crew!” Simmons added.

The crowd cheered.

“Jane Foster!” Darcy hollered to great applause, her friend blushing as her work was celebrated.

“Captain America finally getting laid!” That was Skye, and Tony would have bet much of his fortune that the flush to her cheek was entirely due to the blue drink in her hand and not from embarrassment.

“Fine, fine! Go ahead, rain on my parade,” Tony conceded with ill-grace. “One thing we can all agree on, is that we all need a day when there aren't twenty crises to deal with, and with luck that’s what we’re all going to get. Although now the trouble-magnet is on Valkyrie, who knows how long we’ll get that rest for!

“But for now, we should all get started on this crate of bubbly before it loses its fizz. We should eat, drink, get pissed, and toast that Captain America is finally gonna get some!”

The much beleaguered barman, followed by half a dozen smartly dressed flair bartenders each carrying their own load, hefted several Balthazar-sized bottles of Champagne onto the bar by Tony’s feet, and as soon as the men turned away to fetch more, the bottles were snatched up, disappearing into the crush, the pops of their corks the only sign they’d ever been there.

“Hey, you swines! There are glasses!”

“Tony, for the love of God, would you get down?” Pepper entreated, reaching up to beckon her partner off the bar.

Ignoring her pleas, Tony turned to the crowd of people to the left of the bar, face lighting up as he recognised one of the men, pointing to him with glee.

“Drop my needle, Jarvis!” Jarvis just looked at Tony before glancing to Pepper who shrugged. He eyed up the jukebox next to him as he dug around in his pocket for some change.

“Hey, man, not cool! You can celebrate with yourself later,” Tony called out. Jarvis ignored him as he dropped a couple quarters into the slot and keyed in his selection.

“Something good, J-Man.”

As the opening strains of ‘Shoot To Thrill’ rang out, Tony stepped off the edge of the bar with a whoop.

“Hey, it’s Buck Rogers!” Clint yelled when we entered the Rec Room.

‘Cos he’s an asshole.

I'm trailing a step behind Steve as we come up to the table they’re all gathered around, my grip on his hand a little too tight, my palm a little too sweaty, my heart a lot too fast.  To my shame, I’m suddenly feeling kinda glad that we didn’t get the Hollywood montage shit down in the airlock.

My crew is incredible, but they’re all larger than life people and all of ‘em in a room together…I was feeling a little twitchy is what I’m gettin’ at. Something about walking into the room was the emotional equivalent of going from soft flannel pyjamas, to strapping on leather and armour.  What the fuck I thought I was protecting myself from, I couldn’t tell you.  It was stupid, maybe, but right then four people, four of the people I love most in the universe, was an entirely overwhelming situation for me.  

Not at all like that’s four times more people than I’ve interacted with in the last eighteen months or anything.

I should have known better though, ‘cos I guess Clint had had a word with the others, 'cos they weren’t all jumping up to hug me or nothing.   At least I assumed it's 'cos they didn't wanna freak me out as opposed to them just not caring that my skinny ass was finally back.  

If I were a lesser fella with insecurities, I might have been upset.  I was all shower fresh and everything.  Steve even helped me shave.  In the fragrance department, I am totally hugworthy.

Griping aside, I love 'em so much for not getting grabby; don't think I coulda taken a Bucky-Dogpile, and I don’t just mean my ribs.  All of which is its own head-fuck. I’m a real tactile guy, always real physical with my friends and now, the idea of ‘em all get up close and personal…it ain’t a great one, and of course I feel like a complete shit because who doesn’t fucking hug their rescuers?  Yeah, I know I ain’t letting go of Steve for more than a second, but I’ve told you before – I’m a fucking complex guy.

Hope I get over it by the time we get home ‘cos I’m thinking Becca is gonna be alternating between hugging me and beating my brains in, and Ma ain’t gonna let me outta her sight, possibly ever again.

"What happened to public displays of affection making people uncomfortable?" Sam needled with a wave of greeting.  Must have meant something to Steve because the big idiot actually blushed as Thor moved himself down the bench running along the closest side of the table to give us room to sit.  Steve sat stuck between us, leaving one of my sides free, which uncoiled some of that tightness in my gut.  What I thought I was gonna need the room to escape for, I dunno, but I liked having it.

