yasmina is dark.

Sassy-minibang - Story #8 - Always Welcome

2012-12-11T03:23:44Z

Title: Always Welcome
Author: trickylady
Artist: sphinx_face
Genre: AU - canon, fluff, romance, slash.
Characters, Pairing(s): Sam/Cas, Dean.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1243
Warnings: general spoilers for all seasons with Castiel.
A/N: I'd like to thank my betas - rock_chick_333, nicole_sill, verucasalt123 & kimberlelly.
Summary: It took five stops for everything to be right.

It’s a regular key, but it means a lot to Sam. It means responsibility – the good kind, not the exasperating world-saving kind – stability, and home. It makes him think of the Roadhouse, of their house from before the fire, of Bobby’s place. And, if he lets his mind wander, it even reminds him of college dorms and Jessica, but with all the positive being highlighted.

It’s a good thing – the best.

Sam makes a copy at a local hardware store – after being flirted with for ten minutes, only to blurt out that he’s gay (which he isn’t, not really, he just loves this one guy) – and then hurries out. He slides it onto a stainless steel key ring that he’s been keeping for a few weeks, and then pushes it into his duffel bag, next to his mostly empty wallet.

~~~~~

Sam looks for a suit in a store near the hardware one. He tries on jackets, crisp, white shirts, dark pants, but decides to only purchase a few of the items.

Sam shaves, showers, and then puts mousse in his hair to slick it back. He raids Dean’s cologne collection – with full permission – picking the best one, and then puts on dark socks with his dress shoes.

He takes out cufflinks Bobby used to wear – when he was pretending to be an FBI agent – and slips them onto his sleeves. They’re still very shiny, silver and spotless. They’re perfect for the navy blue jacket he bought earlier. He feels more confident with them on; appreciates the familiarity of them – having seen them a dozen times or more. And, at the same time, it makes Sam feel like he has Bobby’s blessings to go ahead with this plan.

Everything is going well so far.

Dean even gives Sam the keys to the Impala without Sam needing to ask. He knows either way Dean would have said yes – there’s a Dr. Sexy marathon on TV tonight – but knowing he has Dean’s support to go through with this as well makes it that much better.

Sam leaves feeling nervous, excited, but so very ready.

~~~~~

Sam parks the Impala, climbs out, and stands next to it. He’s not far off now, not anymore. He takes a few (hopefully) calming breaths, smoothing out the wrinkles from his suit, and closes his eyes.

He hopes he won’t have to call Castiel for long, standing in the middle of the street…in public. Otherwise, people are going to start thinking he’s insane – which he might be, considering what he has in mind.

“Castiel, I, uh, I want to see you. Can you come around if you’re not busy?”

Sam exhales loudly, hands shoved in his pockets, worrying. That’s all he’s been able to do today.

Castiel arrives after what feels like an eternity (but is only five minutes according to Sam’s watch) looking distraught or maybe bewildered. Either way, it’s deeply related to confusion.

Castiel isn’t sure of the reason Sam’s called for him, what Sam’s intentions are, but it seems important. When he notices just how formal Sam is dressed, the fear somehow takes over his face, and he can’t hide it at all.

“I-I’m not dressed for…” Castiel makes a gesture he hopes conveys his inadequacy.

“Come on, Cas. You look good. You’re wearing a suit. I’m just bringing you to a restaurant. No reason to look so scared.” Castiel opens his mouth to protest, but Sam continues. “I already made reservations.”

~~~~~

The restaurant is pretty normal – especially considering all the looks they get when they step in, totally overdressed – but Dean usually picks such sketchy, sleazy places that they both feel out of place, regardless of their clean-cut suits.

It’s much less nerve-wracking once they’re seated, at least.

Castiel orders what he knows: a burger. It turns out to be a gourmet burger, made from the highest quality beef, topped with locally-grown vegetables as well as the chef’s secret sauce. The fries are hand-cut, seasoned and huge. There are a lot of orgasmic sounds being made, but Sam likes them. And not in a slutty, Dean way.

Sam orders a deluxe salad which has grilled chicken breast, homemade Italian vinaigrette, croutons made of freshly-baked baguette, and sliced mozzarella cheese. It’s not as healthy as his usual salads – or meals in general – but the taste is so outer-planetary that he can’t help himself. He refrains from making those same dirty sounds, no matter how much he wants to.

After Castiel orders his dessert – crème brulée – Sam takes Castiel’s hand gently, lacing their fingers. He wants to make his motives, his intentions, clear enough that they can avoid an awkward conversation.

Castiel tugs at his tie with his free hand, feeling abruptly self-conscious, and Sam rubs Castiel’s knuckles to console him.

“Don’t worry, you look great. You always do.”

And, to Sam, he really does. Castiel smiles softly, offering a spoonful of his dessert to Sam.

~~~~~

Sam pays for the meal, and then offers to give Castiel a ride in the Impala. It gets him a raised eyebrow and a classic head-tilt. Sam has kind of missed that last one.

There’s a reason for Castiel’s reaction, sure. Castiel can teleport, for one. Also, Sam hasn’t told Castiel where they’re going. But those things aside, usually you drive a person ‘home’ after a date – even Castiel must have learned that much. But Castiel’s home is in Heaven, so none of it makes sense really.

Castiel still agrees, though, content to spend some extra time with his date.

---

After a short drive, they arrive at a nice, newly-renovated apartment complex. Castiel’s brow furrows for a bit until he notices Dean hanging out of a window on the second floor. Dean waves at them, purposely loud and over-enthusiastic. Sam chuckles, politely (and indulgently) leading Castiel out of the car with a hand on the small of his back.

“We’re on the third floor,” Sam says, still trying to keep the explanations to…zilch.

“We?” Castiel asks, glancing over at Dean momentarily, seeing that he’s already gone back inside. Castiel’s mouth suddenly feels desert-dry.

Sam takes the key ring out of his pocket, placing it in Castiel’s palm, folding Castiel’s fingers closed around it. “We.”

Castiel looks about as terrified as he did in Dean’s description of their visit to the ‘den of inequity’. Sam pets Castiel’s hands to calm him; show him it’s all right to be unprepared for this kind of decision. It must be a big deal for him since he’s only ever lived in Heaven.

“You don’t have to stay here. You don’t even need to ever sleep here or use the key. I just want you to know you’re welcome at my place, that I want to give us a shot, and that I want you here.” He sighs, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. “I’d just really like it if you made time to visit once in a while.”

Castiel can’t decide how to respond. He kisses Sam, carefully pushing the key into the pocket of his trench coat at the same time.

“Can I see inside first before I make my decision?” Castiel says coyly, intertwining their fingers.

Sam huffs out a laugh, feeling a flush burning the skin of his neck. Do angels do innuendo? “Sure, Cas,” Sam replies, shaking his head.

“Good.” Castiel smiles. “Please lead the way, then. I will follow.” For as long as you’d like me to.

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Comments always appreciated. :)

Sassy-minibang - Story #7 - Eggs and Bacon

2012-12-11T03:16:43Z

Title: Eggs and Bacon
Author: trickylady
Artist: sphinx_face
Genre: AU - canon, humour, crack, slash.
Characters, Pairing(s): Sam/Cas, Dean, Bobby, Gabriel, Crowley, OFC.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2085
Warnings: innuendo, general spoilers for all seasons with Castiel.
A/N: I'd like to thank my betas - rock_chick_333, nicole_sill, verucasalt123 & kimberlelly.
Summary:

Sam is making toast when Castiel appears at his side, trying to see the ‘bread-making device’. Sam just leans over to the side when it pops up, letting Castiel get a better view of the buttering. He glances over, and Castiel forces his eyes – with a visible struggle - away from the knife smeared with butter.

“You want some, Cas?” Sam murmurs, walking over to the table.

Castiel doesn’t say anything, but he licks his lips. Sam’s eyes dart down to them, and then, just as quickly, back up to Castiel’s now narrowed eyes. Castiel shakes his head. Sam bites into the toast, feeling the eyes on his mouth now.

It’s a strange sensation, but not as strange as Castiel pulling out the chair across from Sam to sit down at the table. In silence. Sam doesn’t deal with Castiel’s silent, epic staring as well as Dean does.

“I know you’ve tasted burgers before, but have you had any breakfast food? Eggs, bagels, cereal, fruit maybe?”

Castiel’s mouth curves downward into a perplexed frown. Sam looks down at his plate, guiltily. Maybe food and eating remind Castiel of the Horsemen, the apocalypse-

“I have no need for sustenance, Sam. But I must admit, you make it look very…” Castiel trails off when Sam looks up at Castiel with a curl to his lips he didn’t have before. “You find this amusing?”

“I just think it’s cute that you’re dying to have some of my toast.” Sam laughs softly, sliding the plate over. “I can make you some breakfast if you like this.”

Castiel nods – very slowly – but doesn’t make a move to take it from the plate. Maybe he’s shy.

Sam stands, turning the frying pan on, and Castiel’s shoulder bumps into his side when he follows. Sam realizes it’s due to Castiel lifting the toast to his mouth and biting into it.

“This is good.” Castiel chews, looking deep in thought for a moment. “What else would you put on this?”

When Sam glances down, all he can see is the crumbs at the corner of Castiel’s mouth, and he reaches over – the question forgotten somewhere in his subconscious – to wipe them off. He stops halfway there when Bobby’s resounding voice booms into the room.

“You idjits better not be burning down my house.”

Bobby doesn’t even ask about or mention the way Castiel is fully in Sam’s personal space while Sam cooks breakfast for him. Mostly because of Sam’s deer-caught-in-headlights look. Castiel, on the other hand, just looks irritated to have been interrupted.

“Just getting--” Bobby grabs his coffee mug from the counter near them. He half-grunts, half-laughs on the way out, but doesn’t say anything else.

Sam lets out a sigh of relief, and then gets bumped again when he almost burns Castiel’s eggs.

~~~~~

Sam is watching a movie – one of the few times Dean isn’t around to hog the remote – and Castiel decides to join him.

It’s…hard to pay attention to the film. Especially since Castiel’s hands aren’t on his lap like they would be with Dean. One is curled against the armrest, and the other is in the middle of the couch – between them. Sam wonders if it’s an invitation – or maybe that’s just what Sam wants it to be – but Castiel wouldn’t know about those things. Would he?

Sam chances a look over at Castiel from the corner of his eye, and Castiel is busy concentrating on the film. Sam looks down, and the hand is still there, curling and uncurling in the fabric of the couch – almost as if Castiel is getting anxious.

Now is as good a time as any.

Sam slides his hand across his thigh, subtly making his way there – just in case he’s reading this all wrong – and letting his hand hover –

“Sammy! Bro! Did you two miss me?”

Sam scowls, and Castiel stands at attention in front of Gabriel – movie (and possible hand-holding) forgotten.

Gabriel purposely popped in at that time, of this Sam is sure. And there are reasons why he believes he’s right.

First of all, Gabriel is an A-grade asshole, and becoming the Trickster – i.e. someone who ruins everyone else’s life as an occupation – reinforces that. The second reason Sam is convinced Gabriel chose that time to barge in is because of how much like Dean Gabriel is. Overprotective, stubborn, and now a cockblock, not that Sam wanted Castiel’s cock precisely.

Gabriel whispers something in Enochian for Castiel – which, suspicious, since Gabriel never uses Enochian – and then leaves.

Sam tries not to sound like an uncivilized, uneducated, man of the wild when he has asks, “What did he say?” But he feels like he failed.

“I believe it is a warning, or a spell perhaps.” Castiel shuts his eyes for a moment, concentrating, then looks at Sam. “I think the translation would be: ‘Watersports in the near future. Beware of the large one; it will milk you.”

Sam’s brow creases, but Castiel says, “I will look for the meaning of it and return once I’ve obtained it.”

---

Sam does some research, and really wishes he hadn’t. He doesn’t even know why – how – Gabriel found terms for those things in Enochian. The asshole knew – must have – that Castiel would translate and relay the message to Sam.

Thus, Gabriel has proven that his ‘visit’ earlier was to stop Sam from getting too close to his little brother, Castiel. He knew Castiel would rush off, and spend however long it takes to find this ridiculous – oh god.

Sam is suddenly afraid of the moment Castiel will return.

---

“I could not interpret my brother’s message, Sam.”

Sam sighs, sipping at a light beer. “It’s nothing important, Cas. Don’t worry, I checked.” Thank every deity that Castiel failed.

Castiel looks perplexed. “How could you have found the meaning?” Sam ignores the accusatory tone; it’s Castiel’s usual. He doesn’t know how to be any other way. “What does it mean?”

“I think…it’s better you never find out.” At least not until they’re at least dating.

Sam expects Castiel to insist, to push Sam until he gives up the answer, but he doesn’t. Castiel takes Sam’s beer from him, stealing a gulp of it, and quickly handing it back.

“All right.”

