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caiusbackupTitle: A Matter of Costume
Pairing: Captain America (Steve Rogers)/Falcon (Sam Wilson)
Rating: Adult; there be sex.
Summary: Just before Avengers Disassembled, Sam Wilson switches his costume to one that (gasp!) covers his entire chest. Steve is concerned.
Word count: 5500ish
A/N: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
likeadeuce for betaing. Inspired by a chat with harmonyangel, to whom this is dedicated. :D
"Sam, I'm worried about you," Steve said, quite out of the blue, as they left the SHIELD gym.
Sam stared at Steve in confusion. He'd thought he'd been done quite well, actually; he'd lost, but it wasn't everyone who could last very long against Captain America. And for an indoor fight, where he and Redwing hadn't been able to use flight to its full advantage and he hadn't been able to call in any other allies, he'd done better than usual. But Steve was the expert. "Really? I didn't think I did that badly." Sam grinned. "I even got you a time or two."
"No, not about that. You're as good a fighter as you ever were. Better, even." Steve paused, a little awkwardly.
Sam grinned at the compliment. "Great to hear it. So--what's the problem?"
"I've just been thinking and--Sam, are you worried about getting older?" It still didn't sound quite what Steve was planning on saying.
Sam blinked. Steve was one to ask! "Not any time soon, no." Was Steve worried about his own age, and projecting for some reason?
"That's good. That's really good because--I wanted you to know, you're a very attractive man, and that hasn't changed at all since we first met," Steve said, very seriously. "And I don't want you to think otherwise."
Sam stared. "What? Why the--why are you so worried about my self-image all of a sudden, Steve? Whatever gave you the impression that I had problems with it? Or that they would be your business if I did?"
"You started covering up your chest. And you've barely had a date since." Steve crossed his arms and stared at Sam's chest, then up into his eyes.
Sam looked down at his chest, too. He hadn't had any problems with it previously, but Steve was starting to make him wonder. "I just thought it would be a better look--my old costume was way out of style. And hey--you cover your chest, too! So do most people, in fact." And as for the dating--well, he hadn't been having many dates before then, either. And since he'd stepped up his superhero work lately, he hadn't had the time, either.
"Yes, but--you didn't used to. For years. And I know you didn't always think you were worth as much as you were, so I just thought you could use a reminder." Steve seemed to get a grip on himself, and moved from 'awkward' to 'lecture'. "A negative self-image can be very unhealthy."
"But I never obsessed about my appearance, Steve! And I didn't take being patronized very well then, either." Sam turned away. "I've gotta go. My partner's waiting." He launched into the sky, circled around with Redwing a few times, and left.
Steve had been Sam's best friend for years, but it was times like this that made him wonder how they'd ever managed to live with each other, back when they were closer and Sam was younger and touchier.
Arrogant, self-important, patronizing old man, Sam grumbled to himself as he flew back home. And yet he certainly didn't want to live without him.
Go find someone to beat up? Redwing asked.
Yes, Sam said, and they went on a patrol of the neighborhood.
There weren't any supervillains out. The few minor situations they ran into required more negotiation than they did punching--kids robbing parked cars and the like. It wasn't a good afternoon for catharsis through violence, but it was good for focusing Sam's mind on something other than Steve's ineffable Steve-ness.
By the time he got home, verified that no one had left him a particularly important message, and took a shower, he was thinking about Steve again. He sighed. What was going on there? After what had happened with the Avengers--one of Steve's friends going mad and killing three of the others, and his losing the team that was so much of his life--it was no surprise he'd be a little more mother-hen-like than usual. Still, though, it was an odd thing for Steve to fixate on--usually Steve's awareness of fashion and clothing was extremely limited.
Suddenly, his train of thought froze, as Sam remembered what he'd managed to forget in all the bits about his costume and body-image: you're a very attractive man, and that hasn't changed at all since we first met.
Was this all just a very odd way for Steve to tell Sam that he was attracted to him?
If it was--did Steve realize this? And perhaps more importantly--what was Sam going to do about it?
Actually, the answer to that was simpler than Sam would like it to be: if Steve asked, Sam would say yes. He'd known this for years, but he'd always been able to count of Steve not asking. Not for that, anyway.
When Sam got out of the shower, there was a message on his personal line. That was fast, he thought. He pushed the play button.
As expected, it was Steve. "I'm sorry about what I said. About your costume. I was...presuming too much." A pause. "Can I come over tomorrow?"
Sam pondered. Did he want to risk yet another round of Steve awkwardly trying to explain how, really, he hadn't meant to be offensive?
Well, yes. If he could get an answer from Steve on this one, he sure wanted one. And if not--well, Steve had enough experience by now that he could usually figure out when it was best to just drop a subject and go on with his life.
Besides, although Sam was doing just fine, he was worried about Steve.
He called back, and Steve picked up immediately. "Sam!"
"Hi, Steve. I got the message. So--you want to come over tomorrow for a rematch?"
"Yes, that would be wonderful." He paused. "As I said, I'm very sorry about earlier."
"I forgive you." As always. "Come to my place this time? We can go out on the rooftops where I've got a better chance!"
The next day, after warming up a bit in his apartment, Sam went to get out his costume and paused. He did still have a few older versions of the costume, toward the back...he pulled the new ones and his regular clothes aside to take a look.
First, there was the one he'd switched from just a few months ago, the one with just the sides exposed. Not his finest hour, fashion-wise. Was that the one Steve was having nostalgia for? He had switched out of it just before what had happened with Wanda and the Avengers, but it hardly seemed like there could have been cause and effect there. Unless--it had been the Wasp's suggestion he try a new costume, and she had reminded Wanda of her children again, too (which were demons? or something? Sam was not entirely clear what had happened there, and it had all seemed horribly ill-advised). But anyway, that hardly seemed likely--the Wasp was always suggesting new costumes to people, she was a fashion designer after all.
He put it back. He didn't care what Steve thought, he wasn't putting that one on again. Especially since it would seem like he was admitting he had some sort of self-image problem which--he looked down at his bare chest--was clearly absurd. He got more than enough exercise to keep himself in good shape! Besides, more chest protection was just good sense, and he'd gotten the wings upgraded too.
He looked further back. The next one in there was armored. That had been...well, not an entirely unreasonable idea on his part, but it had been too heavy to fly in easily, and armor plus partially exposed body parts was absurd anyway.