Sitting opposite Sam as I was, I could see his smug smirk up close and personal and being the romantic hero I am, I jumped right on in to save Steve.  Besides, fake it ‘til you make it, right?

"Updated buddy system, flyboy.  Commander thinks I can't get into trouble if he's got a hold of me." I held up our joined hands and Sam made a throaty grunting noise.

Very attractive.

"Right...You guys missed dinner because you were amending the regs."  I could hear the inverted commas.  That tightness released a little more, replaced by a comforting warmth.

"You're just pissed that I got Steve, and Clint got Nat, but you've gotta hold hands with Odinson."

"I would be honoured to clasp hands with Major Wilson."

I couldn’t hold back my cackle at Sam’s expression when Thor held out one massive hand over the table, wiggling his fingers to encourage Sam to take it, which, to his credit, the pilot did, though he rolled his eyes when the Norwegian took the opportunity to drop a kiss onto the other man’s knuckles.

"Thor, buddy, your sense of humour has improved since I went Cast Away."  The chemist just smiled, even as Sam pointedly scrubbed the back of his hand against Clint’s shirt, the Doctor laughing at his actions.  

"I am relieved to have you returned to us," Thor held out his hand for a high-five and I figured he’d earned it.  Thor had enthusiastically embraced the concept of the high-five back during training. It’s just a damn shame that nobody thought to tell him that the point of it isn’t to try and dislocate the other person’s shoulder.

I almost bit through my tongue trying not to scream as it jolted my ribs.  Pretty sure I broke several small bones in Steve's hand.  I’m kinda glad dinner’s gonna be short – no fucking way in hell could I make it through more than an hour or so tonight, even with these guys.

"Missed you too, pal," I wheezed.  "Y’know, I kinda made a list of things and people I owed kisses to when I got back."  Steve shot me suspicious look.  "And your crazy wife is on it, but uh, I kinda don't want you to kill me, and I think she’d hit me with her car if I tried kissing her, so can you give her a smooch for me, yeah? As a thank you for being so smart and doing whatever she did to get you guys her plan?"

"It will be my pleasure." Thor’s smile lit up his face.

"I'll bet," Clint whooped, holding up his own hand for Thor to high-five.  I noted his own wince with a degree of satisfaction that my ma would have been ashamed of but I wasn’t remotely. 

My complete lack of sex life is his fault, he deserves a little pain.

"I'm not on that list, am I?" Sam asked me, trepidation obvious. 

"Right smack at the top, buddy.” I couldn’t resist waggling my eyebrows, making kissy noises at him. 

“Steve wasn’t the top of your list?” Nat asked, the little shit-stirrer.  Where our hands rested on his thigh, Steve squeezed my fingers as his chest shook against my arm.  Fucker was laughing.

Two could play at that game.

“Oh, Steve has his own list.  It’s real detailed.” I turned to him with a smile that hurt my cheeks.  “You wanna tell ‘em all about items 1 through 5 or should I?”

“I wanna hear about item three!” Clint piped up.

“I don’t!” Sam was adamant.

“Why only item 3?” Thor asked, curious.

“Science, bro, science.”

Sam snorted.  “Science?”

“Items 1 and 2, they’re gonna be a little kinky, but you’re still trying not to frighten off your partner.  Light bondage, public sex, that kinda thing.  Items 4 and 5, they risk being too out-there for me and too person/couple specific.  Item 3 is the perfect blend of kinky without being outside my comfort zone.”

“The thought you’ve put into that is-” Sam began.

“Terrifying?” Thor finished.

“I was going to say concerning, but close enough.”

“So, Martian, what’s item 3?”

 “If I don’t get to know what happened in Budapest, you don’t get to hear their kinky sex list.  It’s not like we’re not gonna be living it with them for the next six months.”

“Ooooh,” Clint turned to me, eyes alight.  “Is it a threesome? Because I don’t think the bunks are big enough and if it is, Nat and I should get dibs on Sam, we got together first, if anyone gets Sam, it’s us.”  He turned to his girlfriend for support, and actually got it, because Natasha is as much an asshole as the rest of us, she’s just so much more subtle about it.

Natasha nodded, smiling at Sam.  “Hello, Sailor,” she crooned with a slow, seductive smile that could only be described as predatory.

She’d eat him alive.