~~~~~

Sam looks absolutely exhausted, even while in a deep sleep, when Castiel finds him passed out on the sofa. He’s breathing deeply, his arms are wrapped around a throw pillow close to his chest, and his mouth is slightly open. He shifts in his sleep, facing closer to the inside of the couch, and his hair falls over his eyes and nose.

It tickles, or at least that’s what Castiel deducts from the way Sam’s nose has crinkled up. Sam reaches for the hair, still asleep, but misses. His face stays scrunched how it was, a look of vague annoyance joining in.

Castiel wants Sam to get some rest; he deserves it.

Castiel leans down, careful to keep all noise down to…nothing, and gently tucks Sam’s hair behind his right ear. He knows he’s done the right thing since Sam’s face smoothes out instantly. His fingers, for some inexplicable reason, don’t want to stop at that, though. He’s rubbing Sam’s forehead, fingertips sliding down the side of his face, and then cupping his cheek and chin.

The stench of sulphur fills Castiel’s lungs suddenly, and he pulls away, cutting his exploration short. He’s glaring even before he turns around, and Crowley puts his hands up in faux-surrender.

“I don’t judge, mate. The Winchesters are a good catch, anyhow. Sam seems a bit more open-minded as well, if you want my opinion.”

They disappear a moment later, having some ‘errands’ to run, Castiel’s glare remaining in place.

---

Castiel worries Crowley will tell the Winchesters about their ‘working relationship’, but, in fact, he’s more worried about Crowley telling Sam about that little moment of weakness. Crowley says nothing though. Not even when he’s alone with Sam.

(Castiel knows this because he stays hidden and far enough away not to be detected by Crowley. Just close enough to hear their conversation.)

~~~~~

Sam may (or may not) have been shopping for Castiel quietly when Castiel showed up – unannounced – and scared Sam half to death. The clothes rack is the one that suffers for it, tipping over, but Castiel easily sets it back how it was before the clerk notices.

Sam just thought Castiel might want a change of clothes, or two. To be in something other than a dirty, borrowed trench coat, that’s all.

Castiel looks at the clothes draped over Sam’s arm. “That will not fit you.”

“It’s for you, actually,” Sam admits, looking down at the striped tie he’s holding bunched up.

“Oh,” Castiel replies, taking the pile from Sam. “Then I will try them on.”

It’s easier, logically, to shop for Castiel if he’s here, too. Sam didn’t know Castiel’s size at all.

---

The cashier, a young brunette with red streaks in her hair, is beaming at them when they get to the front to pay.

Sam quirks an eye at her, smiling in spite of her odd expression. “Hey.” Castiel follows Sam’s lead, nodding curtly.

She grins. “Aw. You two are the cutest couple I’ve ever seen. We don’t get a lot of gay people in here, but I think you guys would be great role models.”

Sam clears his throat while Castiel drops the clothing on the counter. “We’re not a couple.” Sam leaves out the ‘yet’ because he’s not sure if Castiel wants to be with him or if he’s reading into things all on his own. Either way, he hopes Castiel understands what he really means: it’s none of her business.

It’s not right for – Sherry, Sam sees when he glances down at the nametag – to assume clients are a certain way without even asking first. It’s between them and them alone.

(And maybe Dean since Castiel is ‘his’ angel.)

Castiel doesn’t look bothered by any of it, not even Sherry’s pouty face as they pay and wait for her to bag it all. But, then again, Castiel is good at playing the role of stoic angel, so Sam’s not too sure about what Castiel is feeling.

~~~~~

It’s the second time Sam is cooking for Castiel when he finally decides to stop playing it safe.

Castiel is leaning against Sam (again), watching him cook. Sam puts down the spatula – when he’s sure he won’t incinerate the eggs this time – and turns to face Castiel, waiting for him to react. As soon as they make eye contact – Castiel not distracted by popping bacon in the pan anymore – Sam takes Castiel’s face between his hands. He’s looking right at Castiel, so it’s hard to miss Castiel licking his lips. But, this time, there’s no toast, just Sam feeling like an awkward, uncool teenager.

Castiel closes his eyes though, making it easier on Sam, even leaning in for it a bit. And that – that is the best hint Sam could ask for. He moves forward, so close he can smell the clean, pure scent of angel coming off of Castiel, and he –

“Oops. Sorry, Sammy.”

Dean is, of course, the one who has to step into the kitchen when Sam builds up enough courage to grab Castiel for their long-awaited first kiss.

But Dean – Dean makes it…all okay, actually.

“Resume whatever that is, and I’ll just be back later.”

No venom, no teasing, no jealousy. Just a bit of a startle, and then he’s going out the same way he came.

Castiel stares in puzzlement at the doorway, probably just as taken aback by Dean’s surprisingly mature reaction, but it’s now or never for Sam.

Sam hadn’t let go of Castiel’s face when Dean interrupted, so all he has to do is move in and he’s pressing his lips to Castiel’s. Castiel sighs as Sam gently strokes his cheek, tracing the bones there, fitting his hips against Castiel’s with unexpected ease.

Sam likes how frail Castiel feels pressed this close, how submissive he’s being. It could be so easy to pretend Castiel is a woman – if he needed to, if he wasn’t already past his homosexual freak-out – but-

Castiel’s lips parted, wet, pink; his eyes blue and just slightly glazed over; the dazed, shy look on his face; the high line of colour climbing his cheeks wherever Sam touches; the stubble that’s endearing, not rough…

Why would Sam pretend Castiel is anyone else when he’s everything Sam needs?

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Comments always appreciated. :)

Sassy-minibang - Story #6 - Worth the Pain

2012-12-11T03:03:54Z

Title: Worth the Pain
Author: trickylady
Artist: sphinx_face
Genre: AU - canon, H/C, whump, pre-slash.
Characters, Pairing(s): Sam/Cas, Dean, Zachariah.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2098
Warnings: angelic violence, spoilers probably.
A/N: I'd like to thank my betas - rock_chick_333, nicole_sill, verucasalt123 & kimberlelly.
Summary: It took five actions for Sam to finally understand Castiel.

One

Castiel is sitting at the foot of Dean’s bed, but his mind is always preoccupied with someone else. It’s not because he feels more comfortable with Dean, can tell him more of what he’s feeling, that he spends so little time by Sam’s side.

Dean is someone Castiel remade with his own grace; he was, and still is, Castiel’s responsibility. He was a burden that Castiel used to regret taking on, but that he’s since grown to care for and feel protective of. When it comes down to the truth of it all though, the reality behind their friendship, Dean was just a daily task Castiel had to check off his growing list.

Sam, however, is something else entirely.

Castiel had no need to interact with Sam, wasn’t required to tell Heaven about any and all threats to Sam’s life, and certainly didn’t need to risk his vessel’s safety or his grace to ensure Sam continued to live.

But since Dean is an unruly charge, and loves Sam very much, Castiel was forced to expand his role as a protector to include Sam’s wellbeing.

---

Castiel looks over at Sam, his arm thrown over his eyes, his mouth slightly parted, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, and Castiel feels a tug at something deep inside of him. His vessel’s always felt a bit inadequate, too small to fit comfortably. But this sensation, this burning, it’s a hell Castiel has never known, even when he searched in the actual place for Dean’s soul.

Sam’s chest rises and falls, calm and steady. His breathing is almost too soft to belong to such a large presence. Castiel can’t even remember why he appeared in their motel room, but that seems to be the norm for him recently.

Sam is always making Castiel think, do, and say things he doesn’t mean to.

Two

Love is the strongest of all the emotions Castiel has felt.

He wants, craves, and needs love. It burns him up, drives him into frenzy, leading him into unknown territory. It makes him unsure, but utterly terrified.

Weak. Mortal. Human.

He’s never felt quite as flawed as he does now – falling in love with one of them.

Sam is always the first to call Dean out on his childish or harsh behaviour. He’s always the one defending Castiel’s honour – which would even make Castiel’s most serious brethren laugh – when Dean crosses a line, treats Castiel with disrespect or unkindly. Sam is always prepared to fix the mess that Dean makes, even if Castiel isn’t particularly bothered by Dean’s quips.

But when Castiel tries to do the same, glaring or crossing his arms at Dean, Sam misinterprets it each time. He backs down, afraid that Castiel will smite Sam for bothering his charge. And that isn’t how Castiel thinks at all. If anything, Castiel would be more likely to physically harm Dean – has done it in the past, even – than to lay a finger on Sam. But Sam doesn’t think he’s worth much, and that is the only thing he and Castiel will never agree on.

Castiel thinks Sam is precious, important; a good friend, and an even better comrade. Anyone would be lucky to have him on their side. To have him by their side.

And, it may have taken Castiel some time, but he finally understands why Sam is such a big part of Dean’s existence. He would gladly lay down his vessel, his life, his wings, even his grace – all of it – to keep Sam’s final breath from escaping.

Three

Sam, who is filled with hope - so devastatingly so - is always willing to risk his skin; to give himself until there’s nothing left. He does this for humans, demons (unfortunately) and harmless supernatural creatures alike.

Sometimes Castiel cannot be that kind. Dean often cannot put strangers before his family. Sam, though, is the one to usually put everyone before himself. And there’s always a price.

---

When Sam is bleeding out of a wound in his abdomen, Dean trying to carry him, his hands slippery with Sam’s blood, Castiel realizes just how much Sam means to him.

Heaven had told Castiel many times that Sam was none of his concern; that it would be in Heaven’s best interest if Sam died, so that Dean would be more obedient, more willing to go along with their plans. But Castiel can’t listen to them this time.

Castiel appears next to the Winchesters, pressing both palms to Sam’s wound, and sending the warmth of Heaven through the injury in hopes that he isn’t too late. Sam coughs violently, crimson sputtering out of his mouth, but when Dean lifts Sam’s shirt, the skin is slowly regenerating, locking together and sealing up.

Dean thanks Castiel since Sam’s mouth is too full of blood to say it. Castiel bows his head, pretending it’s nothing, forcing a tight smile for his charge. But this is something; he’s ignored the orders he was given – again. There will be a price to pay.

---

Castiel hears Sam calling him the next morning, telling the skies that he wants to thank him. It’s unfortunate that Castiel cannot answer his prayers, though.

Zachariah scoffs when he catches wind of Sam’s words. He presses his knee against the back of Castiel’s neck, ripping out another handful of black feathers from Castiel’s right wing, throwing them away carelessly.

“This’ll teach you,” he says, unrelenting. “You can’t pick those savages over us, Castiel.”

The ache in his back and spine is nothing compared to the regret he feels for not being at Sam’s side.

Four

Castiel isn’t ashamed to admit he had his doubts about Sam at first. But Sam doesn’t let you hold on to a bad opinion; he strives to prove you wrong, to show his strengths, to make it obvious how valuable he could be – if you just believe in him.

And Castiel believes him because Sam has convinced him. And Sam is undoubtedly an angel who’s yet to gain his wings.

That is where Castiel likes to imagine Sam will be in the future: in Heaven, serving God along with Castiel.

They couldn’t be together otherwise.

---

Sam is cold when Castiel finally returns to Earth after having healed enough to fly. It’s understandable that Sam is mad, of course, especially since Castiel can’t say where he’s been. Sam ignores Castiel when Castiel asks where Dean is, continuing to click through screens on his laptop as though Castiel isn’t standing there.

Castiel watches Sam for a while longer, silently admiring him, until Sam looks up, frowning. Castiel doesn’t really care about the answer, but… “He went out to hustle at pool,” Sam says, curt.

“I see. Thank you,” Castiel replies, sitting on the edge of a bed.

He realizes it’s Sam’s bed after it’s too late, but Sam doesn’t say anything. He just keeps clicking links to recent newspapers on his laptop.

For once they’re alone, and Sam wants nothing to do with Castiel.

Sam sighs when Castiel doesn’t leave right away. “Did you need help with something?”

Castiel shakes his head, standing. “Call for me if you need my aid.”

“Because you always show up when I call, don’t you?” Sam mutters bitterly under his breath.

“I promise I will come, Sam.” And Castiel disappears.

---

Sam calls Castiel a day later. Castiel knows Sam’s life isn’t in peril, that there’s no reason to arrive in a hurry, but Castiel does anyway. He gave Sam his word.