And then--he dug further back. And then there was the old red one with the vest. That one he did have some affection for--he'd worn it the longest, and he and Steve had had some good times in it. Style-wise it was...well, the seventies were over long after he'd relinquished that outfit. He didn't have the green-and-orange version at all anymore--it had long since been destroyed. It was a shame--it had been his very first, and he remembered fondly the old man who'd made it way back on Exiles' Island.
As well as, of course, his first meeting with Steve. He smiled, and played the costume back and forth between hands, remembering the old days, when he was young and foolish and their partnership was new and strong...
It was hopelessly out of date, though. He put the old costume back in the closet--but not too far back--and put on the current costume instead.
A few minutes after he suited up, he heard a tap on the window. Right on time. "Hi, Steve." He opened the window for his friend to climb in.
"How are you doing?" Steve looked a bit more genuinely concerned than Sam was comfortable with.
"I'm doing all right." Sam paused, and considered just trying to ignore it all and go on with the spar. But considering his own trip down costume memory lane just now, he was too curious to just let it go. "So do you have an explanation for yesterday?"
"I'm sorry? I'm not sure there's a very good one, really, but there was this case..." Steve launched into a long and detailed description of a case involving mutant growth hormone usage among middle-aged men seeking muscles and beauty. A false promise, of course, and most of them wound up crazed and deformed, requiring long years of recovery or expensive surgery or both if they were ever to return to normal. It was an interesting story in its own right and Sam made some mental notes for the next time the drug--inevitably--showed up in his area.
Nonetheless he found himself getting increasingly offended and bemused. "So...you thought I was like them?"
"Not really, no, I mean, obviously not." Steve, no longer giving a case description, returned to tongue-tied awkwardness. "I just--it was the first time I'd heard people talk about body dysmorphia as an actual disorder, certainly the first time I'd heard of it for men. And I remembered how I felt, when I was a teenager--mostly it was not being able to serve my country, obviously, but it wasn't fun for other reasons, either. And I was thinking about your recent costume change and everything else that's been going on lately and...I was worried. Too much, obviously."
"It's okay, Steve. Really."
But Steve was starting to warm up, and he'd obviously been thinking hard about this. "Sam, I don't want to lose you. And I know you were affected by the whole thing, with Wanda and all."
"Franky, Steve, I'm a lot more worried about you. It was a horrible thing and a tragic loss for everyone, but you know I've never been all that close to the Av--the other Avengers." Once an Avenger, always an Avenger was what they said, but Sam still had trouble thinking of himself as one. "Certainly not as close as you were, and Wanda was one of your oldest friends in this time." He paused. Perhaps this wasn't entirely the best time to bring up his ambivalence toward that team, but it was done. "And I care about you, and I'm here for you." He pulled Steve into a hug.
Steve clung to him. "Thank you, Sam, that does mean a lot to me." He pulled away. "Do you want to help me form a new team...?"
"I'm sorry, Steve, you know I'm no good at that." Which is not to say that he wouldn't try, if Steve asked nicely enough. But Sam really hoped he wouldn't.
"I know, I know." Steve looked down.
Sam grinned suddenly and put a hand on his shoulder. "Would it help if I put on my old uniform for you?"
Steve looked up and stared at him. "That's not--well, okay, I did like the old ones a lot. The one from the old days, you know, with the--" He made a v-shaped gesture at his chest. "It was so...daring."
"I thought maybe you did." It made marginally more sense of yesterday's comments, anyway. "Remember your old Nomad suit?"
"Yes." Steve smiled sadly. "Not a good time, although I was sort of proud of it. Silly cape and all." He paused. "I wonder how Jack is doing?"
"You'd know more than I would, I think. He's always welcome here, of course, but I haven't seen him in a year or two." Sam and Jack had never been entirely comfortable with each other; their first encounter, back when Jack was still playing the role of the Bucky of the fifties, had been beyond unfortunate, and even as much as Jack had gotten past his old attitudes, it had never been quite enough.
"Me either." Steve frowned. "Like so many people. When Dennis turned up in the sewers, I had to hear about it from Matt."
"I was shocked too. But he's okay now. Getting better, anyway." Sam had made sure to get Dennis on his case list, so he'd been keeping track of that one personally.
"It's good to hear." There was an awkward pause. Steve looked down, and then after a moment, up again into Sam's eyes. "Yes."
"Yes, he's a remarkably resilient man."
"No--I mean, of course, about Dennis, but I meant--yes. I would like to see the old costume. For old times' sake." Steve blushed.
Sam raised an eyebrow. He hadn't quite expected it to get this far, but he'd be fooling himself if he'd hadn't been preparing to play dress-up. "Sure. But not to fight in--I've had some upgrades to my wings since then, and although I am still backwards compatible--I wouldn't want to trust my life to the old ones any more than I have to."
"Understood." Steve perched on the table and watched as Sam went over and pulled out the costume. As Sam started to take his current costume off, though, he looked away.
Sam switched quickly. After all this time, the costume felt decidedly odd--he could remember, of course, when it had felt like a second skin, and when there had seemed nothing more normal than to take off into the night in it, but now he felt exposed and gaudy, dressed up rather than dressed. He looked over at Steve, who was still looking away, adding to the weird intensity of the moment. There was a time when Steve wouldn't have thought twice about the outfit, either. Or at least, Sam hadn't thought he had been thinking twice about it. He shook his head. "You can look again, now."
Steve looked him up and down and beamed. "You look...you look just like old times."
"Thank you. I guess." Sam turned around slowly. It seemed appropriate. The difference in the wings was starting to register in the mental connections, faint and inefficient and off, but it was overshadowed by how intensely he was feeling Steve's gaze on him. It was almost the way he felt Redwing (also pushed into the back of his mind at the moment), except that he knew it had to be illusory.
"It's very nice," Steve said wistfully.
"Thank you." Sam paused. "Well, I guess I'll take it off, then, and we'll get on with that spar I promised you."
"You sure you don't want to keep it on?" Steve said. "I'm glad you've gotten better wings and all, but--you were always more than the wings. You were an excellent crime-fighter even without them."
"Well, there is something to be said for training in more difficult situations." Sam gave in to the excitement that was building inside him. What were good wings and a dignified costume as compared to the look on Steve's face just now? "But if I'm wearing this, we're fighting indoors. Even if it does put you at more of an advantage."
"Which is not why I'm suggesting this, of course!" Steve pulled his eyes back up to Sam's. Then they drifted down again.
"Of course not! You know you can beat me nine times out of ten even when we're in the open air and you're covered in pigeon droppings." Which hadn't been Sam's idea, actually. His control over birds wasn't extensive enough to control that sort of function. Even if it was, of course, his idea to have them attack Steve in a swarm in the first place.