“Should we return to the kissing list?” Thor asked, possibly to disguise how put out he was that there wasn’t currently a bidding war over his body.  But we ain’t all stupid; Jane might be small, but she packs a punch, figuratively and literally.  I’ve seen her slap Loki for some shit he pulled on his brother, and that’s like taking your life into your own hands.  I expected to hear some venomous snake had been found in her lab, but the asshole just took it.

If Loki fears and respects you enough to not seek revenge, you’re to be held in awe.  Thor is hers.  We don’t touch.

“Yeah, Sam, let’s return to the kissing list.”

“Fuck off, Romanoff.”

“I stole a ship with you, and besides, I am not your entertainment and this isn’t inter-planetary spin the bottle,” Sam argued.

 “I am not your entertainment and this isn’t inter-planetary spin the bottle,” Sam argued.

“Not yet, but it could be.”

“With tongue,” I chimed in.  “Pucker up!" 

Were I able to lean over the table, I’d have smacked a kiss right onto his surprised face, but the thought of moving makes me want to cry, so I could only beckon him closer, crooking my fingers at him, in the least sexy form of seduction possibly ever.

Sam’s flash of alarm was hysterical, panic flitting across his face before his smile turned sly.

"I'm delegating that...honour," it sounded insultingly like a question, "to our Commander."

"Wuss."

"When it comes to making out with you, I'll wuss out every damn time."

“I’m all minty-fresh,” I promised, running my tongue along my squeaky clean teeth.  Thankfully not so minty that it was going to make it taste like spearmint was an extra topping on my pizza.  All of you who’ve brushed your teeth and then eaten right after know what I’m talking about – it’s disgusting.

“You know, my man, your breath is way down my list of considerations.”

“Could change your life.”

“My life is just fine, thank you.”

Remember how I said that I’d missed these fuckers when I was finally able to speak to them? How it hit me like a fucking brick? That was nothing to right now.  Hearing their chattering, watching ‘em shove and tug on each other, their easy smiles and easier laughter…

It was home.  Like it was just any other of the hundreds of days we’ve spent together, not one of the most momentous days in human existence.  Not the most important day of my existence. I felt myself relax a little, knew Steve felt it too, from the way he flashed me a smile.

I turned to the man at my side and gave him a smile of my own, a little less manic than before, if the way he lit up was any judge, though he still looked at me with concern.  “Maybe he needs a little woo-ing?  I gotta make him feel special?”

“Nah,” Steve answered. “He’s waiting on Doctor Carter.”

“Really?” I drawled, turning to the pilot, one eyebrow raised.  Steve ain’t the only one who is the King of Smirking.

“Jealous?” Sam shot back, flipping me off.

“Fuck no! I got my own hot blond right here.”  A hot blond that actually blushed, the adorable fucker.

“Speaking of hot blonds,” Clint interrupted, running his hand through his hair, spiking it up. “Am I on that list?”

“For providing me with all that quality entertainment? Hell yeah.”  Sam snorted and muttered under his breath something about morons sticking together.

“Alrighty then.” He laughed. “Came all the way back to Mars, risked my perfect ass – I’m collecting my reward.”

Clint clambered up onto the table, crawled his way across – to the horror of Sam as his plate was ‘accidentally’ knocked into his lap, and the amusement of Thor and Natasha, who slapped his ass as he passed - to me, pursing his lips and blowing me kisses.

He left the decision to me, keeping his hands firmly on his thighs where he settled back on his heels before me. He might act it most of the time, but he ain’t actually stupid – he knew I was unsettled and kinda freaked out. Now he was done with his doctoring and ensuring I wasn’t about to drop dead, he was letting me choose who and how to touch.

He was also betting I’d not follow through.

I was happy to call his bluff.

In deference to my ribs and the very real possibility that I was gonna fall flat forward onto the table asleep, I moved slowly and laid a real loud smacker on him, much to Steve’s amusement, the big dork almost herniating something he laughed so hard, throwing his head back so far it looked painful.

"Oh, yeah, totally worth another year in space!” Clint sank backwards until he was nearly lying backwards across the table, legs still folded beneath him, running his fingers over his lips as though in a daze, fanning his face with his other hand. “Don't know what you're missing, Wilson." Clint rocked up onto his feet in one fluid movement, tiptoeing back to his seat and dropping down off the table.