“I just wanted to apologize for yesterday,” Sam says, lips upturned at the corners. “And thanks for not letting me die. I know you didn’t need to show up.” He scratches his arm, seeming oddly nervous.

Castiel nods, returning the smile. “I did not need to, but I wanted to.” Just as he has appeared now without permission from his commanders in Heaven.

“So, would you like a drink?” Sam asks, hopeful. Tilting the bottle he stole from Dean towards Castiel, he adds, “My treat?”

Castiel approaches Sam, taking the glass from him. “I would very much like one.”

Sam’s hair is covering most of his face, but Castiel can still see the flush colouring his cheeks. It’s a nice look, Castiel decides.

It’s worth Heaven’s wrath.

Five

Castiel has this family to thank for many things.

Dean for setting Castiel free, for giving him a place to stretch his wings, for allowing him to be who he pleases, and for being his first friend in a sea of lost souls. But, most of all, Castiel is grateful for having found Sam through Dean.

---

It must be Dean’s influence, but Castiel wonders if Zachariah doesn’t find some sick sense of pleasure in hurting his lower-ranked brothers.

“I warned you about disobeying us, Castiel,” he grits out, tearing every single feather out of Castiel’s back. “And now you’ve done it. You only have yourself to blame.” Another handful of feathers lands in the grass next to them. Castiel winces when Zachariah reaches for the ones close to his shoulder blade. “This is the easy part, you know. Wait ‘til I start cutting out your grace.”

Castiel closes his eyes and imagines how nice it was sharing a drink with Sam the other day. It’s still worth it. He’s still worth this.

---

Castiel only has a few things when he falls to Earth. The clothes Jimmy wore when he took him as a vessel, an angel blade he’d taken on his way down, and a cellphone Dean bought for him.

It’s odd knocking on the door of the motel room, but Castiel presumes he’ll get used to it. His home is with these humans now, and he’s never going to leave again. He’s been banished, anyhow.

“Why’re you knocking? Trying to be polite for once, Cas?” Dean teases. His smile fades when he notices how pale Castiel looks, and how much blood is smeared all over the trench coat. “Jesus, Cas. Is that your blood?”

Castiel hadn’t really noticed the mess Zachariah made, but now he does. It might have been shocking to a human, but Castiel still doesn’t react the same way one does. “Yes, Dean.”

He nearly falls over, and Dean catches him, a hand pressed to Castiel’s chest. “What happened to you, man? Did you have a fight with the dicks upstairs?”

Castiel hums, closing his eyes when Dean drapes an arm around his shoulders. Dean helps him inside and sits him down on a chair.

“So?” Dean asks, impatient as ever.

“I disobeyed too many times. They did not appreciate my attachment to you already, but then when I did not ignore Sam’s calls, they became angry.”

Heaven wanted Castiel to only focus on Dean, but Castiel couldn’t. Dean should understand that, seeing as he’s risked his life countless times for Sam.

“What are you saying?” Dean mutters, voice softer than usual. “You got punished?”

Castiel’s head tips to the side, contemplating that. “Yes. I’ve been stripped of my wings and my grace.” Zachariah had said Castiel would be trapped with the creatures he loves so much for all eternity. Or until the remnants of Castiel’s grace faded completely.

Sam had been quiet until now. He looks upset when he tells Castiel, “You shouldn’t have done it. I never would have wanted this to happen. I thought you just hated me, Cas.”

But Dean doesn’t say a word; he and Castiel think the same way when it comes to Sam. Sam is an important person; he matters a lot more than he thinks, and to a lot more people than he can imagine. He brings the good out of everyone, makes mistakes and then redeems himself ten-fold.

Dean leaves the room, holding his head. He can’t handle the news Castiel just dropped on them. He slams the bathroom door, but they can both still hear him cursing through it.

“Just tell me why you did it, Cas. Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Sam pleads, holding Castiel’s shoulders when he sways forward.

He kneels down in front of Castiel, looking up at him with such sadness in his eyes that Castiel almost feels like he’s done something wrong. But he knows he hasn’t. This is the perfect solution, the best way, for them to stay together.

Castiel smiles, finally giving Sam all the attention he deserves. “I love you, Sam Winchester.”

Sam doesn’t say anything, his heart banging in his chest. But after a moment, his fingers tighten on Castiel’s knees, and he smiles, too. “Thank you, Cas.”

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Comments always appreciated. :)

Sassy-minibang - Story #5 - God's Creation

2012-12-11T02:49:25Z

Title: God's Creation
Author: trickylady
Artist: sphinx_face
Genre: AU - canon, H/C, angst, pining, pre-slash.
Characters, Pairing(s): Sam/Cas, Dean, Ruby.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1796
Warnings: temporary canonical character death, spoilers for seasons 4-7.
A/N: I'd like to thank my betas - rock_chick_333, nicole_sill, verucasalt123 & kimberlelly.
Summary: It took five of Sam's mistakes for Castiel to lose his faith.

Castiel is an angel; Ruby is a demon. It’s obvious from the start why he wouldn’t approve of her. That aside, Dean is his charge, the one he is bound to protect and guide. Sam is Dean’s brother, which puts him under Castiel’s care as well – especially since they are never apart.

It was hard enough for Castiel to overlook Azazel’s demonic blood flowing through Sam, but that wasn’t a conscious choice. Sam was just a child at the time, weak and unguarded, prey fallen to a wolf like so many others. That - Castiel has come to terms with.

But for Sam to choose, in more ways than Castiel would like to admit, a demon – one that could have been in contact with Azazel or Alastair – is beyond Castiel.

It’s not his place to speak to Sam in that way, though. Sam is not his charge. Dean is his charge. So he tells Dean instead.

(He doesn’t mention how Sam could do so much better than Ruby because that would harm his cause more than help it.

What does an angel know about human couplings? Nothing. Especially not an angel who’s never coupled himself.)

It takes Castiel longer even than it takes Dean – the quintessential overprotective big brother – to accept Ruby into their group of allies. And it’s a mistake, Castiel thinks, for them to allow her to be this close. It doesn’t matter if she offers up demon-killing knives, her own kin or even valuable information. Sam shouldn’t be getting involved with her so intimately.

~~~~~

Sam is addicted to demon blood.

Addiction never ends well. Least of all for the person trapped in it.

Castiel doesn’t know if Dean chooses not to see, or if he finds it easier to ignore Sam’s odd behaviour, but Castiel has to warn Dean again. There’s only so much denial Castiel can allow Dean to have. Heaven is counting on Dean to be strong.

---

Sam has a habit of playing with fire – which is much less metaphorical than Castiel would like – but his reasoning behind it is always worthy, pure.

It’s a concept an older creature like Castiel can’t fully comprehend even if he tries. Angels aren’t made to go along more than one path. They are obedient like Michael or rebellious like Lucifer, and that’s where it ends.

How can someone as selfless, as honourable, as Sam fall prey to things so easily? His heart is in the right place, he just never chooses the right method – and that’s his major undoing. Why must he always seek out the easiest road, regardless of where it leads him?

Castiel tells Dean that Sam will surely be stuck in that world of supernatural power, and the fear it provokes, if Dean doesn’t speak to him about all of the demon blood he’s consuming. But Castiel also speaks to Sam about it – since they’ve managed to become closer now.

It may be harsh, holding Sam in a cell until the need for demonic blood drains out of him slowly, painfully, but it’s efficient. Castiel knows it’s one of the hardest things for Dean to face, to come to terms with, but Castiel convinces the Righteous Man he’s made the right choice. Heaven would be proud.

Sam eventually stops, to everyone’s (save for Ruby’s) relief, and Castiel can breathe a little easier. Zachariah would demote him, tarnish his reputation, and maybe even punish Castiel for failing to keep the Winchesters sacred and true.

Castiel befriends Sam – the version not spruced up on demon blood – as the race to prevent the apocalypse continues.

~~~~~

The thing about the Winchesters is that they always end up doing stupid things while on their path of good. And it’s always in the name of good, too. Sam seems most prone to these happenings.

---

Castiel should be infuriated with them for not consulting him about the apocalypse, and the rules that make it or break it, but he can’t be. They didn’t have enough time to study all of the seals.

They were doing well, very well, on their own.

They were saving people, following their hunter instincts, protecting seals like no other humans could have. Like no-one but a Winchester would. The perils they face are remarkable, and yet they never shy away from what’s demanded of them.

They couldn’t have known they’d be starting the very thing they meant to avert. Ruby – who Castiel is saddened to have been right about – fooled them into believing her lies. How could they have known that killing a demon, that wretched child spawn of Hell named Lilith, would be the greatest seal to break? For Sam especially, who struggled so much to come back from the place he’d fallen to, breaking that seal would have been the last thing he wanted to do.

So Castiel lets it go; forgives them like his Father would. What else can he do when they meant no harm? When they’ve done so much to protect humanity, God’s creatures, already?

Sam is broken up about it, though, and Castiel wishes he was programmed for more than just fighting in a time like this – when his charge is rapidly losing faith in his cause. Dean can’t keep Sam from straying on his own. Not anymore.

~~~~~

Castiel understands wanting to make things right, being redeemed, forgiven. What Castiel doesn’t understand is how Sam would so easily throw his life away to achieve that goal.

Sam’s made mistakes, yes, but how is taking away the last flicker of light in a room full of shadows – from the only family Sam has left; Dean – going to make anything better? Castiel would have tried to find another solution if his vessel hadn’t been splattered around the field at the time.

But it was.

---

Castiel is eviscerated, non-existent, while Sam makes, arguably, one of the stupidest decisions he ever has. And the effect on Dean is far beyond devastating. Not that Castiel’s around to witness that either. If he had been, however, he would have been inconsolable, shattered along with Dean. He would have wanted to follow his brother-in-arms down into Hell.

Castiel is a soldier of God, and soldiers never leave their brethren behind if they can help it.

But Sam removes that option from them completely when he throws the rings to the ground, and jumps into the cage with Lucifer and Michael.

All Castiel can do is pick up his battered and broken friends – Dean and Bobby – and hope they can wait for him to retrieve Sam’s soul from that place of nightmares. However long it may take him.

And this, the foolishness, the martyr-attitude flowing through Winchester veins like an unequivocal family trait, is almost too hard for Castiel to forgive. Almost.

---

It doesn’t take that long, which should have indicated a flaw in Castiel’s plan.

Sam is broken in his own way when Castiel breaks him free from Lucifer and Michael’s endless feud in Hell.

Castiel was so intent on bringing Sam back as soon as possible, he didn’t do it properly, and forgot the most important part: Sam’s soul.

There’s no point in Castiel harbouring these feelings of betrayal when he couldn’t even bring Sam back to his family in one piece.

~~~~~

It’s the final straw.

Castiel has done everything, forgiven everything – without exception or grudge – and Sam won’t simply accept this. Castiel’s uncharacteristic show of affection. Just a hug that he’d like to offer Sam to prove how important their friendship is. It’s something that is so foreign to him already; that he thought Sam – the overly emotional man that he is – would appreciate far more than Dean ever could.

(Castiel wanted to use it as an apology as well for taking so long to realize that he failed to bring Sam back just as he was.)

But maybe Castiel is trying too hard. Maybe Sam doesn’t want to be this close to Castiel, never did. So Castiel gives up, dropping his arms limply to his sides. He lets the sadness envelop him, carry him away, drive his decisions (and his vessel) toward a probable near-death experience.

---

What is the point exactly of staying on one side of the line if Sam and Dean cross over it time and time again? Why must Castiel play by rules that no-one has spoken aloud? Can’t he, once, just once, dabble in the dark side to make everything good? Besides, Crowley isn’t that bad, is he? The Winchesters have worked with him before.

Then his friends, his family, the only people he’s trusted with his life turn on him. Castiel doesn’t know what to do, how to feel, why it’s turning out this way. He’s given so much: blood, sweat, tears, and his life on numerous occasions.

But Sam is the one who convinces Dean that Castiel must be stopped. Sam is the one who forces Castiel’s hand, makes it all go down the drain, when he ends up surrounded by a fire made for angels.

And Castiel doesn’t know why, but the anger swells, grows, devours him until there’s nothing but his goal left, and Crowley saying I told you so.

---

Even after Castiel gets the souls he wanted – turning on Crowley in the process – his anger doesn’t subside.