"The time I wound up covered in pigeon droppings you stopped fighting and made me take a shower. Which you shouldn't do, because your enemies are going to take advantage of that." Between the pigeon droppings and the part where he was still looking at Sam's chest, Steve wasn't managing to sound very stern.
"And you know darn well I don't stop the fight on account of pigeon droppings when I'm fighting my enemies." This was true: Stilt-Man still hadn't forgiven Sam for that particular embarrassment. "But enough about bird poop, Steve." Sam looked at his watch. "We should be able to get use the gym down the street. I've been trying to get some more funding so it can be open more hours, but meanwhile, it's empty and I've got a key."
"Sounds good. Well, not about the hours, obviously, but good that we can use it."
After about fifteen minutes of figuring out how to best get over there without anyone seeing Sam's old costume or deciding to follow Captain America around with news teams, plus mollifying a disappointed Redwing who had not wanted another indoor practice session, they arrived. Steve looked around. "Not bad."
"Yeah, it's a great gym. Too bad we don't have the money for more staff." Sam pulled off the jacket he'd been using to cover his costume, and sure enough, Steve started looking at his chest again. Had it been like this back in the day? Maybe a little. But then, back then both of them had been used to the costume.
The spar was going way too well. Which is to say--Sam was winning in a close-quarters, indoor fight with Captain America, which meant something was going wrong. Redwing had gotten through Steve's defenses three times well enough to scratch him and draw blood--not much blood, but it was surprising and distressing to Redwing, who had only attacked so hard in a practice session because he'd assumed he wasn't going to get through. Steve was obviously distracted, and of course he'd suffered far worse--but Redwing's distressed confusion was starting to distress Sam as well.
I'll handle it, he told Redwing, firmly.
Okay, Redwing sent back. Human things again?
Yes. Very much human things.
He and Steve were rolling around on the ground by now. Now, normally, wrestling with Steve was pleasurable and invigorating, but more as an exercise of skill than anything else--the man was simply too good to think of much of anything else, including how pleasant it would be to feel that body against you doing something else.
But today--clearly Steve was thinking about something else, and it showed. At least he seemed to be distracted by Sam's costume rather than by all the stuff that had gone down with the Avengers.
And then Sam had Steve--wonder of wonders--pinned to the ground beneath him. Steve smiled up at him. "Congratulations."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "I know this costume doesn't make me a better fighter, Steve, so don't pretend I won this one fair and square." He moved slightly and ground down--sure enough.
Steve turned crimson, and completely failed, considering their positions, to get away. Although Sam was sure that, if Steve had really wanted to get up, he could have. "I really do think you have it in you..."
"Right, Steve, and unless you really want me to yell at you for patronizing me and walk out on you again, don't give me that line again. Is that really the part of the past you want to bring back? Do you want me to go try to beat up Spider-Man again, for old times' sake?"
"I--I'm not sure what I want anymore. Everything changed." Steve gave him the despairing-old-hero-who-lost-his-sidekick look. It almost made Sam want to get up off him, give him some space and time to think.
But no. If Sam got up now, they might go on to forget about it and the moment would be lost. "I can't give you the Avengers back, Steve. I can't make it ten years ago. But I know that the Avengers will come back and...I'm not going to wear this costume in public again, but if you want, I'll wear it for you. In private."
Steve looked at him in puzzlement. "Wear it for me in private? For training, you mean? Like now?"
And this would be one of the many reasons he and Steve had never actually slept together. Except in a literal sense; there had definitely been a night or two where they'd shared a bed, as friends, and even when they'd held each other after nightmares. Because Steve was the sort of guy you could do that with, without him thinking that it was odd, and that would be why this was so difficult. "In bed. Because you've been looking at my chest the whole time I've been in this today. Because you spar like you'd rather be doing something else. And because at the moment, I'd like nothing more than to take you back home and let you take this costume off me."
Steve lay there, completely still. "That would change everything."
"Everything's changed already, Steve. You just said so. And some things are never going to change, I promise--we've been friends through a lot more serious things than this, and whether you say yes or no, this isn't going to change that." Sam hoped. Sam really hoped.
Steve seemed to collect himself. "And I'll always be your friend, too. As long I can, as long as you let me."
"I know, Steve. And I love you, too. Now--may I give you a kiss and take you home?"
Steve sighed, happily. "Please."
Sam let Steve out of the pin to gently hold Steve's head as he leaned down and kissed him. Steve's hands instantly went to touch Sam's sides--gently, tentatively, as Sam kissed Steve's mouth, tenderly and close-mouthed, and then guided Steve's hands to the center of his chest as he kissed him again, deeper. Sam had never thought of his chest sexually before yesterday, but Steve's hands, strong and skillful and so clearly enjoying themselves--that was hot.
Sam stood up, regretfully. "We should get out of here. They're going to open up again soon for the night classes."
"Yes, definitely." Steve, flustered and much clumsier than usual, stood up next to him. "Back to your place?" He asked hopefully.
"Definitely." Sam leaned over to give him another brief kiss, which Steve leaned back into quite nicely. But they did have to be going.
As soon as they got into the open, Sam suggested to Redwing that perhaps he would like to do some hunting in the fresh air? Which was just what Redwing had been thinking; he'd had more than enough humans and close quarters for the time being. So that was all right.
It was a much briefer and less dignified scramble back to Sam's place than it had been to the gym, and Steve kept looking at him--not his chest, that was covered up, his face--and beaming all the way, and Sam couldn't help but beam back. It was really a very good thing that no one Sam knew tried to talk to them. If this worked out at all, they would have to figure out how to deal with the public aspects eventually, but this was not the time.
He had Steve here and now and he wasn't going to let go.
It was Steve that pulled Sam into a hug and kiss as soon as they got into the apartment and Sam got the door locked. His arms roamed Sam's back, feeling around and under the back of his vest. And then he pulled back, shyly. "I've never done this with a man before."
"That's all right, don't worry, most of it isn't very different." Sam tried to sound more patient and reassuring than he actually was. Because this was going to require patience. "Come to bed with me?"
Steve still held back. "I feel like I should get you dinner first, or something."
"We can do that later, if you want. But it's not as though we need to get to know each other." Sam pulled him into the bedroom by both arms.
"I don't suppose we do." Steve was let himself be pulled.
Sam sat down on the bed, trying to position himself so as to give a good view of the parts of the costume Steve seemed to like so much. Considering the look on Steve's face, it seemed to be working.
"I should probably take my costume off. Since it's not very comfortable to sleep with. I'm told." Steve blushed.