Acrobats are fucking show-offs, but I couldn’t resist throwing a wink and a thumbs up in Natasha’s direction, who merely returned it with a smug and satisfied smile, which was more information that I really needed, but good to know that space-sex is totally worth it.

"I'll go right on in my blissful ignorance," Sam announced with a smile, kicking out at Clint as he went past to get the pizza left for Steve and me out of the microwave.

It was only then that I noticed the two white pills by my water glass. I glanced up at Clint who was leaning against the counter, watching me like he was waiting for me to notice. He raised his right hand up in front of his face, palm towards him and moved it downwards, closing his fingers down to press against his thumb as he reached his chin.

The sign for sleep.

Even with the painkillers, sleep with broken ribs was going to be tough and I was gonna need every bit of help I could get.  The shower had been necessary – and fun – but also exhausting and painful, and whatever Clint had snuck me during my exam was starting to wear off.  My ribs burned with every breath, and while I could feel myself sagging more and more against Steve, I knew I was too keyed up and in pain to sleep without some form of assistance. Signing my thanks, pressing my flat hand to my lips and then forward and down, I took the pills without hesitation.  Steve hummed his approval, pressing a kiss to my cheekbone as a reward for following through on doctor’s orders without complaint for what might have been the first time ever.

Almost like I got a reputation for being a pain in the ass. 

Rude.

Natasha was, as always, far more subtle in how she came to talk to me, waiting for Sam and Clint to get into a nonsense fight over nothing at the microwave, Clint loudly proclaiming himself the king of pizza prep and Sam disagreeing loudly, to slip silently out of her seat and coming to crouch by my side while Thor and Steve chatted about fuck knows what.  Chemistry, probably.  Nerds.

Like Clint, Nat kept her hands to herself.

“Hey you,” she whispered.

“Hey you.”

She glanced to where my hand rested in Steve’s on his thigh and smiled.

“You always had to do things the hard way but you get there in the end.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Pot,” I pointed at her, “meet kettle.” We both looked over to where Clint was trying to get the now steaming pizza off the hot plate and onto two cool ones without burning his fingers.  He wasn’t successful and Sam was no use whatsoever, leaning with his hip against the counter, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the King do his thing.

Thankfully Thor, because he was a kind-hearted soul, took pity on him, leaving his conversation with Steve to go help.  I swear, the guy’s spent so long fucking with various chemicals and getting shit on his hands, that he has no feeling left in his fingers because he just grabbed that plate like it was nothing, while Clint looked on, mulishly, examining the reddening ends to his fingers even I could see and my vision was still blurry as shit.

“We do get there in the end, don’t we?” I looked back to her as she watched Clint.

Nat’s a gorgeous woman at the best of times – flat out classic beauty with her flawless skin, sparkling eyes and full lips, but right then, watching Clint, she fucking glowed.

Wonder if I look that happy – and dopey – when I look at Steve?

Looking back to me, Natasha presented her cheek, tapping it with one finger.  “I stole a ship for you, I’m thinking that got me on the list.” Like her boyfriend, she left the decision up to me and I was more than happy to bestow a soft kiss.  She smiled and nodded, her eyes a tiny bit glassy, the most openly emotional I'd ever seen her.  I used my free hand to reach for hers and dropped another kiss on the back of her knuckles, because she might be able to kill with her pinky, but this gal deserves to be treated like the goddamn lady that she is.

I tapped my own cheek, and she gifted a kiss of her own.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

It wasn’t for the kiss.

God-damn gonna cry again, could feel it in how shaky my breath was gettin’ and how my eyes burned, and I ain’t doing that shit here so I nipped it in the bud, or again tonight because there is a fucking limit, even if it meant risking the possibility of getting punched by Natasha at a later date.

“I’m gonna hear that a lot, ain’t I?” I asked, no real heat to my words.

“What?”

“I stole a ship for you, do this.  I stole a ship for you, do that.”

Her sly smile suggested that yes, on a goddamn fucking daily basis.  I was oddly okay with that.  But I couldn’t let her and the crew know that, could I?  Had to at least put up a token resistance.

“Clint? I gotta ask, man. You said you’d always had a crush on my fine ass…that three-way offer still open or can we borrow Nat?”  Maybe not my best shit-stirring, but I’m fucking exhausted, drugged to oblivion, and in pain.

I did my best.