It’s a truly fierce rage that boils his blood. He doesn’t say, but the wrath the world suffers is due to Sam Winchester. The smiting, the killing, the threats on innocent lives, it’s all Castiel can do to call for Sam’s attention, to be noticed. Maybe if he’s rotten enough, maybe if he’s comparable to the King of Hell, maybe if he makes them all fearful, Sam will see the resemblance in them and finally accept Castiel.

Castiel has to give up on that when he sees the souls tearing his insides apart, though. Sam won’t ever want him this way.

Until Sam does.

---

One night, Sam asks Castiel to come back to them – to him – and Castiel listens.

Sam doesn’t wait for Castiel to speak, just drags him close, and wipes away the dark, tacky blood from Castiel’s vessel overflowing with souls. Castiel doesn’t feel it as much anymore – the scratching, the clawing, the scraping at his flesh – because Sam is there holding him, cleansing him, needing him.

Sam kisses Castiel when Castiel finally looks more like himself (and less like a hit-and-run victim), and Castiel knows he’s the one who’s been forgiven this time. It feels like a lot of things, but Castiel is afraid to imagine what they are.

“I’m glad you’re back to yourself, Cas,” Sam whispers, stroking along Castiel’s nape. “I know I don’t always show it, but I do love you.”

Forgiveness is something only God could create.

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Sassy-minibang - Story #4 - Winchester Luck

2012-12-11T02:36:15Z

Title: Winchester Luck
Author: trickylady
Artist: sphinx_face
Genre: AU - canon, drama, pre-slash.
Characters, Pairing(s): Sam/Cas, Dean.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1400
Warnings: probable spoilers (for s7 and rest).
A/N: I'd like to thank my betas - rock_chick_333, nicole_sill, verucasalt123 & kimberlelly.
Summary: It took five hours for Castiel to open his eyes after escaping Purgatory (and using his powers to drag Dean out with him.

Sam is so glad to see Dean mostly in one piece. He takes him from Castiel, leading him to the bathroom, and Dean lets him. Castiel stays in the living room.

Dean is so drained, so empty of his usual fire, that Sam manages to clean up most of Dean’s wounds without the habitual difficulties. There’s no dirty looks, no fidgeting or saying he’s fine. There’s not even Dean’s usual ‘I can do it myself’ that makes Sam murderous at times. Dean just sits on the toilet bowl, eyes half-lidded – from exhaustion, Sam guesses – grunting once in a while when Sam touches an especially sensitive bruise or cut.

Sam disinfects everything, covers the more serious injuries in bandages, and smiles at Dean when his brother finally looks up. They’re both so busy being relieved – Sam for Dean returning alive, and Dean for being alive – that they don’t think about the care that Castiel in the other room may need as well.

Dean pushes Sam playfully when he stands to look at himself in the mirror. Sam just stands behind him, almost unable to move, afraid that if he tears his eyes away Dean will disappear again just as quickly as he arrived. Surprisingly, Dean lets him, dabbing at a cut under his eye.

“A picture would last longer, Sammy.” That’s the only reproach Sam gets, and he’s grateful for that familiarity. He’s been feeling so lost lately.

Sam remembers Castiel after a moment and leaves Dean to his bathroom ritual.

++++

There wasn’t any flutter of wings earlier, announcing Castiel’s departure, which means he’s still in the motel room. But wouldn’t Castiel have followed Dean to make sure he’s okay, or said something by now? Not that he needs to do those things, really, it’s just that something feels off to Sam when he leaves the bathroom.

Dean asks for some privacy to use the toilet, so Sam goes to see, and Castiel is lying motionless on the motel couch.

At first, Sam thinks it was a conscious act – like that time when he passed out on their motel bed – but his shoes and coat are still on while he lies face-down against the couch. It just doesn’t seem right. An unwanted, bone-deep cold passes through Sam’s body, and he knows that this is more serious than he’d like it to be.

Sam takes a few breaths – to avoid startling Dean with a panicked voice – and then calls out. He almost manages to sound calm. But even if Dean notices, he’s probably too tired to come rushing out of the bathroom.

Dean does appear after a few moments (of Sam internally freaking out), and then drops down on the sofa next to the couch. He looks Castiel up and down, estimating the damage maybe, and Sam waits. The severity of the situation would have been more evident if Sam hadn’t removed Castiel’s shoes and coat, and placed him properly on the couch, but it’s too late now.

After what feels like an eternity, Dean sighs and leans back in the sofa. He doesn’t look bothered in the least.

“Cas is probably tired from having used up his mojo to get us out. He wasn’t sure he’d even be able to.”

Sam thinks about that; it’s true.

Castiel had never been to Purgatory, probably spent most of the time fighting while he was there, and then had to try and bring back not one but two bodies. Dean’s making sense. It settles Sam’s pulse a bit.

++++

It’s only been three hours since Dean and Castiel returned from Purgatory, but he’s already grouchy again.

Dean is antsy and only getting worse the longer they wait. He’s still seated on the sofa, but he’s bouncing his leg, squeezing the armrest compulsively. And, unfortunately, Sam isn’t much more relaxed than Dean, so he can’t calm Dean down.

The internal worries have started to surface, and Sam is pacing behind the couch where Castiel is still sleeping. They’re not even sure if he’s sleeping or not, actually, because there’s no difference between a resting angel and a dead one. And it’s all supremely frustrating because there’s nothing they can do except pretend he’s sleeping. Hoping they’re right.

---

Dean is snapping. He complains about Sam’s pacing – which, fine, Sam may be overdoing it – but then he also complains about Sam’s too-long hair, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his clothes seem looser, and everything else he can think of.

Dean’s worried, but he doesn’t want to voice his fears, give them life, just in case that makes them so. Sam is sure that’s what’s going on in Dean’s mind because he knows how Dean thinks. And, also happens to be thinking the same thing.

The solution for most of Dean’s problems is alcohol. He looks around the motel for some, and when that doesn’t work, he paces, too.

One less thing for Dean to bitch at Sam about.

++++

When all else fails, booze prevails. At least, that’s how Dean explains it.

That’s the last thing he says before he’s limping – he must have hurt his leg worse than Sam thought – over to his coat, throwing it on, and taking the keys to the Impala from the night stand. Dean also starts mentioning something about hustling pool, but he gets distracted, and Sam is too busy focusing on Castiel turning over on the couch.

So at least they’ve established Castiel isn’t dead.

Dean pretends he’s unfazed, but Sam knows him better than that.

---

The truth is, Dean can’t take watching Castiel so lifeless, not moving. It would totally be their luck. They being the Winchesters – which Castiel is now a part of until the day he dies.

Right after they escape – right after Castiel has helped save the world (again), done the right thing - he would die. That would be Winchester luck at its finest.

God is a sick bastard like that sometimes, Dean knows.

So Dean has to leave to avoid taking it out on Sam any more than he already is. Castiel isn’t going to get better that way, and Sam won’t calm down either if Dean can’t hold back his emotions.

---

Sam is left alone, worrying worse now that he sees how affected Dean is by this. He just wishes he could find some solace in knowing how bad Castiel’s situation is.

What did they face in Purgatory?

++++

It’s going on five hours since Castiel and Dean returned, and Sam is exhausted just from this second round of the waiting game.

There isn’t anything he can do that will make things better for Castiel, so he concentrates on what will put his mind at rest.

A fallen angel is still an angel, regardless of his mistakes. Sam finds himself praying.

Sam sits on the sofa where Dean was, clutching Castiel’s hand since Dean isn’t around to tease him about it. With every word he utters, he strokes along Castiel’s knuckles, looking from their joined hands to Castiel’s face for signs of it working. Nothing yet, but Castiel’s gotten through worse.

Sam prays in every language he can speak, to every god he’s met – which, being a hunter, is a lot – begging them to give Castiel a tiny bit of strength, a slight push. Just enough for Castiel to pull through once more. It still doesn’t seem to be working.

Sam whispers a final prayer to Castiel, telling him that he is grateful for all the things he’s been through – always, always unnecessarily and life-threatening - and that he needs to survive this so Sam can thank him properly.

Dean comes through the door, loud and drunk, clumsy and sad, and nothing like his usual inebriated self. Sam doesn’t let go of Castiel’s hand, though, even with Dean watching him. It seems like Dean is about to comment, but then Castiel’s fingers twitch in Sam’s grip, and Sam’s mouth falls open. Dean mutters a few colourful things, having noticed, too. Castiel squeezes Sam’s hand, and then Castiel’s eyes slide open slowly.

Castiel’s done it. Or maybe Sam’s done it. Sam doesn’t care either way.

Dean just slurs, “You stupid son of a bitch”. But he’s grinning like a madman.

Sam smiles, too, bringing Castiel’s hand up to his lips, breathing out a silent prayer just for Castiel to hear.

It must be Winchester luck after all.

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Sassy-minibang - Story #3 - Keep Coming Back

2012-12-11T02:25:27Z

Title: Keep Coming Back
Author: trickylady
Artist: sphinx_face
Genre: AU - canon, H/C, romance.
Characters, Pairing(s): Sam/Cas, Dean.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1286
Warnings: temporary canonical character death, spoilers for seasons 4-7.
A/N: I'd like to thank my betas - rock_chick_333, nicole_sill, verucasalt123 & kimberlelly.
Summary: It took five opportunities before Sam decided it was the right time to kiss Castiel.

Sam has an urge to kiss Castiel – the one who saved Dean from Hell – when he first meets him. Call it gratitude, nervous energy maybe, but he doesn’t go through with it. He decides against it and offers his hand instead.

Castiel seems hesitant, or maybe unfamiliar with this kind of human custom, and pauses, just staring at the gesture. Sam shifts, definitely feeling nervous now, and Castiel finally takes his hand.

When Castiel mentions demon blood, Sam wants to shrivel up and die. That would explain Castiel’s behaviour, his blatant lack of enthusiasm. But, somewhere in Sam, he hopes that isn’t why.

---

Sam doesn’t ask Castiel for confirmation because the answer is so obvious he can’t believe it took so long to figure out. The demon blood that coursed through him – still does now – is most likely what gave Sam that urge to ruffle Castiel’s feathers. It explains a lot of Sam’s reactions to Castiel, actually.

---

Castiel doesn’t think humans would appreciate being told he can read their thoughts, so he doesn’t tell Sam Winchester that the very vivid images he was projecting were as clear to him as daylight.

Sam is smart. He can figure it out on his own.

++++

Sam is a caring person by nature, much like his late mother Mary. Dean’s always been more like John when it comes to dealing with emotions, crises, which is what he’s doing now. Leaving Sam to deal with Castiel and his ‘bender’.

Seeing Castiel lose hope, faith, in his Father – like Dean and Sam had so many times with John – ruins Sam. Dean isn’t around to keep them apart, to have his staring matches with Castiel, so Sam’s self-imposed leash disappears.

Sam is across the room, touching Castiel’s shoulders, arms, asking him questions, worrying. Being shot down each time by Castiel with his painful jabs and his dry way of speaking doesn’t stop Sam from trying his best to be a good friend. It doesn’t stop him from wanting to console Castiel in a more physical way either.

Castiel’s angry demeanor eases back after a bit. He’s answering the questions, making eye contact, licking his lips, and sighing a bit less frequently. Overall, it’s an improvement. Sam’s heart races, stutters painfully in his chest, when Castiel leans in. But what Castiel says (“Don’t ask stupid questions.”) makes Sam decide against giving Castiel the comfort he’s been longing to ever since that first day.

Maybe it would only make Sam feel better anyway.

Sam backs off again, leash around his neck once more, and keeps his hands shoved in his pockets to keep from reaching out for Castiel when he sways from the alcohol in his system.

++++

The time Sam spends in Hell doesn’t change the way he feels about Castiel. He wishes it would have, but it doesn’t. He can’t shake any of it away.

When his soul comes back, Sam is drawn to the angel, calling him as soon as he has a moment alone. Castiel’s response is immediate, which is completely unexpected since Sam is not Dean.

Sam is desperate to wrap Castiel in his arms, to kiss him like he had always wanted to, to have him in a way he’s never (ever) wanted another man. But Castiel isn’t a man, not really. He’s something that has Sam fascinated and tragically obsessed.

It’s hard to recall most of the things Sam did when his soul was absent, but he knows he didn’t approach Castiel in the way he wants to now. He hadn’t done it without his soul because logic told him Castiel was dangerous, too strong to risk getting close to. Maybe that’s the only time his soul-less self was right.

Castiel is rushing over to Sam just as Sam wants him to, needs him to. It all goes wrong when Sam realizes he wants so much more than just the hug that Castiel is preparing to offer. But Sam can’t expect that from an angel; can’t demand that of a warrior of God. So, Sam sits back down, abrupt and cold, and pretends it’s awkward when it’s anything but.