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Do you want help with that?"
"I'm sure I can manage...oh, you mean--yes, sure." He blushed. "How do you want to do this?"
"Boots first. Sit down." Sam had already shoved his own off, but he tried to do Steve's slowly and sensually. Kneeling between Steve's legs gave Steve an excellent view of his chest and himself an excellent view of, well, Steve's crotch. Which was enticing in its own way.
Steve had already taken off the mask and gloves. That left the mail shirt and pants. Probably Steve would be more comfortable leaving the pants on for now. So: "Shirt next." Sam stood up and pulled the shirt over Steve's head, taking the opportunity to rub his hands over his chest. Steve wasn't the only one who could appreciated a nice chest, and Steve had one of the nicest ones around. And then the undershirt, and Sam pulled Steve into bed with him.
Steve wrapped his arms around him and pulled him very close. "I love you," he said, and they kissed again. "Can I...kiss you?" he ran his hand down the middle of Sam's chest.
"Of course." Sam stroked Steve's hair as he moved his head down to Sam's chest, kissing along the sides of the vest. "I love you too, Steve." It was a nice feeling, though it was even nicer to feel Steve's whole body on top of him and his attention on him.
Sam pulled him up again for a kiss. "About taking that costume off," he said, guiding Steve's hands down toward his shoulders.
Steve blushed, but allowed himself to be guided. "It just pulls down, right?"
"Most of it--hang on, let me release the wings." Steve pulling those off would hurt.
"Right." Between the two of them, they got it off, and both of them were naked to the waist. "So what do you want to do now?" Steve asked.
Oh man. Perhaps Sam should have thought this through a little harder before he deciding sex with Steve would be a good idea. "If you want, we can just kiss for awhile, although eventually I would like to get the rest of our costumes off."
Steve beamed. "That sounds excellent." He pulled Sam close and rolled him over on top of him. Sam leaned down into his lips.
Steve was very good at cuddling. This was something Sam actually already knew, from the old days when they were Just Good Friends, Very Good Friends, and there were...really rather a remarkable number of things that Steve seemed to have no problem doing with or saying to his friend. And for the sake of his job and the relationship he was having (trying to have) with Leila, Sam had been willing to go with that. But there'd never been kissing before. Well, not on the lips, and certainly not with tongue.
Steve was very good with his tongue. Which was the odd thing about the whole experience--the contrast between the bits of this that were completely new to Steve and that he was hesitant and awkward about, and the bits he knew, which he was just as good at as he was at any other physical skill he put his mind to. Did it come automatically with the Serum, or had Sharon or Peggy or someone had to train him?
This was not the time to think about this, clearly. This was the time to keep up his end of the kissing. Sam moaned encouragingly into Steve's mouth and moved his hands up and down against his sides. Steve was holding him too tightly for him to do much more, pressing them bare chest to bare chest, and he didn't want to disturb him just yet. Not for a few more kisses anyway, and maybe a few more...
Eventually, Steve's grip shifted and Sam pulled up a few inches. "Are you okay?" Steve asked.
"Better than okay, Steve. Here--" He took hold of Steve's left hand and guided it further down toward his ass.
Steve looked at him questioningly. "Do you want me to..."
To what? Oh. Damn. "Nothing like that, not yet, just touch me...oh Steve." Dear god, that man's hands felt so nice and large and strong, even when they were being unusually tentative. He moved slightly over so he could push down against Steve's hips, then up into his hands and--wow.
"Is that good?" Steve gave him a look of concentration.
"Yes." Sam slipped his hand between them and reached down toward Steve's pants. He gave Steve a questioning look.
Steve nodded and closed his eyes. And then opened them again, with a gasp, when Sam stroked over his erection through the cloth. "Oh, Sam!"
Sam grinned, and moved his hand up again to the fly. "Can I?" Steve blushed and nodded. Sam beamed back and worked it open. He got up, regretfully, and pulled the pants down and off, throwing them on the floor.
"Do you want me to take yours off?" Steve asked.
"Oh yes." Sam wriggled his hips up and then his legs, letting Steve remove the pants. Another thing, Sam noted, that Steve was expert in, although usually in a distinctly different context.
Steve looked Sam's whole body up and down. "I...wow. I don't suppose you'd consider a pants-less costume, too?"
Sam laughed, startled--he hadn't expected a joke. Although, actually, he might not be joking, considering some of the things people wore to fight crime. "Only in the bedroom, Steve." He pulled Steve down for another kiss. "And only when you wear one."
"I'm not sure the country would approve." Steve said, either deadpan or actually serious.
"You'd be surprised." Sam said dryly. "But I think I'd rather just keep it to myself. Come here."
Steve settled down into his arms and put his head on Sam's chest. "I love you."
"I love you too." Sam stroked Steve's head--the man was so blond--and watched fondly as he kissed Sam's chest, which was apparently appealing even in the absence of the costume. But it was getting to be time to move on. He reached down again toward Steve's crotch and stroked him through the briefs.
Steve gasped. "Sam...!" He looked up from what he was doing. "Do you want me to?" He moved his hand down.
"No, just let me." Sam stroked over the outline of his erection again. "You can keep doing what you're doing, if you want."
Steve buried his head in Sam's chest as Sam reached inside the underpants, rolling them over so he was on his side and Steve on his back so he could get a better angle. And then--oh god, he thought, I'm holding Captain America's penis--but no, this was Steve, he'd seen him naked before and, frankly, desired him for years and he felt (in Sam's admittedly rather limited experience) like any other man, except that this was Steve in his arms, in his hands, trying to bury himself in his chest, and--"Oh god, Steve," Sam groaned out loud.
"Sam!" Steve agreed, and moved his head up to kiss Sam again and oh, god, someday, hopefully soon, Sam was going to want Steve's cock in him like his tongue was just then, like Sam's hand wrapped around Steve's cock, but it had been way too long and Sam just thrust against Steve's thigh, without even taking off his underwear, and came even before he managed to bring Steve off in his hand.
"God. God, Sam, I love you." Steve pulled away, blushing, after he came. "Can I touch you now?" He reached down to Sam's briefs and then looked at him, puzzled, and then, realizing, blushed even more.
Sam's smiled sheepishly. "Later, maybe?" He kissed Steve again, briefly and chastely.
"Yes, yes, definitely." Steve pulled Sam into his arms and held. "I love you."
"I love you too." Sam hugged him back. If he hadn't wanted to cuddle, he wouldn't have done this in the first place. They'd have to get up and shower and figure out what happened next in their lives soon enough, but for now? He was happy to share this little bit of peace with his partner.