Barton’s spluttering was totally worth it, Natasha’s chuckle suggesting I might get away with it, and the sound of Thor heartily patting the doctor on the back even better.

Hey, misery ain’t the only thing that loves company – pain does too; Clint was going to have some impressive bruises.

I missed these bastards.  That knot in my stomach eased again.

The pizza - and fuck me it was good even if it was thin crust microwave shit that back on Earth I wouldn’t have looked at twice, but hey at least on Valkyrie unlike ISS it didn’t have to be coated in gelatin to prevent crumbs- -made my stomach roil and cramp up after months of little but potatoes, but if there'd been more of it, I'd have given it my best shot to eat it. As it was Steve tried to give up a slice of his, but I wouldn’t let him. I’d only vomit, and besides, I ain’t the only one that needs to put some weight back on.

Melted cheese is ambrosia, I ain’t even kidding.  Melted cheese on everything from now until I die.  Fuck my cholesterol, I’m gonna die happy.

All I needed was a beer and the night would be complete.

Honestly, I think if I’d had a beer, I’d have passed out at the table. The moment the food hit my stomach, it sucked what little remaining energy I had right out, my body putting what was left into digestion.

Or maybe it was the sleeping pills.

Steve ain’t no dummy though – he sensed it immediately, gently tugging me hand until I got the message to rest my head against his shoulder, chewing slowly as I let the chatter of my crew wash over me.  This was what I’m dreamed of so often as I fell asleep alone to nothing more than the squeaks and pings of the Hab. 

This was family.  I was safe.  I could relax.  No more did I have to worry about the Hab decompressing in the middle of the night.  No more did I have to watch the ever dwindling pile of potatoes and worry, instead I could open a cupboard and a freaking smorgasbord of food was available.  No more did I have to struggle and fight alone. 

I was home and I could rest now.

Fucking luxury.  Fucking headfuck.

None of which stopped me from hearing when Sam got up, clearing the plate in front of me, making his way to the counter.

“Hey, Sam, while you’re up, wanna do me a solid?” I slit my eyes open to look hopefully up at him, to the espresso machine, and back again. He got it real quick.

“You think just because your ass got left on Mars for eighteen months, I’m gonna be making you coffee?”

“Uh, yeah?” I pouted for good measure, batting my eyelashes which was a mistake because fucking ow, but I am nothing if not a professional and powered through.

Sam just stared back, utterly unimpressed.

“I remember the deal being that you were going to be making me coffee every day.”  He would remember that.  I lifted my head from Steve’s shoulder which took way more effort than I am comfortable in admitting.

Was my head always this fucking h   eavy?

“Well, sure, but that’s in the mornings. It’s not morning.” He just snorted at me, so I pulled out the big guns.

Steve ain’t the only master of the puppy-dog eyes.

“Please?”

“Why should I?”

“Because I’ve been fighting for my life for over a year, all on my own, stuck with only Clint’s shitty TV and Natasha’s shittier music.” I smirked. “Of course that left me with your interesting entertainment choices. It had me wondering about the name Fal-”

I could tell the microsecond he caved, my frown turning upside down as I grinned at him. “Two sugars.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Ya know, you probably shouldn’t have a cof-” Clint started.

Oh, fuck no.

I wasn’t getting this close to real coffee and having Doctor Bossy-Barton ruining my moment.

“Fuck off, Doc. I ain’t had coffee in eighteen months. Eighteen months. I don’t give a shit if it’s late, or if I’ve been to hell and back, or it’s bad for me or anything else. I’m having a fucking cup of coffee and you can’t stop me.”

“Half a cup, Sam,” Clint called over his shoulder to the pilot.

“Full cup,” I countered, glowering at Clint.

“Y’all can stop with the orders. I’m not your barista,” Sam declared as he brought over my coffee.

Sam leant over my shoulder and plunked the cup down.  It was full to the brim, because he might be an asshole, but he knows where it’s at.  We all run on caffeine to a dangerous level.

“My liege.”

“Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”

Good God was coffee always this good?  I mighta added to my list of injuries by burning the fuck outta my tongue, but it was so worth it the second that bitter brew hit my taste-buds.  I’ve survived off coffee pretty much since Pa died, it kept me going through school and two jobs and keeping my girls together and I have fucking missed it.

My decision to French the coffee maker is 100% justified.