Sam is the one who needs to come to terms with how out of place his feelings are for this unfathomable creature. Castiel shouldn’t be the one staring off to the side, looking unwanted and small.

++++

Dean’s given up on Castiel, not for the first time. It’s horrible not because Castiel is innocent – far from it – but because Castiel has never once given up on Dean. So Sam continues to try, even if his brother does sound like he may be right this time.

They see Castiel on the news, and Sam is afraid. He can’t deny he’s afraid of what this means for the world. The way Castiel has humans bound, forced into obedience like cattle. But mainly Sam is afraid for Castiel. Castiel’s more-than-vessel, his skin, is withering away, falling apart, dying. Wouldn’t that mean Castiel is dying, too?

Sam doesn’t waste time, doesn’t worry about Dean telling him it’s a bad idea; he calls Castiel.

---

Sam could cry, he’s so happy when Castiel appears in their hotel room. All he wants to do is tell Castiel he’s family, tell him they’ve all made mistakes. He wants to clean him up – or omit that part altogether – then kiss him, hold him, keep him. Make sure he knows how much he means to Sam. He wants to say that Castiel’s proven how good he is by coming back. And maybe all that will convince Castiel to stay on their side this time.

But Dean is there, stern and angry, determined, pushing them out the door. He’s already leading them to the warehouse, so Castiel can return the souls.

Sam doesn’t get a chance to tell Castiel anything before Castiel is gone again – slipping through the spaces of Sam’s fingers.

(He wishes he hadn’t been there to witness Castiel’s vessel collapsing on itself, oozing out black liquid, and ultimately exploding in the water. It would have been so much easier to sleep at night.)

++++

There’s not much left in the world that Sam wants, but Castiel is still one of those things.

Sam’s final chance comes after Castiel returns – sanity questionable at best – to their side.

It’s so close to go-time; too close to death again. There’s no telling if they’ll make it out alive this time, even if Castiel decides to help them.

Leviathans are strong, pure evil. Proof being the way they ripped out of Castiel like he was nothing.

Sam’s not going to risk it this time. He’s done pretending, fighting it, denying himself his last chance of happiness.

Sam calls for Castiel, says he just wants to talk, and it’s largely true.

When Castiel arrives, smile a bit too large, his clothes crisp and white, and his hair entirely too normal for how erratic he is now, Sam takes a deep breath.

This is and will always be Castiel to Sam, so he doesn’t hesitate any longer. He kisses Castiel, fingers tangling in the dark strands, dragging him closer, and taking in every second of this bliss. And Castiel – perfect, kind, selfless Castiel – only tenses for a moment before he melts into it. He seems much more normal than he’s looked in months, years, when Sam pulls away.

Castiel whispers ‘thank you’ against Sam’s mouth during the third and fourth kisses.

---

The next day, Castiel tells Dean he’s joining their fight against Dick Roman. He doesn’t mention that it’s Sam’s honest, strong-willed, stubborn behaviour that’s convinced him because it doesn’t matter. He wants the Winchesters to stay alive and well, especially now that he has one to keep.

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Sassy-minibang - Story #2 - Across the Universe

2012-12-11T00:17:52Z

Title: Across the Universe
Author: trickylady
Artist: sphinx_face
Genre: AU/AR - canon, angst, H/C, pre-slash.
Characters, Pairing(s): Sam/Cas, Dean, Lisa, YED.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2451
Warnings: some violence, probable spoilers.
A/N: I'd like to thank my betas - rock_chick_333, nicole_sill, verucasalt123 & kimberlelly.
Summary: It took five alternate universes for Sam to find a Castiel to keep.

I. Everything is Broken

Sam knows what the world should look like – at least in comparison to where he’s from - but that’s not how he finds it here. There’s a dark cloud of sadness lingering over the cities, something akin to global depression hanging over every single person. It’s…terrible. There’s no other word for it but that.

It never got this bad in Sam’s world’s version of events.

---

The world isn’t doing so well, and, when Sam finds Dean in the Impala, holding his head, Dean doesn’t look too good either. Lisa rushes out, and Sam realizes this is the promise that Dean said he’d keep – to live with Lisa and have a normal life. That would mean Sam is still in Hell here, for now. Or maybe he never got out…

Bobby is nowhere that Sam can detect – a perk of using this weird, realm-travelling pendant – and Castiel seems to be missing also. But that could just mean Castiel is in Heaven, dealing with the mess up there.

When Dean steps out of the Impala, coming into the light of the street lamps, Sam’s next breath chokes him as it leaves his lungs. The scars – no doubt due to the damage Sam inflicted while Lucifer was wearing his skin – are still there, vile, and just as gruesome as they were when Sam saw them in that brief moment before he jumped into The Pit.

If Dean isn’t healed and Bobby’s nowhere around, then Castiel isn’t just gone, he was never brought back by God. Maybe in this world Castiel was considered a traitor. Maybe he was ignored by his Father. Not that any of that changes the outcome.

That would explain Dean keeping his word.

Dean’s family is gone, every single one of them, and Dean has no choice, really, but to hold on to that final promise. No-one is left for Dean but Lisa.

Lisa wraps her arms around Dean, and he smiles. The cuts and bruises look worse, deeper somehow. She squeezes him to her, and Dean lets her in – just like he would with the closest members of his family. But Dean wouldn’t be like that with her, so Sam knows Dean’s not himself. Not in the least.

Sam leaves for another parallel universe, feeling dread down to his bones.

II. Nowhere to Go But Down

Dean is dead.

The yellow-eyed demon is hissing that into the shell of the other Sam’s ear. Sam, our hero in search of solace, of course arrives just in time to see this Sam falling apart, crying, shaking with the news. The demon grins, laughs above him.

Sam doesn’t know why he stays any longer. Castiel is obviously nowhere if Dean never even met Lilith or Bela. Dean hadn’t even survived past Jessica burning up on Sam’s ceiling. And this Sam – without Dean – wouldn’t believe in angels, therefore could not call for Castiel’s help in this situation. Heaven wouldn’t want to help the boy with the demon blood, the wretched Winchester, anyway.

Maybe Sam has a sick, demented interest – he’s always suspected he isn’t normal – in a world that’s not his own. One that would never be his own.

He stays a bit longer. Long enough that the Sam of this place regains his composure, stands up as tall as he can manage, looks Azazel straight in the eye and says: “What do I have to do for you to bring Dean back?”

Sam can’t stay after that, not while he sees Azazel cutting into the flesh of his forearm, letting it drip out of him so the other Sam can drink from him. That’s not something Sam wants to witness from the outside. Being in it – craving and needing, and draining demons – was bad enough already.

Leaving this world is easy for Sam; he knows nothing good can come from a deal with a powerful demon like Azazel. He squeezes the necklace once in his palm, without taking off his neck, and it brings him elsewhere.

III. Envy at Its Peak

Everything seems pretty…normal. Decent, even.

The Sam from this world must be out at the library or getting food, because Castiel and Dean are in the motel room alone, but there are still two bags of clothes around. That’s a good sign. At least they’re all alive in this universe.

Castiel looks around the room, then towards Dean. Sam wonders if Castiel even ever sees other people besides Dean, whether they’re alone or not. So, when Castiel asks if they’re by themselves, Sam can’t help but think it’s kind of pointless.

Dean’s lip twitches and Sam’s seen that, but he can’t place it; he can’t understand it in this context. Dean replies with a low, dragged-out ‘yes’, and Castiel stalks across the room, right up in Dean’s space, leaning in – just that inch closer that he’s never passed – to kiss Dean.

And this – unlike the scars on Dean’s face, Castiel exploding, Sam drinking demon blood straight out of Azazel’s wrist – Sam cannot sit here, sit through this, and watch them.

Sam thinks at first that it’s because it’s a private moment, or because seeing his big brother getting it on with an angel is blasphemous. Or maybe even the fact that it is Dean - the one who basically raised Sam - and it’s leaning slowly toward being incestuous and voyeuristic. But it’s none of those things.

All Sam sees is Castiel’s delicate hands, his slightly chapped lips moving, the emotion he puts into this – that he puts into nothing else – and it hurts.

It hurts Sam because he wants this, so badly, and he never knew. It hurts because Castiel and Dean just fit so well together. And Sam never has with anyone but Jessica.

The next world can’t be worse than this Sam decides as he leaves.

IV. No Return in Sight

Sam’s watching the other Sam lie in a psychiatric hospital bed with Dean nearby. From the relief on Dean’s face, Sam can tell, in this world too, Castiel stripped away the wall and all that came with it, taking it into his vessel. So this Sam is just recovering from Lucifer’s hallucinations being taken out.

Sam watches, feeling hopeful, for Castiel to return. It’s different from what happened in Sam’s world – Castiel having been left in the hospital with Meg – but every place has been different thus far.

When Castiel doesn’t come back after a day, Dean calls out for him. Then, when this world’s Sam is feeling better, he calls him. Just to thank Castiel.

No answer, no flutter of wings - just absence.

Sam doesn’t like the feeling he has, the same one the Sam from this world is probably getting, but he keeps waiting along with them. It’s not like a Winchester to give up hope.

Sam and Dean leave the hospital – after asking Meg to let them know if she ever hears from Castiel. Sam follows them in the back seat of the Impala, silently watching, hidden from them through sheer will rather than the pendant. What the heart wants is what it provides.

---

They go on hunts – salt and burns mostly – and Sam gives them a hand, using the memories from his time in his world, hoping things aren’t too different so he can keep them out of harm’s way. It’s lucky they don’t notice, though.

Dean, when he thinks his Sam is busy or far away, calls out to Castiel, talks to him. But Castiel never shows up or responds.

Sam tries a few times as well, mostly feeling like it’s wasted effort. Castiel has always answered Dean before coming to anyone else. And besides, if Sam’s heart isn’t in it, his words won’t reach Castiel’s ears.

---

There’s patience, and then there’s Sam’s brand of patience.

Castiel doesn’t show up, even after five years. And, although the Sam of this world hasn’t given up, Sam has.

Fortunately, Sam doesn’t have to live in this time if he doesn’t want to. There’s only one more world he can travel to, and he prays it’s the one he will stay in. He leaves them behind, wishing the Sam here good luck. Maybe his patience will be rewarded one day.

Sam’s fingers are barely wrapped around the necklace, and he’s gone.

V. Fate Smiles upon Me

Sam’s never met this version of Castiel, but Dean had told him about Emmanuel many, many times. Mostly while making fun of Castiel (since he was back to himself in their world).

There’s panic in Emmanuel’s eyes that Sam can’t remember ever seeing in Castiel’s. Dean is giving him a quick, unsatisfying-but-efficient, rundown of what he needs to do to break into the hospital, and Emmanuel looks like he’s about to throw up by the end of it.

Emmanuel shakes his head, says no, and that he won’t be able to do it. He doesn’t believe he’s an angel. He doesn’t believe Dean. It’s shocking, especially since Sam has seen how they are in more than one world now. Castiel never doubts Dean. To a fault, even.

The disbelief only gets worse when the demons make their presence known. Emmanuel takes one look at their black eyes, and refuses to set foot in or around the hospital. So Dean, being the stupid but amazing brother that he is, goes toward them alone – without Castiel.

The first demon dies quickly, but the next one grabs Ruby’s knife from Dean, and throws it out of reach – which leaves Dean without any defense. Dean is choking, scratching at the restricting hold around his neck, his feet dangling off the ground, and turning blue in the face. Emmanuel holds his head, eyes wide and torn.

Sam knows something is happening; he just hopes it’s something good.

Castiel’s memories must have pushed through at seeing his first charge (ever) being strangled to death. His duty as a protector will always be that strong. Sam can practically see the moment Castiel’s memories return and hit him – even though it’s just a flash, a half-second.

Then the demon is crying out in agony, instantly letting go of Dean, and falling lifeless to the ground. Castiel saved Dean. And, no matter how many times Sam will see that, he’ll always be blown away by it.

And then they rush inside to save this Sam, too. Sam follows close behind, still invisible to them both apparently. His heart’s just not in it yet.

---

They’re running in, pushing past Meg but… Sam is gone. They waited too long. Castiel waited too long, didn’t trust Dean’s judgment like he would in other realms. Like he has in almost every dimension Sam has been to.

So Sam, here, in this alternate reality, is dead.

Castiel is a fighter, though, just like Dean. He tries to get other Sam out of his head, away from Lucifer and the hallucinations. Then Dean is the one who has to push Castiel off, saying it’s too late. Somehow, Dean’s become the voice of reason in this world.