Pairing: Captain America (Steve Rogers)/Falcon (Sam Wilson)
Rating: Adult; there be sex.
Summary: Just before Avengers Disassembled, Sam Wilson switches his costume to one that (gasp!) covers his entire chest. Steve is concerned.
Word count: 5500ish
A/N: Thanks to
likeadeuce for betaing. Inspired by a chat with harmonyangel, to whom this is dedicated. :D"Sam, I'm worried about you," Steve said, quite out of the blue, as they left the SHIELD gym.
Sam stared at Steve in confusion. He'd thought he'd been done quite well, actually; he'd lost, but it wasn't everyone who could last very long against Captain America. And for an indoor fight, where he and Redwing hadn't been able to use flight to its full advantage and he hadn't been able to call in any other allies, he'd done better than usual. But Steve was the expert. "Really? I didn't think I did that badly." Sam grinned. "I even got you a time or two."
"No, not about that. You're as good a fighter as you ever were. Better, even." Steve paused, a little awkwardly.
Sam grinned at the compliment. "Great to hear it. So--what's the problem?"
"I've just been thinking and--Sam, are you worried about getting older?" It still didn't sound quite what Steve was planning on saying.
Sam blinked. Steve was one to ask! "Not any time soon, no." Was Steve worried about his own age, and projecting for some reason?
"That's good. That's really good because--I wanted you to know, you're a very attractive man, and that hasn't changed at all since we first met," Steve said, very seriously. "And I don't want you to think otherwise."
Sam stared. "What? Why the--why are you so worried about my self-image all of a sudden, Steve? Whatever gave you the impression that I had problems with it? Or that they would be your business if I did?"
"You started covering up your chest. And you've barely had a date since." Steve crossed his arms and stared at Sam's chest, then up into his eyes.
Sam looked down at his chest, too. He hadn't had any problems with it previously, but Steve was starting to make him wonder. "I just thought it would be a better look--my old costume was way out of style. And hey--you cover your chest, too! So do most people, in fact." And as for the dating--well, he hadn't been having many dates before then, either. And since he'd stepped up his superhero work lately, he hadn't had the time, either.
"Yes, but--you didn't used to. For years. And I know you didn't always think you were worth as much as you were, so I just thought you could use a reminder." Steve seemed to get a grip on himself, and moved from 'awkward' to 'lecture'. "A negative self-image can be very unhealthy."
"But I never obsessed about my appearance, Steve! And I didn't take being patronized very well then, either." Sam turned away. "I've gotta go. My partner's waiting." He launched into the sky, circled around with Redwing a few times, and left.
Steve had been Sam's best friend for years, but it was times like this that made him wonder how they'd ever managed to live with each other, back when they were closer and Sam was younger and touchier.
Arrogant, self-important, patronizing old man, Sam grumbled to himself as he flew back home. And yet he certainly didn't want to live without him.
Go find someone to beat up? Redwing asked.
Yes, Sam said, and they went on a patrol of the neighborhood.
There weren't any supervillains out. The few minor situations they ran into required more negotiation than they did punching--kids robbing parked cars and the like. It wasn't a good afternoon for catharsis through violence, but it was good for focusing Sam's mind on something other than Steve's ineffable Steve-ness.
By the time he got home, verified that no one had left him a particularly important message, and took a shower, he was thinking about Steve again. He sighed. What was going on there? After what had happened with the Avengers--one of Steve's friends going mad and killing three of the others, and his losing the team that was so much of his life--it was no surprise he'd be a little more mother-hen-like than usual. Still, though, it was an odd thing for Steve to fixate on--usually Steve's awareness of fashion and clothing was extremely limited.
Suddenly, his train of thought froze, as Sam remembered what he'd managed to forget in all the bits about his costume and body-image: you're a very attractive man, and that hasn't changed at all since we first met.
Was this all just a very odd way for Steve to tell Sam that he was attracted to him?
If it was--did Steve realize this? And perhaps more importantly--what was Sam going to do about it?
Actually, the answer to that was simpler than Sam would like it to be: if Steve asked, Sam would say yes. He'd known this for years, but he'd always been able to count of Steve not asking. Not for that, anyway.
When Sam got out of the shower, there was a message on his personal line. That was fast, he thought. He pushed the play button.
As expected, it was Steve. "I'm sorry about what I said. About your costume. I was...presuming too much." A pause. "Can I come over tomorrow?"
Sam pondered. Did he want to risk yet another round of Steve awkwardly trying to explain how, really, he hadn't meant to be offensive?
Well, yes. If he could get an answer from Steve on this one, he sure wanted one. And if not--well, Steve had enough experience by now that he could usually figure out when it was best to just drop a subject and go on with his life.
Besides, although Sam was doing just fine, he was worried about Steve.
He called back, and Steve picked up immediately. "Sam!"
"Hi, Steve. I got the message. So--you want to come over tomorrow for a rematch?"
"Yes, that would be wonderful." He paused. "As I said, I'm very sorry about earlier."
"I forgive you." As always. "Come to my place this time? We can go out on the rooftops where I've got a better chance!"
The next day, after warming up a bit in his apartment, Sam went to get out his costume and paused. He did still have a few older versions of the costume, toward the back...he pulled the new ones and his regular clothes aside to take a look.
First, there was the one he'd switched from just a few months ago, the one with just the sides exposed. Not his finest hour, fashion-wise. Was that the one Steve was having nostalgia for? He had switched out of it just before what had happened with Wanda and the Avengers, but it hardly seemed like there could have been cause and effect there. Unless--it had been the Wasp's suggestion he try a new costume, and she had reminded Wanda of her children again, too (which were demons? or something? Sam was not entirely clear what had happened there, and it had all seemed horribly ill-advised). But anyway, that hardly seemed likely--the Wasp was always suggesting new costumes to people, she was a fashion designer after all.
He put it back. He didn't care what Steve thought, he wasn't putting that one on again. Especially since it would seem like he was admitting he had some sort of self-image problem which--he looked down at his bare chest--was clearly absurd. He got more than enough exercise to keep himself in good shape! Besides, more chest protection was just good sense, and he'd gotten the wings upgraded too.
He looked further back. The next one in there was armored. That had been...well, not an entirely unreasonable idea on his part, but it had been too heavy to fly in easily, and armor plus partially exposed body parts was absurd anyway.
And then--he dug further back. And then there was the old red one with the vest. That one he did have some affection for--he'd worn it the longest, and he and Steve had had some good times in it. Style-wise it was...well, the seventies were over long after he'd relinquished that outfit. He didn't have the green-and-orange version at all anymore--it had long since been destroyed. It was a shame--it had been his very first, and he remembered fondly the old man who'd made it way back on Exiles' Island.