Sam slid into the seat next to mine while I was busy murmuring declarations of love into my coffee cup, crooning at the life-giving liquid.

“So,” he murmured, “how you doing with all this?”

I glanced to my side to where Steve was apparently deep in conversation with Nat who’d slid onto the bench next to him rather than return to her own seat, but I wasn’t the only one that was aware that about 70% of his attention was actually on me.

I was also pretty sure that life was too damn short to pretend I didn’t know what ‘this’ Sam was talking about.

Here’s a clue – he wasn’t asking about the pizza or his coffee making skills.

“Honestly?”         

Sam nodded.

“It’s fucking weird.”

That got me a cocked eyebrow and a nod towards Barton.

“Seems accurate for any situation involving Clint.”

“True.”

Sam’s gaze turned sombre once more. “Really though Barnes. You okay?”

I couldn’t help my smile. “Yeah, man. I, uh,” I glanced at Steve out the corner of my eye.

Make that 85% focused on me.

Sam picked up on my discomfort; I don’t wanna talk about it with Sam ‘til I’ve really talked with Steve. He’s a real smart guy though. He nodded once, real slow.

We’d talk another time.

After a pause, I held out my hand.

“Thanks man, for…you know, comin’ to get me.”

A real warmth glowed in Sam’s eyes as he shook my hand, grip tight and warm and his smile was dazzling.  I might, grudgingly, under torture, admit that Sam was an okay looking-dude, but when he smiled like that I could upgrade him to ‘acceptable’.  Carter wasn’t gonna know what hit her when he got home.   

But just ‘cos I’m being all nice to the guy and real grateful for the coffee, I can be as much of an asshole as Clint.

“Ya know, a kiss would be customary about now.” I focused in on his lips, licking my own all slow and deliberate, leaning my head toward him an inch.  Just to see what he’d do.

Which was to put his hand up between us, blocking me from coming closer.

“I’m good with the handshake.”

I clutched my chest, miming my heartbreak.

What can I say? We’re guys. We don’t go in for the Hallmark weeping gratitude.  This demonstration of manly care is how we have heart to hearts.

Sam put his water bottle on the table and jerked his chin towards Steve. “You moving in with Cap?”

“Yep.”

He sighed and glanced at his water, looking like a man desperate for it to transmutate into beer.  He might be the best pilot in the solar system, but he ain’t no god. 

“Damn. And here I am, all outta earplugs.”

“Hey, Sam?” I asked just as he started to stand back up, leaning forward slightly to extract his legs from the bench and just as I wanted he turned to me, still hunched over, inches away.

I made my move.

I didn’t bother trying to grab his face, it’d telegraph my intentions what with how slow I was moving. Instead, I just leant forward and planted one on him.

I figured I’d be nice and spare him the tongue.

“Gah!”

Laughing was so fucking painful and so fucking worth it.

Steve half carried me back to his, to our, bunk and carefully deposited me on the edge of the bed, looking worried as I swayed a bit before holding myself upright.

“I’ll be right back.” Before I could ask him where the fire was, he was gone, his socked feet making no sound on the floor so I had no clue where he was off to.  I scowled at the door, feeling myself fall asleep but still fucked off that the first time the asshole gets me in his bed, he disappeared into thin air.

Before I could really wind up to being pissed off, my eyes slid shut and I could feel myself dropping off to sleep, waking with a start when Steve struggled through the door, grunting and huffing as he muscled a mattress through into his bunk, dropping it to the floor with triumph, like a caveman dropping a kill at the feet of his partner, looking to me for approval.

Which I kinda struggled with.

“Uhhhh. What?” I mumbled, looking between the mattress and Steve and back again. 

Before Steve can suggest some stupid shit like his sleeping on the floor, I cut him off.

“You promised me.”  It came out more like a whine than the accusation I intended, bu it got through to him, and for what I’m gonna go right ahead and guess was the first time in his life, Steve didn’t argue.

Alert the press.

“Noo, no,” he waved his hands around like some manic puppet.  “I was gonna pull the other mattress down too…” He blushed again, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

The bunks on Valkyrie are like the shower – ain’t exactly built for two, especially two big guys, one of whom is a tiny bit delicate.

Repeat that, and I’m denying it.

I smiled at him, slow and sleepy.  “You wanna build me a pillow fort.”

“Not anymore,” he groused.