Dean looks exhausted, broken in a way Sam wishes he could un-see right away. Castiel doesn’t look any better. They’re both already starting to grieve. But they - they shouldn’t need to. sam isn’t gone; there’s one standing right here. They need him, and he needs them.

It’s time for Sam to let his heart decide.

Sam is squeezing the pendant to him, holding back his own tears when Dean starts grabbing at the white outfit on the other Sam. Castiel isn’t holding Dean back, he’s joining in, face screwed up in a way that makes Sam’s heart ache. The pendant glows red for a second, then shatters into minuscule pieces of glass, too small to even cut Sam’s fingers. The remnants are slowly pulled away, circling Sam’s palm, and just…nowhere.

Sam stumbles into view, lets them notice him while he processes this. He’s done it, he’s here. He’s going to stay here permanently, and make it work. Sam doesn’t speak at first; he gives them a few moments to come to terms with what they’re seeing instead. If anyone can believe in alternate universes, it would be Dean and Castiel.

Castiel can tell Sam’s different, and the same, in a split second. But Dean is already taking out a knife to hurt Sam with. Grieving or not, Dean knows his priorities. Castiel stops Dean before he gets to Sam.

“No, Dean. This is Sam. It’s just not this Sam.” He points to the one lying lifeless on the bed.

Dean grunts, wiping his eyes, and says, “Talk.”

Sam tells Dean everything he can. About how in his world both Dean and Castiel died, that he’s been looking for a way to make things right, to fit in, to have them again. Or at least to warn them before another version of Sam had to deal with that same pain. Sam explains that he’s lived through what’s happened here already because Castiel had saved him in his own world.

What Sam leaves out is where Dean and Castiel died: in Purgatory. He’s going to prevent that from happening in this reality, if it’s the last thing he does. But before any of that can be possible –

“Let me stay with you,” Sam demands, hands balled into fists, needing this second chance to make things right. They’re his only chance at having his family back with him. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if they don’t want him around.

Dean doesn’t even question it, just drags Sam in for a rough, meaningful hug, the knife clattering to the tiles. It’s like every other time Sam’s died and come back to life.

Castiel simply nods, pressing his fingers to both Winchesters’ heads, and then they’re off.

---

Sam waits until they’re alone to say what he’s figured out. Castiel is the one. And he hopes Dean isn’t also dating Castiel in this world, because Sam won’t survive spending the rest of his life watching what he could be having.

It’s a risk, Sam knows, but he takes it. There’s nowhere left for him to go now.

Sam starts by telling Castiel that he never had a chance to say something important to the Castiel back in his world, but Castiel says ‘I love you’ first. For some time, they’ve both been feeling the same way. Circumstances just seemed to be against them in other places.

---

When they’re leaving one of many motel rooms, Sam spots the pendant in a garbage can near the front door. He doesn’t pick it up, doesn’t even consider it, and takes Castiel’s hand in his own instead.

It’s someone else’s turn to look for their happiness.

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Comments always appreciated. :)

Sassy-minibang - Story #1 - While I Break

2012-12-11T00:03:34Z

Title: While I Break
Author: trickylady
Artist: sphinx_face
Genre: AU - canon, angst, H/C, pre-slash.
Characters, Pairing(s): Sam/Cas, Dean.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1883
Warnings: some violence, probable spoilers.
A/N: I'd like to thank my betas - rock_chick_333, nicole_sill, verucasalt123 & kimberlelly. This is one of the darker stories.
Summary: It took five months for Castiel to allow himself to be human.

1- Denial

Castiel refuses to believe he’s human.

There are things the Winchesters do with ease that Castiel can’t even pretend to do correctly. Even small children seem more capable with their hands than Castiel is. So what is he if not an angel? He still can’t even tie his shoe laces properly after the first week.

That aside, though, the clumsiness takes a bit more time to get used to.

Castiel trips over his laces, uneven sidewalks, rocks, other people’s feet, and sometimes small animals. It usually results in him scraping his elbows, his knees – or his face when he lands head first on the pavement. (That was worse than his usual injuries since he was convinced he could still fly.)

Every time Castiel follows the Winchesters outside for some fresh air, he collects a new, irritating injury to go with his shattered pride. There’s no duty involved in these marks, no reward, no honour in carrying them. They’re just there to spite him, to rub the truth in his face.

And, every time Sam sees a new puncture, a cut, more raw skin, he carefully covers it up with a bandage so Castiel can pretend it isn’t there. Castiel didn’t like the Sesame Street ones at all – too obnoxious and obvious – so Sam starts buying Castiel the see-through ones instead. Then no-one but Castiel can know how many times he’s hurt himself that week. It’s easy enough for Castiel to forget the bandages are stuck to his skin, too.

There’s only, possibly, one good thing about this useless body, and it’s Dean’s favourite pastime.

Dean helps Castiel cope with his ‘uncooperative vessel’ by drinking with him. Castiel thinks he’s still able to consume as much as he used to – even manages to convince Dean of that fact – but he turns out being wrong. Castiel has even less tolerance for alcohol than Sam does, now that he’s fallen.

Castiel ends up vomiting in garbage pails, on his beloved sidewalks while tripping over them, in women’s bathrooms – when the men’s is too far to get to – and on most of Dean’s best shoes. Not only that, but the following morning is always hell for all of them. An angel having to deal with a serious hangover means that everyone in close proximity should suffer.

Sam finds a solution for that, too, in acetaminophen with codeine. And, unfortunately, Castiel feels well enough to resume drinking that same night with Dean.

Dean thinks it’s awesome having a willing drinking partner – unlike Sam – until they have to rush Castiel to a hospital when he almost dies of alcohol poisoning one night. Sam doesn’t let Dean bring Castiel drinking unattended again after that.

2- Anger

The first thing Castiel breaks is mostly an accident: his cellphone.

The irritating woman was telling him he ran out of minutes again, and Castiel didn’t want to be reminded of how far he’d fallen to need such an idiotic device in the first place.

It shatters when he throws it against the nearest wall, the battery falling out – still intact. Castiel walks over to it, without hesitation or fear of the consequences, and steps on it, crushes it under his shoes until there’s nothing left of that as well.

It feels good. It feels great actually. Castiel hasn’t felt better.

---

The second time is planned.

The cluttered way of the room Bobby has set up for him has Castiel feeling claustrophobic. There are dressers everywhere, clothes and furniture and electronics lining every wall, boxing Castiel in, making him wish his wings would reappear just so he could stretch them out, and knock everything to the floor at once.

It takes a lot longer with his bare hands, but he succeeds.

The lamp’s bulb breaks, crashes with a satisfying sizzle when the current of electricity is cut so suddenly. Castiel smashes all of the pieces of it, rips through the shade until there’s nothing left but shreds of fabric in his palms.

It feels almost as good as the first time. It still feels good enough that Castiel feels no guilt about destroying his charge’s property. His friend’s property. He’s too weak now to protect them as he once was able to.

---

The final thing Castiel breaks, the last thing he can spare, can replace easily, is his mirror. And it’s the most pre-meditated action he’s done.

Castiel spends ten minutes taking out the screws, and then scratching away the glue. He yanks it off the wall, quick and merciless, letting it fall at his feet on the floor of the bathroom. The white and black tiles are covered in the pointy shards, but the pieces are still too large.

He can still see who he is, what form he’s stuck in. He can still see that Jimmy Novak will be how he looks forever now. That he will never be Castiel, the angel, ever again.

It’s stupid, he thinks, expecting to crack a broken mirror with bare feet, but the pain only urges him on, forces him to be rougher, press down harder, and smother the blue eyes and dark hair that don’t belong to him. Never will.

The mirror is like ash between his toes, powder, remnants of what it used to be, just dust that will be easy to sweep away and never think about again. But Sam’s reaction makes Castiel rethink that.

Sam is angry, pushing Castiel to sit on the bathtub while he wipes up all the blood on Castiel’s feet. He swears under his breath nonstop, wincing when he has to pull pieces from between Castiel’s toes, but Castiel feels nothing. At least, nothing like pain. He feels relief.

Castiel explains why he did it when Sam asks, and Sam stops swearing. He cleans Castiel in silence after that. Castiel doesn’t know what he’s thinking, and that only further reminds him of how useless he’s now become. He can’t even listen in on Sam’s thoughts anymore.

3- Bargaining

Castiel is still covered in cuts – and consequently bandages – but he’s not smashing his few human possessions anymore.

He takes care of his new lamp, even tries to fix the old one a few times (until he’s sick of cutting his fingers open). He goes to a shop and picks out a new cellphone with Sam, something cheaper to save them money.

He also tries to get used to walking around without falling, but it’s just not his thing. So he concentrates on his hands. He starts making his own clothes, reads recipes and tries them out, even combs his hair. Shaving he’s too afraid to try, though.

When that’s not enough, he tries interacting with people at stores and in the street, offering them directions even though he’s lost himself, and smiles at anyone who glances his way.

Generally, he’s being more positive. At least, it looks that way to people who don’t know Castiel. Dean and Sam are in no way convinced.

---

Every time Sam enters Castiel’s room, he’s mumbling things in Enochian, his hands clutched together and his eyes closed. Sometimes he says things in English, too. Pleading, begging, promising he won’t use his powers for anything but good if only he can have them back soon.

And then Castiel assumes that if he doesn’t exert his leftover powers, tries not to use them as much – not that they work, really – that they’ll return to him.

Sam is usually the one who tells him it won’t work. Dean just tells Castiel to knock himself out.

---

When Castiel buys a goldfish, trying to appreciate another type of life form, he names it after his fallen brother, Gabriel. It dies, accidentally.

Castiel had tripped while carrying the bowl, and when it landed on the carpet, his body crushed it. Castiel prays that night that he would use his powers to resuscitate it. To give all creatures help and a second chance at life, if only he could have them back.

But even Castiel knows it’s just an excuse.

4- Depression

Castiel stops breaking things, doesn’t argue, doesn’t fight, and doesn’t even bother speaking to Him. He just sits around with a blank stare on his face, watches TV, and does nothing else all day.

Eating isn’t a concern of Castiel’s at this point. He buys snacks and drinks from the local convenience store, and lives on those empty calories as long as he needs to. When Castiel gets ill from his poor diet, only then does he allow Sam to share his salad or fruits with him.

Castiel’s hygiene suffers as well. He doesn’t shower until Dean complains about a smell (like rotting garbage or mildew), or until Sam nudges Castiel to take one. Otherwise, he’s neutral to the odours, the pains, the sun setting and rising. All of it.

Castiel has given up; not interested in anything even remotely human-related or what Earth has to offer. He’s reached resignation in its purest form, and he can’t give a damn about not giving a damn.

Sam can tell Castiel’s hit rock-bottom because he won’t even bother speaking to them, and they’ve always been the ones he’s made an effort to understand and live amicably with. They’re supposed to be his family, not just his charges – especially not his charges since he’s fallen so far – but his closest friends, the ones he can ask for help from when he needs support.

It hurts Sam to see Castiel this way, but offering a hand will mean nothing if Castiel doesn’t want it. Dean, obviously in permanent denial, says Castiel will find a way out of this slump when he wants to.

And if Castiel doesn’t want to, what happens then?

5- Acceptance

The fifth month is different.

It’s different because Sam stops trying. He gives up on Castiel, and starts going down the same, depressing road that Castiel has. Seeing someone so strong, so positive, suddenly give up and become deathly silent in a matter of weeks utterly shatters Castiel’s world.

So Castiel tries. He tries harder – for Sam to know his efforts weren’t wasted.

Castiel finally allows the truth in, and begins to embrace his humanity. He takes care of himself, sleeps well, and eats well - listening to all of Sam’s earlier advice. Castiel watches Dean’s TV shows with him, and argues about movies and pies, but doesn’t let this pastime take up more than part of his day. He doesn’t stay home once Dean and Sam leave for supplies or food; he follows.

Sam sees this, notices right away that Castiel is making an effort, and it makes his own broody behaviour retreat. He’s proud of Castiel, so he treats him to human things he wouldn’t know about; the things Castiel was ignoring before. He teaches Castiel about other methods of transportation, varieties of food, music that isn’t 80s rock, and other sweets that don’t have crust.

And Castiel realizes there’s still a lot he can do with this body. There’s so much more to the world than just suffering and waiting. There’s all of humanity, fighting for good, caring. Castiel cares again, and that includes caring about the body which is completely his now.