As well as, of course, his first meeting with Steve. He smiled, and played the costume back and forth between hands, remembering the old days, when he was young and foolish and their partnership was new and strong...
It was hopelessly out of date, though. He put the old costume back in the closet--but not too far back--and put on the current costume instead.
A few minutes after he suited up, he heard a tap on the window. Right on time. "Hi, Steve." He opened the window for his friend to climb in.
"How are you doing?" Steve looked a bit more genuinely concerned than Sam was comfortable with.
"I'm doing all right." Sam paused, and considered just trying to ignore it all and go on with the spar. But considering his own trip down costume memory lane just now, he was too curious to just let it go. "So do you have an explanation for yesterday?"
"I'm sorry? I'm not sure there's a very good one, really, but there was this case..." Steve launched into a long and detailed description of a case involving mutant growth hormone usage among middle-aged men seeking muscles and beauty. A false promise, of course, and most of them wound up crazed and deformed, requiring long years of recovery or expensive surgery or both if they were ever to return to normal. It was an interesting story in its own right and Sam made some mental notes for the next time the drug--inevitably--showed up in his area.
Nonetheless he found himself getting increasingly offended and bemused. "So...you thought I was like them?"
"Not really, no, I mean, obviously not." Steve, no longer giving a case description, returned to tongue-tied awkwardness. "I just--it was the first time I'd heard people talk about body dysmorphia as an actual disorder, certainly the first time I'd heard of it for men. And I remembered how I felt, when I was a teenager--mostly it was not being able to serve my country, obviously, but it wasn't fun for other reasons, either. And I was thinking about your recent costume change and everything else that's been going on lately and...I was worried. Too much, obviously."
"It's okay, Steve. Really."
But Steve was starting to warm up, and he'd obviously been thinking hard about this. "Sam, I don't want to lose you. And I know you were affected by the whole thing, with Wanda and all."
"Franky, Steve, I'm a lot more worried about you. It was a horrible thing and a tragic loss for everyone, but you know I've never been all that close to the Av--the other Avengers." Once an Avenger, always an Avenger was what they said, but Sam still had trouble thinking of himself as one. "Certainly not as close as you were, and Wanda was one of your oldest friends in this time." He paused. Perhaps this wasn't entirely the best time to bring up his ambivalence toward that team, but it was done. "And I care about you, and I'm here for you." He pulled Steve into a hug.
Steve clung to him. "Thank you, Sam, that does mean a lot to me." He pulled away. "Do you want to help me form a new team...?"
"I'm sorry, Steve, you know I'm no good at that." Which is not to say that he wouldn't try, if Steve asked nicely enough. But Sam really hoped he wouldn't.
"I know, I know." Steve looked down.
Sam grinned suddenly and put a hand on his shoulder. "Would it help if I put on my old uniform for you?"
Steve looked up and stared at him. "That's not--well, okay, I did like the old ones a lot. The one from the old days, you know, with the--" He made a v-shaped gesture at his chest. "It was so...daring."
"I thought maybe you did." It made marginally more sense of yesterday's comments, anyway. "Remember your old Nomad suit?"
"Yes." Steve smiled sadly. "Not a good time, although I was sort of proud of it. Silly cape and all." He paused. "I wonder how Jack is doing?"
"You'd know more than I would, I think. He's always welcome here, of course, but I haven't seen him in a year or two." Sam and Jack had never been entirely comfortable with each other; their first encounter, back when Jack was still playing the role of the Bucky of the fifties, had been beyond unfortunate, and even as much as Jack had gotten past his old attitudes, it had never been quite enough.
"Me either." Steve frowned. "Like so many people. When Dennis turned up in the sewers, I had to hear about it from Matt."
"I was shocked too. But he's okay now. Getting better, anyway." Sam had made sure to get Dennis on his case list, so he'd been keeping track of that one personally.
"It's good to hear." There was an awkward pause. Steve looked down, and then after a moment, up again into Sam's eyes. "Yes."
"Yes, he's a remarkably resilient man."
"No--I mean, of course, about Dennis, but I meant--yes. I would like to see the old costume. For old times' sake." Steve blushed.
Sam raised an eyebrow. He hadn't quite expected it to get this far, but he'd be fooling himself if he'd hadn't been preparing to play dress-up. "Sure. But not to fight in--I've had some upgrades to my wings since then, and although I am still backwards compatible--I wouldn't want to trust my life to the old ones any more than I have to."
"Understood." Steve perched on the table and watched as Sam went over and pulled out the costume. As Sam started to take his current costume off, though, he looked away.
Sam switched quickly. After all this time, the costume felt decidedly odd--he could remember, of course, when it had felt like a second skin, and when there had seemed nothing more normal than to take off into the night in it, but now he felt exposed and gaudy, dressed up rather than dressed. He looked over at Steve, who was still looking away, adding to the weird intensity of the moment. There was a time when Steve wouldn't have thought twice about the outfit, either. Or at least, Sam hadn't thought he had been thinking twice about it. He shook his head. "You can look again, now."
Steve looked him up and down and beamed. "You look...you look just like old times."
"Thank you. I guess." Sam turned around slowly. It seemed appropriate. The difference in the wings was starting to register in the mental connections, faint and inefficient and off, but it was overshadowed by how intensely he was feeling Steve's gaze on him. It was almost the way he felt Redwing (also pushed into the back of his mind at the moment), except that he knew it had to be illusory.
"It's very nice," Steve said wistfully.
"Thank you." Sam paused. "Well, I guess I'll take it off, then, and we'll get on with that spar I promised you."
"You sure you don't want to keep it on?" Steve said. "I'm glad you've gotten better wings and all, but--you were always more than the wings. You were an excellent crime-fighter even without them."
"Well, there is something to be said for training in more difficult situations." Sam gave in to the excitement that was building inside him. What were good wings and a dignified costume as compared to the look on Steve's face just now? "But if I'm wearing this, we're fighting indoors. Even if it does put you at more of an advantage."
"Which is not why I'm suggesting this, of course!" Steve pulled his eyes back up to Sam's. Then they drifted down again.
"Of course not! You know you can beat me nine times out of ten even when we're in the open air and you're covered in pigeon droppings." Which hadn't been Sam's idea, actually. His control over birds wasn't extensive enough to control that sort of function. Even if it was, of course, his idea to have them attack Steve in a swarm in the first place.