“Babe, not that I don’t appreciate the effort, but there ain’t the room.  Steve frowned and looked at the mattress at my feet and then around the room as though looking at it for the first time.  Our rooms ain’t large, and the mattress barely fit in the space between bunk and desk.  There was no way another mattress was gonna fit on the floor to give us more space unless we relocated to the Rec Room and just the thought made me wanna die.

I might be back on Valkyrie but I’m still an overdramatic shit.

Besides, I was looking forward to getting all up close and personal with Steve.

Which happened about three seconds later when he stepped between my splayed thighs and curled around me.  And just as I started to nuzzle into that perfect belly, the fucker hauled me to my feet.

“Ugh,” I muttered as I got my feet under me.  The whole day had caught up with me in one big-ass go and I just wanted to sleep and him making me get off the bed was exactly the opposite of what I wanted.

Steve shuffled me backwards and rested me against the wall, and when I was more aware I might have some not-so-gentlemanly things to say about being hauled around like some sorta UPS package, but I merely grunted and watched in appreciation as he leaned over to muscle the extra mattress onto the bunk, and then snorted in amusement when the idiot remembered that sheets are a thing, had to haul it back off, strip the bed and then repeat the actions.

Wanna know how thin our mattresses are? Even doubled up, Steve was able to make his bed perfectly, no short-sheeting here.  Somewhere Phillips was getting off on those sharp corners and tight tucks.

At least someone was gonna be getting off. 

Soon as he was done, Steve turned just quickly enough to stop me sliding down the wall and falling asleep in a ball in the corner, those delightful arms putting themselves to good use once more and wrapping around me, not objecting when I leaned more than a little of my weight against him.

I just needed one thing to make it perfect.

NASA really needed to embrace the fucking button-down, ‘cos getting my shirt off over my head again wasn’t a lot of fun.  If I’m finally getting to sleep in Steve’s arms, I ain’t doing it in no scrub top bullshit borrowed from Clint. 

I think the asshole might actually have jettisoned my Mars clothes.  Fucker.  I coulda auctioned that shit off when I got home.  Made a fucking mint. 

Watching Steve’s chest get revealed again as he stripped, one handed no less and I’d like to think he kept hold of me with one arm because he didn’t want to let go and not because he was literally the only thing holding me up, was lots of fun.

Don’t think I’m ever going to get tired of looking at him. Touching though, touching was better.  We’ve only been together a few hours and already we slot into each other’s arms perfectly.  I’m either romantic or a little stoned.

Maybe both. I keep tellin’ ya, I’m a complex guy.

One large hand slid up my spine, nails trailing against my skin to send goose-bumps skittering across my stomach, fingers burying into my hair, the other hand sliding around my waist.

“Are we dancing?” I asked, nosing into his hair, breathing in the soft scent of soap and Steve as I spread my hands across his warm back as he rocked us from side to side, slowly making our way to the bed.

“Took us long enough, huh?”

I pressed a kiss below his ear. “You’re not stepping on my toes.  I was promised toe-stompage.”

“Jerk.”

From out in the hall, I could just hear the soft steps of Natasha as she padded down towards her bunk and the sharp tap of her nails twice against our door in goodnight, soon followed by Thor, his extreme size and bulk evident in his slower, heavier footfalls.  A few minutes later, Clint wandered past, arguing with Sam over some inconsequential shit, voices low, the pad of their feet irregular as they jostled each other down the hall.

The everyday sounds of family.

But there’s an even better sound going on just beneath my ear. The strong and sure heartbeat of the man I love.  When you think about it, a heartbeat is everyone’s first lullaby.  It’s been a good couple decades since I needed one, but right now, I’m real happy I got this one.

Steve tried to pull away, tried to shift us onto the bed instead of next to it, but as exhausted as I was, as much as I was seconds away from falling asleep standing up, the bed wasn’t what I wanted just then.

“Sto’,” I slurred, tightening my grip, resisting his efforts as best I could, hugging him as close as my limbs, no longer really listening to my brain, could manage.

Which was embarrassingly little but when you’re dead weight and your lover is scared of harming you, you’d be surprised what you can achieve.

“Snuggler.”

“Fuc’ off, Rogers.”

He gave up in his efforts, resting his head against my shoulder as I wedged my head into the crook of his neck, seeking out that lullaby.

This was good.  This was enough.

This was home.