And all the ways he can use it to make life for Sam just a bit easier.

+ some more amazing art

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Comments always appreciated. :)

Sassy-minibang Masterpost 2012

2012-12-10T23:40:40Z

Title: And the Rain Was Upon the Earth Forty Days and Forty Nights
Author: trickylady
Artist: sphinx_face
Genre: AU/AR (and canon), angst, H/C, humour, fluff, schmoop, fantasy, romance, slash and pre-slash.
Characters, Pairing(s): Sam/Cas, Dean, Bobby, Crowley, Gabriel, Zachariah, Ruby, Lisa, OFC. (not in all stories)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~13k
Warnings: mentions of minor/major character death, spoilers for all seasons.
A/N: I'd like to thank my betas - rock_chick_333, nicole_sill, verucasalt123 & kimberlelly. In case it's not obvious, the stories are not linked to one another. Also, some of the stories are narration-heavy; if that isn't your thing, maybe you won't enjoy them. And a Huge Thanks to my artist for making such incredible art! :D

Summary: A collection of short stories with Castiel and Sam finding their way to each other, all in the five times format.

Story List:
While I Break; It took five months for Castiel to allow himself to be human.
Across the Universe; It took five alternate universes for Sam to find a Castiel to keep.
Keep Coming Back; It took five opportunities before Sam decided it was the right time to kiss Castiel.
Winchester Luck; It took five hours for Castiel to open his eyes after escaping Purgatory (and using his powers to drag Dean out with him.
God's Creation; It took five of Sam's mistakes for Castiel to lose his faith.
Worth the Pain; It took five actions for Sam to finally understand Castiel.
Eggs and Bacon; It took five interruptions for them to admit it.
Always Welcome; It took five stops for everything to be right.

*or read them all on AO3

Art link: Art Masterlist

Marvel_bang - Ball and Chain - part 5/5

2012-11-06T03:04:56Z

Title: Ball and Chain (of Fools)
This is part 5 of 5
marvel_bang Masterpost HERE

Phil is a big help with the disobedient ‘children’ now that he’s come out of his shell. Steve can even concentrate on sketching again because he has time to himself. He stays nearby, always, to make sure they don’t pick on the serious agent, and also in case Thor and Hulk decide to have another extreme thumb war. (No one leaves the room unscathed when they do.)

Steve has a dozen unused sketchbooks in his room that he’s dying to get his hands on, so he doesn’t wait for something interesting to happen. He draws what’s already marked him. He draws moments in time, like snapshots, all from memory.

The way Natasha’s smile grew when she realized she could finally trust someone; Bruce’s skilled hands and the concentration on his features when he cooked for the entire team; Phil’s uninhibited moments of appreciation for a particularly good movie (usually animated); Thor’s quiet, wistful moments when he thought he wouldn’t be able to see his brother again; Clint’s happiness once he discovered family wasn’t only linked by blood; Tony’s obvious concern for the people he never expected to need around. All of it is important, and therefore worthy of being leaked onto sheets of paper. He doesn’t leave out the harder times – the experiences he sometimes wishes he could have rewound and erased – because struggle is also a part of life after all.

Life isn’t something that’s easy to cram into one sketchbook, so eventually Steve fills the dozen with all of the drawings he’s been dying to let out. Running out of paper to draw on doesn’t mean occupying the walls – as Tony unhelpfully suggests – but buying more sketchbooks to use.

---

While Steve is out doing just that, and most of the household is gone on personal errands, Loki sneaks around the tower.

Clint’s room is barren, clean, almost too clean. They say the people with the most secrets tend to hide them the best. Phil’s room isn’t much better, but his ‘fake’ collection of DVDs makes Loki chuckle since they all know he hides his real one – any and all Pixar and Disney films – behind.

Bruce lives in his lab basically, considering he brings back giant, scientific encyclopaedias with him as his nightly reading material. (Loki assumes that must be the case since they’re on his night table.)

Tony’s penthouse is as luxurious and grand as the man believes himself to be, but Loki finds the hidden area with the videos of Howard Stark, and spends some time watching them instead.

Thor, well, Loki shares his room so that’s uninteresting (and messy). And contains no human technology for Loki to tamper with either.

Natasha has strange Russian dolls that fit into each other, one slightly smaller than the next, spread all around her bedroom. Pepper is in her room, so Loki just smirks as he passes by, to create a sense of unease in her.

Steve’s room isn’t very strange or barren, or anything besides normal, save for the stack of books piled neatly to one corner. And those are strangely intriguing in their simplicity.

Loki hasn’t missed how often Steve’s been lost in his own world, scribbling away in these books, but he never thought he would be so talented. He’s captured details that even the most experienced fighter of Asgard would miss, things Loki hadn’t noticed despite having watched so much of the security footage Stark hoards. Most are of Steve’s teammates - fighting, eating, sleeping, and roughhousing like children – but one drawing captures Loki’s full attention.

Thor is enjoying a film, probably during their weekly movie nights, and Steve is squashed between him and Tony – who insists on holding Steve’s thigh – while Natasha and Pepper share popcorn further down on the couch. Phil is in the sofa on his own with Clint seated in front of his legs on the carpeted floor. And Bruce is in the kitchen preparing another batch of popcorn. Up until there, nothing is special, really. But Loki is next to Thor, his head tilted and leaned against his brother’s shoulder, with Thor’s hand petting through the dark locks gently as Loki sleeps.

Loki doesn’t remember that happening, having consciously tried to keep his distance, to keep contact as unfriendly as possible with Thor when he’s awake. But this, with the entire Avengers team around, and even the two who shouldn’t belong but somehow do, this makes Loki feel like he needs to stop fighting against what he’s been yearning for: belonging.

---

Steve returns to find Loki seated on his bed, still admiring that drawing, his fingers tracing it lightly. He doesn’t even look up at Steve when he murmurs, “Can I keep this one? I will make a copy if you insist on preserving the original.”

Brow furrowing, Steve leans over to see which one Loki’s referring to. “I wasn’t finished yet. Can you wait?”

“I don’t see what could be missing from it,” Loki replies quickly. He looks up to find the mighty Captain America looking somewhat bewildered by that statement.

“It’s…I didn’t add the colour in yet,” Steve admits. “I was going to make a larger version of it and frame it actually,” he says, tucking his hands in his pockets.

Loki blinks slowly, and grins up at Steve when he has to break eye contact. “How long will that take?”

Steve is absolutely adorable – in a mortal, illogically embarrassed kind of way – when he’s trying not to blush. It’s hard to resist trying to rouse that reaction all the time.

“At least a few weeks.” Steve shuffles his feet.

“Pity, but very well.” Loki stands, handing the Captain his sketch and patting his chest as he goes. “I will look forward to the finished product.” He winks, just to see Steve force his eyes away, no doubt fighting to keep his skin from becoming visibly red.

Steve falls onto his bed when Loki disappears. He stares up at the ceiling for a long time, minutes passing by in seconds. He can’t decide whether it’s more shocking that Loki found his drawings and liked them or that he didn’t say a single insulting comment. Steve continues to ponder that, gazing up at the ceiling, the conversation replaying over and over, until he hears Bruce call him down for supper.

Maybe there is hope yet for Loki to change his ways.

~*~*~

“I know your ways, brother,” Thor tries to say in a low voice. “You must not corrupt precious Captain of America. He is not like us. He is not like most creatures in fact. He is pure and innocent to a degree I thought only existed in tales for children.”

“Are you telling me what to do? Because, dear Thor, you know how well that works,” Loki replies, turning the page of his book soundlessly. “Besides, if I were scheming as you are so inclined to believe, how could I corrupt him if he is as untainted and innocent as you say?”

Thor frowns, tying the last of his armour in place. He picks up Mjolnir, pointing it at Loki. “Do not attempt it, Loki. He is needed on this planet. You know what would happen if you defied me.”

“Yes, yes.” Loki waves a hand dismissively, licking his index finger to turn the page. “I don’t much want to return to Asgard’s custody.” That would prevent him from continuously making Steve blush, wouldn’t it?

Thor grunts, giving Loki one last, stern look before shutting the door.

Loki sneaks a copy of Steve’s drawing out from in between the pages of his book – he may or may not have used his magic to ease his impatience - gazing at it with the same interest he had the first time. Too bad Thor can’t see the beauty in cerebral pastimes; he wouldn’t question Loki’s newfound fascination otherwise.

~*~*~

Steve is looking at the same drawing (the original) when Thor says they have matters to discuss.

“What’s up? You seem serious today.” Steve closes his sketchbook, putting it on his dresser.

Thor squeezes the handle of Mjolnir, looking at Steve like the world is crashing around him. “My brother is going to attempt something. And I think he may try to use your kindness as a downfall.”

Steve’s brow furrows; did he miss something? “What?”

Thor stalks towards Steve, a severe crease to his brow. “Loki is dangerous, Steven. For reasons that are still unclear, he has taken interest in you. I believe he will attempt to seduce you. I have yet to find out the logic, but you must be wary of my brother. It pains me to say such things of him, but I know it to be true. He has used my own caring for him against me before.”

Someone needs to invent an Asgardian-Earthian dictionary so Steve can translate these poetic speeches. It’s bad enough he doesn’t know the lingo from this decade. “So if I understood right, you think Loki is going to try and—”

“Bed you, yes.” Thor nods once, curt.

“Really?” Steve doesn’t see how hatred can skip straight over to sex, but this world is certainly nothing else if unpredictable.

“You must believe me, Steven. I wish only for your safety.” Thor grabs Steve’s shoulder, peering into his eyes with a fierceness he reserves for battle.

“Okay,” Steve breathes out, overwhelmed, “I believe you.” But that doesn’t mean he thinks it will happen. Loki is many things, but interested in Steve would be the last to come to mind. “I’ll watch out for him,” Steve adds for emphasis.

It seems to do the trick because Thor’s fun-loving smile returns, and he dashes out with a skip to his step.

~*~*~

One day, Steve sees a commercial about a body spray that makes people want to rip their clothes off when they’re around you – Axe something or other; he’s not good with product names – and it reminds him of exactly what goes on for the following weeks after he spoke to Thor. Everyone except Loki seems to be throwing themselves at Steve with renewed vigor.

Worse yet? That isn’t even the weirdest part about it all.

It’s more or less Steve’s fault – probably. He felt bad for having become a recluse – in favour of drawing and pondering his recent sexual awakening – and not spending much time with his many roommates. And so he sought to correct that by visiting them, at random, like he had before an alien prisoner showed up.

~*~*~

Tony is obsessed with finishing what he started. Steve tries to explain that he just wants to hang out, and Tony pretends like he agrees, but then he leans in extra close to whisper things, he brings Steve to fancy restaurants he could never afford, and he offers to dress (and undress) Steve on numerous occasions. And none of that qualifies as ‘friendly’ behaviour in Steve’s book.

When at last Steve feels their friendship stabilizing again, Tony trails kisses down Steve’s neck during a movie. Steve isn’t exactly against where this is going, but he would have preferred not to take this course of action. He gets into it after a moment, but apparently Tony’s suits have a mind of their own because three of them start flying around at once.

It takes the two long enough to catch them that Tony falls asleep once his body settles back into the couch. Steve doesn’t wake him; this could be a sign after all.

Steve passes the least time in Phil’s presence, so he ends up in the kitchen with him one evening. The stove catches fire, completely inexplicably, while they try to cook their favourite dishes for each other. Three times. That’s the kind of happening you pay attention to. Or, that’s what Steve tells himself when he avoids the kitchen altogether for the next few days.

Luckily Bruce can still be found outside of his lab, but the reason is because he and sneaky Clint have taken a liking to each other. Romantically one could say. And who is Steve to come between a blossoming love between fellow teammates? They end up in ten pages of his sketchbook because of it, though.

Natasha is without her other half, and seeks out Steve’s attention. He gives it gladly, wanting to know more about the fiery redhead with the ability to turn your blood to ice with a simple look. With that said, that expression tends to shift when in Steve’s presence to something of baser human need. Arousal.

She had made it perfectly clear what she expected and why, but sometimes Steve can’t connect the threads of his mind and body, and he ends up in situations he wishes he wouldn’t be in. Like the one he’s in now, in her room watching her strip out of her skin-tight leather. He’s human, no matter what anyone says, and he has desires like anyone else. But usually he’s able to keep them restrained.

In this case, however, she is very nearly in her birthday suit when a phone call from Fury comes in for her. She stomps out of the room in a bathrobe, expecting to return, but after an hour of waiting, Steve decides she most likely isn’t.