"The time I wound up covered in pigeon droppings you stopped fighting and made me take a shower. Which you shouldn't do, because your enemies are going to take advantage of that." Between the pigeon droppings and the part where he was still looking at Sam's chest, Steve wasn't managing to sound very stern.
"And you know darn well I don't stop the fight on account of pigeon droppings when I'm fighting my enemies." This was true: Stilt-Man still hadn't forgiven Sam for that particular embarrassment. "But enough about bird poop, Steve." Sam looked at his watch. "We should be able to get use the gym down the street. I've been trying to get some more funding so it can be open more hours, but meanwhile, it's empty and I've got a key."
"Sounds good. Well, not about the hours, obviously, but good that we can use it."
After about fifteen minutes of figuring out how to best get over there without anyone seeing Sam's old costume or deciding to follow Captain America around with news teams, plus mollifying a disappointed Redwing who had not wanted another indoor practice session, they arrived. Steve looked around. "Not bad."
"Yeah, it's a great gym. Too bad we don't have the money for more staff." Sam pulled off the jacket he'd been using to cover his costume, and sure enough, Steve started looking at his chest again. Had it been like this back in the day? Maybe a little. But then, back then both of them had been used to the costume.
The spar was going way too well. Which is to say--Sam was winning in a close-quarters, indoor fight with Captain America, which meant something was going wrong. Redwing had gotten through Steve's defenses three times well enough to scratch him and draw blood--not much blood, but it was surprising and distressing to Redwing, who had only attacked so hard in a practice session because he'd assumed he wasn't going to get through. Steve was obviously distracted, and of course he'd suffered far worse--but Redwing's distressed confusion was starting to distress Sam as well.
I'll handle it, he told Redwing, firmly.
Okay, Redwing sent back. Human things again?
Yes. Very much human things.
He and Steve were rolling around on the ground by now. Now, normally, wrestling with Steve was pleasurable and invigorating, but more as an exercise of skill than anything else--the man was simply too good to think of much of anything else, including how pleasant it would be to feel that body against you doing something else.
But today--clearly Steve was thinking about something else, and it showed. At least he seemed to be distracted by Sam's costume rather than by all the stuff that had gone down with the Avengers.
And then Sam had Steve--wonder of wonders--pinned to the ground beneath him. Steve smiled up at him. "Congratulations."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "I know this costume doesn't make me a better fighter, Steve, so don't pretend I won this one fair and square." He moved slightly and ground down--sure enough.
Steve turned crimson, and completely failed, considering their positions, to get away. Although Sam was sure that, if Steve had really wanted to get up, he could have. "I really do think you have it in you..."
"Right, Steve, and unless you really want me to yell at you for patronizing me and walk out on you again, don't give me that line again. Is that really the part of the past you want to bring back? Do you want me to go try to beat up Spider-Man again, for old times' sake?"
"I--I'm not sure what I want anymore. Everything changed." Steve gave him the despairing-old-hero-who-lost-his-sidekick look. It almost made Sam want to get up off him, give him some space and time to think.
But no. If Sam got up now, they might go on to forget about it and the moment would be lost. "I can't give you the Avengers back, Steve. I can't make it ten years ago. But I know that the Avengers will come back and...I'm not going to wear this costume in public again, but if you want, I'll wear it for you. In private."
Steve looked at him in puzzlement. "Wear it for me in private? For training, you mean? Like now?"
And this would be one of the many reasons he and Steve had never actually slept together. Except in a literal sense; there had definitely been a night or two where they'd shared a bed, as friends, and even when they'd held each other after nightmares. Because Steve was the sort of guy you could do that with, without him thinking that it was odd, and that would be why this was so difficult. "In bed. Because you've been looking at my chest the whole time I've been in this today. Because you spar like you'd rather be doing something else. And because at the moment, I'd like nothing more than to take you back home and let you take this costume off me."
Steve lay there, completely still. "That would change everything."
"Everything's changed already, Steve. You just said so. And some things are never going to change, I promise--we've been friends through a lot more serious things than this, and whether you say yes or no, this isn't going to change that." Sam hoped. Sam really hoped.
Steve seemed to collect himself. "And I'll always be your friend, too. As long I can, as long as you let me."
"I know, Steve. And I love you, too. Now--may I give you a kiss and take you home?"
Steve sighed, happily. "Please."
Sam let Steve out of the pin to gently hold Steve's head as he leaned down and kissed him. Steve's hands instantly went to touch Sam's sides--gently, tentatively, as Sam kissed Steve's mouth, tenderly and close-mouthed, and then guided Steve's hands to the center of his chest as he kissed him again, deeper. Sam had never thought of his chest sexually before yesterday, but Steve's hands, strong and skillful and so clearly enjoying themselves--that was hot.
Sam stood up, regretfully. "We should get out of here. They're going to open up again soon for the night classes."
"Yes, definitely." Steve, flustered and much clumsier than usual, stood up next to him. "Back to your place?" He asked hopefully.
"Definitely." Sam leaned over to give him another brief kiss, which Steve leaned back into quite nicely. But they did have to be going.
As soon as they got into the open, Sam suggested to Redwing that perhaps he would like to do some hunting in the fresh air? Which was just what Redwing had been thinking; he'd had more than enough humans and close quarters for the time being. So that was all right.
It was a much briefer and less dignified scramble back to Sam's place than it had been to the gym, and Steve kept looking at him--not his chest, that was covered up, his face--and beaming all the way, and Sam couldn't help but beam back. It was really a very good thing that no one Sam knew tried to talk to them. If this worked out at all, they would have to figure out how to deal with the public aspects eventually, but this was not the time.
He had Steve here and now and he wasn't going to let go.
It was Steve that pulled Sam into a hug and kiss as soon as they got into the apartment and Sam got the door locked. His arms roamed Sam's back, feeling around and under the back of his vest. And then he pulled back, shyly. "I've never done this with a man before."
"That's all right, don't worry, most of it isn't very different." Sam tried to sound more patient and reassuring than he actually was. Because this was going to require patience. "Come to bed with me?"
Steve still held back. "I feel like I should get you dinner first, or something."
"We can do that later, if you want. But it's not as though we need to get to know each other." Sam pulled him into the bedroom by both arms.
"I don't suppose we do." Steve was let himself be pulled.
Sam sat down on the bed, trying to position himself so as to give a good view of the parts of the costume Steve seemed to like so much. Considering the look on Steve's face, it seemed to be working.
"I should probably take my costume off. Since it's not very comfortable to sleep with. I'm told." Steve blushed.
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Do you want help with that?"
"I'm sure I can manage...oh, you mean--yes, sure." He blushed. "How do you want to do this?"
"Boots first. Sit down." Sam had already shoved his own off, but he tried to do Steve's slowly and sensually. Kneeling between Steve's legs gave Steve an excellent view of his chest and himself an excellent view of, well, Steve's crotch. Which was enticing in its own way.
Steve had already taken off the mask and gloves. That left the mail shirt and pants. Probably Steve would be more comfortable leaving the pants on for now. So: "Shirt next." Sam stood up and pulled the shirt over Steve's head, taking the opportunity to rub his hands over his chest. Steve wasn't the only one who could appreciated a nice chest, and Steve had one of the nicest ones around. And then the undershirt, and Sam pulled Steve into bed with him.
Steve wrapped his arms around him and pulled him very close. "I love you," he said, and they kissed again. "Can I...kiss you?" he ran his hand down the middle of Sam's chest.
"Of course." Sam stroked Steve's hair as he moved his head down to Sam's chest, kissing along the sides of the vest. "I love you too, Steve." It was a nice feeling, though it was even nicer to feel Steve's whole body on top of him and his attention on him.
Sam pulled him up again for a kiss. "About taking that costume off," he said, guiding Steve's hands down toward his shoulders.
Steve blushed, but allowed himself to be guided. "It just pulls down, right?"
"Most of it--hang on, let me release the wings." Steve pulling those off would hurt.
"Right." Between the two of them, they got it off, and both of them were naked to the waist. "So what do you want to do now?" Steve asked.
Oh man. Perhaps Sam should have thought this through a little harder before he deciding sex with Steve would be a good idea. "If you want, we can just kiss for awhile, although eventually I would like to get the rest of our costumes off."
Steve beamed. "That sounds excellent." He pulled Sam close and rolled him over on top of him. Sam leaned down into his lips.
Steve was very good at cuddling. This was something Sam actually already knew, from the old days when they were Just Good Friends, Very Good Friends, and there were...really rather a remarkable number of things that Steve seemed to have no problem doing with or saying to his friend. And for the sake of his job and the relationship he was having (trying to have) with Leila, Sam had been willing to go with that. But there'd never been kissing before. Well, not on the lips, and certainly not with tongue.
Steve was very good with his tongue. Which was the odd thing about the whole experience--the contrast between the bits of this that were completely new to Steve and that he was hesitant and awkward about, and the bits he knew, which he was just as good at as he was at any other physical skill he put his mind to. Did it come automatically with the Serum, or had Sharon or Peggy or someone had to train him?
This was not the time to think about this, clearly. This was the time to keep up his end of the kissing. Sam moaned encouragingly into Steve's mouth and moved his hands up and down against his sides. Steve was holding him too tightly for him to do much more, pressing them bare chest to bare chest, and he didn't want to disturb him just yet. Not for a few more kisses anyway, and maybe a few more...
Eventually, Steve's grip shifted and Sam pulled up a few inches. "Are you okay?" Steve asked.
"Better than okay, Steve. Here--" He took hold of Steve's left hand and guided it further down toward his ass.
Steve looked at him questioningly. "Do you want me to..."
To what? Oh. Damn. "Nothing like that, not yet, just touch me...oh Steve." Dear god, that man's hands felt so nice and large and strong, even when they were being unusually tentative. He moved slightly over so he could push down against Steve's hips, then up into his hands and--wow.
"Is that good?" Steve gave him a look of concentration.
"Yes." Sam slipped his hand between them and reached down toward Steve's pants. He gave Steve a questioning look.
Steve nodded and closed his eyes. And then opened them again, with a gasp, when Sam stroked over his erection through the cloth. "Oh, Sam!"
Sam grinned, and moved his hand up again to the fly. "Can I?" Steve blushed and nodded. Sam beamed back and worked it open. He got up, regretfully, and pulled the pants down and off, throwing them on the floor.
"Do you want me to take yours off?" Steve asked.
"Oh yes." Sam wriggled his hips up and then his legs, letting Steve remove the pants. Another thing, Sam noted, that Steve was expert in, although usually in a distinctly different context.
Steve looked Sam's whole body up and down. "I...wow. I don't suppose you'd consider a pants-less costume, too?"
Sam laughed, startled--he hadn't expected a joke. Although, actually, he might not be joking, considering some of the things people wore to fight crime. "Only in the bedroom, Steve." He pulled Steve down for another kiss. "And only when you wear one."
"I'm not sure the country would approve." Steve said, either deadpan or actually serious.
"You'd be surprised." Sam said dryly. "But I think I'd rather just keep it to myself. Come here."
Steve settled down into his arms and put his head on Sam's chest. "I love you."
"I love you too." Sam stroked Steve's head--the man was so blond--and watched fondly as he kissed Sam's chest, which was apparently appealing even in the absence of the costume. But it was getting to be time to move on. He reached down again toward Steve's crotch and stroked him through the briefs.
Steve gasped. "Sam...!" He looked up from what he was doing. "Do you want me to?" He moved his hand down.
"No, just let me." Sam stroked over the outline of his erection again. "You can keep doing what you're doing, if you want."
Steve buried his head in Sam's chest as Sam reached inside the underpants, rolling them over so he was on his side and Steve on his back so he could get a better angle. And then--oh god, he thought, I'm holding Captain America's penis--but no, this was Steve, he'd seen him naked before and, frankly, desired him for years and he felt (in Sam's admittedly rather limited experience) like any other man, except that this was Steve in his arms, in his hands, trying to bury himself in his chest, and--"Oh god, Steve," Sam groaned out loud.
"Sam!" Steve agreed, and moved his head up to kiss Sam again and oh, god, someday, hopefully soon, Sam was going to want Steve's cock in him like his tongue was just then, like Sam's hand wrapped around Steve's cock, but it had been way too long and Sam just thrust against Steve's thigh, without even taking off his underwear, and came even before he managed to bring Steve off in his hand.
"God. God, Sam, I love you." Steve pulled away, blushing, after he came. "Can I touch you now?" He reached down to Sam's briefs and then looked at him, puzzled, and then, realizing, blushed even more.
Sam's smiled sheepishly. "Later, maybe?" He kissed Steve again, briefly and chastely.
"Yes, yes, definitely." Steve pulled Sam into his arms and held. "I love you."
"I love you too." Sam hugged him back. If he hadn't wanted to cuddle, he wouldn't have done this in the first place. They'd have to get up and shower and figure out what happened next in their lives soon enough, but for now? He was happy to share this little bit of peace with his partner.