(It turned out to be a prank call – believe it or not – someone mimicked the man’s voice and had her fly in only to be told she was mistaken. Imagine the suffering her team had to endure when she was deprived of her needs.)

Going back to drawing, Steve sketches his extended family until he’s stumped with one of Pepper’s poses. He asks her if she can model for him, for one afternoon, and she frees up her schedule just for Steve.

The robe should have been a hint. The grin on her face should have been another. The knowledge that she used to date one Tony Stark should have set off fire alarms. In retrospect, it all should have been an obvious plan.

Pepper is naked and standing in the middle of Steve’s room, holding a bottle of champagne. And, before she can even open it, it…explodes in her hands. Steve could not have made that up if he tried, regardless of his vivid imagination.

Her schedule is magically filled up for the next month.

Thor is a nuisance to most of the Avengers, but a loveable one. To Steve he is a companion, a man of honour, and out of his depth just as Steve is. They are similar in the ways that matter, but that only makes their differences seem like errors of creation.

Steve isn’t as affectionate as he could be, as Thor is, but he’s slowly getting to that comfort level. In Thor’s world though, slow does not exist. And that’s one thing that sometimes pushes them apart.

It’s awkward enough to be visiting Thor in his bedroom, but now that Loki shares it, it’s the worst.

Steve feels the back of his head being burned through with a laser-strength glare that Thor insists is only in Steve’s imagination. Thor drags Steve in by his collar to prove some point – Steve lost track somewhere around Thor’s lips touching his own – and then Thor pulls away like he’s just touched the surface of the goddamn sun. The pain across the god’s face is so striking that Steve knows he’ll have nightmares about it while he’s awake. Loki laughs softly from where he’s seated cross-legged further back on the bed.

And that’s when all the pieces snap into place.

~*~*~

Steve waits until Loki is preparing a snack on movie night to confront him.

“Loki,” Steve says, taking in a deep breath before continuing. “Are you the one who’s been…” Steve grasps at straws. It’s not exactly interfering. Preventing their roommates from having sex with him? But that sounds ridiculous. There must be a better way to phrase it.

“—waiting for your finished piece? Yes.” Loki puts a quarter of butter on a plate, putting it in the microwave for a few seconds to melt. He looks at Steve when he sighs. “Is what I’ve said fallacious?”

“No. But that’s not what I was going to ask.” Steve crosses his arms, looking down at the kitchen tiles. “Have you been doing all those strange things around the tower?”

“Define strange. Our delineations can be quite dissimilar.” Loki turns away when the microwave pings. Steve can swear he sees a smirk on Loki’s face before he does.

“I don’t know if I bother you, or if anyone else does, but you can’t do things like that.” Steve tries for an authoritative tone that only ends up sounding petty to his ears. It’s not the easiest thing to scold a god when you’re only human. When you’ve fought them before.

“If I did not know better, I would think you were accusing me of being an obstruction to you,” Loki retorts. “And that seems unlike the Captain America I’ve heard so much about.” He narrows his eyes at Steve who stands his ground, arms still firmly pressed to his chest.

“I know you’re the one doing it. But I wish you’d at least admit you’re the one behind it all.” Steve sighs, rubbing his hands together. “I was just going to ask you why my relationship with everyone bothers you so much.”

“Bothers me?” Loki snaps, tearing his gaze away from Steve’s questioning look. “This planet bothers me. This country bothers me.” He grips the side of the counter, angry with himself for letting this ignorant man get under his skin. “Your team of pests could not bother me even if they tried. You, however, are a thorn that I cannot remove from my side.”

Steve’s brow furrows. Loki’s words are tinged with sadness rather than the fury he’s trying to project. His sob in the next sentence only confirms this to Steve.

“I cannot bear witness to your happiness with others while I am banished to this vile world filled with nonsense creatures and insignificant worries.”

Loki swipes a hand underneath his eye, wiping away the warm tear he couldn’t stop. It’s been a long time since anyone has made him enraged to the point of tears. Thor is usually best at that.

Steve approaches Loki carefully, but the Trickster turns around, mask of lies replacing the vulnerability. He stops in his tracks, taking in the stony look Loki insists on wearing. But it’s too late; Steve’s seen the truth.

Steve leans in to murmur, just low enough for Loki to hear, “I’m sorry. I thought you didn’t care about us…any of us.” Obviously, Steve was wrong.

“I do not,” Loki states flatly. Lies don’t devastate you, they protect you. “I cannot stand to be in the presence of two lumbering fools, constantly cheerful and blind to everyone’s feelings.” He slaps Steve’s hand away when he tries to pat Loki’s shoulder. “Do not touch me, you heartless being. Your imperfections will only seep through.”

“I don’t understand, Loki. You’re mad because I’m happy? Because they can make me happy?” Steve watches Loki intently, worrying his lip, trying to understand.

“Why must I explain everything?!” Loki shouts, shoving Steve back until he’s against the counter. “Can you not see what pains me? If I am unworthy of your attention then tell me, don’t force me to watch as everyone else claims it.”

“But you hate me,” Steve mumbles, uncertain of the truth in that once Loki’s fingers wrap tighter around his arms.

Loki shakes his head, pushing away from Steve. “So be it.” He disappears from the kitchen, and from the tower altogether.

Steve is left wide-eyed, back pressing too hard against the counter, with blue prints on his wrists where Loki’s fingers were moments ago. How could Steve know Loki was jealous? He’s always hiding behind Thor, behind books, behind stinging words that keep people at bay.

It’s true that lately he’s been less verbally abusive, but Steve couldn’t treat Loki like the others even if he wanted to. He’s not the same; he hasn’t been around for a year. He’s the one who committed the crimes that brought them together in the first place. How could Loki expect to be taken in with open arms when there is so much history following him?

Thor may be able to accept Loki lovingly, but Steve Rogers needs time to forgive someone.

---

Loki is nowhere to be found that evening. If he were too far from Thor his bracelet would change to red, and he would be immediately transported to Thor’s side. That may not be the case, but he’s far enough that Thor spends the night locked in his bedroom, pacing.

Surprisingly, Thor isn’t the only one affected by Loki’s absence. They miss the mud in the pool, his cynical laugh, his snooty expression when they tease him about liking junk food, Thor’s racing around the house when they play a magic version of tag, his smirks and grins, his insults that they have to look up in dictionaries, and his otherworldly attire that sometimes puts Thor’s to shame.

The hardest part is trying to cheer Thor up after it’s been days since Loki disappeared.

(Steve didn’t tell the god of thunder that he’s certainly the cause; he would be fried before he even finished explaining.)

Instead, Steve offers him drawings he made of Loki, half his portion of food, and brings him on quite a few ice cream runs. After a week, Thor gains some weight, but he’s still not the same. He won’t be until he knows Loki is around, that he’s safe.

---

Between the time Loki fell from the bridge and returned to Earth, he picked up a few tricks. The most useful and used of these is the ability to open up a dimension between worlds where he can be alone with himself and his thoughts.

All it takes is a flick of his wrist and he transports to that spot, that sanctuary, he created when his mind was constantly in turmoil. That’s what he did when he couldn’t deal with naïve Steve Rogers any longer.

Loki is chewing on greasy french fries, making copies of Steve’s drawing he liked so much, and ruining each of them. Sometimes by fire, sometimes by acid, other times the old fashioned way – with his bare hands. There aren’t many people who can surprise Loki, but one person seems to be the exception.

A man with shoulder length brown hair drifts into Loki’s hiding place, wearing a helmet much like Loki’s. His armour shines, the cracks and dents of usage doing nothing to the elegance and regality of it. Loki isn’t too dumbstruck to recognize an important person when he sees one.

“Loki,” the stranger calls, his armour clinking with each step he takes. “Do you know who I am?”

Loki sighs, waving a hand to make his meal and mess of paper disappear. “Should I?”

“I suppose I have been on my quests for too long. I am Balder,” he answers.

Loki tilts his head; the name sounds familiar.

The stranger stops in front of Loki. “Balder Odinson.”

Loki blinks, his lips parting into an ‘o’. “Thor’s half-brother?” Loki and Thor aren’t related, so Balder isn’t their half-brother.

“I see they told you of me. I left when you were still too young to remember.” Balder replies, expressionless. He’s almost as severe as Heimdall, and it reminds Loki of dark times. “I am your external guardian. You have strayed too far outside your boundaries. Either respect the laws of our world or I will be forced to return you there myself.”

“Although I have yet to break any rules, I am being warned?” Loki scoffs, turning his back on Balder.

“Do not belittle the judgment that has been passed. You have committed grave crimes. You have only been saved because of your relation—”

“They are not my family!” Loki snaps, his natural blue colour suddenly returning in an instance. “And if you knew anything, Balder, you would know that.”

Balder doesn’t react, but observes Loki as though what he’s said is irrelevant. “Will I be returning you to the holding cell now?”

Loki curses their family under his breath. “I will go to Thor on my own.”

“Wise choice, Loki. You’ve always been the smartest of us,” Balder says before slipping back through to the place he came from.

Finishing up his fries, Loki calms himself before leaving the safety he longs to stay in forever.

---

Before going straight to the tower, Loki searches for the one who caused this situation, and finds Steve in an art store.

“I’ve returned,” Loki says dryly, brushing the end of a paintbrush against his palm. It’s surprisingly soft.

Steve’s frame jumps at the sudden appearance, and he drops the canvas he was inspecting. Thankfully Loki uses his magic to stop it from falling to the floor and ripping.

“Thank you.” Steve picks up the canvas and puts it away. He narrows his eyes at Loki, grabbing his shoulder. He knows he can’t actually keep Loki from escaping, but he can damn well try. “Thor is worried sick about you, we’re going back now.”

“No,” Loki replies simply. He teleports across the store, looking through watercolour and oil-based paints.

“What do you mean no? Why are you here then? So I can feel worse?” Steve rushes over to where Loki is standing; people are starting to take notice of the ex-villain and leader of the Avengers having a spat.

Loki sighs, putting down the paint set. “I wanted to apologize in private before I returned to my brother. He will be insufferable once I am within reach you realize, Captain.”

“Steve,” he says automatically. Loki quirks a brow. “My name is Steve right now.” He offers Loki a sincere smile.

Loki licks his lips, suddenly feeling parched in spite of the milkshake he just ingested. “Very well,” he starts, but Steve grabs one of his long sleeves, dragging him out of the store before he can continue.

Steve stops once they’re in front of the store. “I don’t want you to apologize to me. Tell Thor instead and I’ll forgive you.” Loki’s eyebrows shoot up, and Steve laughs embarrassedly. “I feel bad enough not telling him it’s my fault you left.”

Loki shifts away, eyeing Steve in disbelief. Forgiveness? So soon? Can anyone be this good? “But I wanted to—”

“Save it for Thor,” Steve interjects, clasping Loki on the shoulder. Loki looks down at the foreign hand, feeling the same warmth Thor’s touch usually brings him. “Can we go back now?” Steve glances at his watch to avoid Loki’s incessant stare.

“As you wish.” Loki snaps his fingers and they return to the tower.

Thor must have smelled his brother or something because he is jumping over furniture and rushing over to him, crushing Loki against him in a brutal hug. Steve slips away in the commotion, and doesn’t speak to anyone for the rest of the evening. (Except Bruce when he pleads for Steve to try his new recipe.)

Steve can’t sleep that night, and he has a feeling Loki is restless as well.

~*~*~

Tony is something else.

The other people living in the tower – that includes pesky, sleazy Clint – give Steve the space he requires to settle back into living with the god of mischief (and their awkward relationship). If Thor notices the two acting weird around each other, he’s too busy doting on his brother to pay it mind.

But Tony…he is definitely something else. That’s no doubt why Steve likes having him as a close friend, but sometimes he’s a bit trying of people’s patience.

They end up on the balcony of Tony’s penthouse after a few drinks Tony insisted Steve have (even if the effect is lost on him), and Steve enjoys the view. There’s a beautiful, navy blue sky over them, the city lights replace the stars Steve can’t see up above, and the air is warm and nice. He keeps this in his mind for later, when he can have a moment to draw once again.

“Why don’t you lie back, Cap? You can almost see stars if you do,” Tony slurs, pouring himself more scotch.

Steve decides that he likes that advice, and so he lies back, resting on his folded arms. There are tiny, sparkling dots peppered throughout the canvas of blue, but the view is obstructed when suddenly Tony is hovering over him, blowing heat and the scent of alcohol on Steve’s face.

“What are you—”

Tony presses in the rest of the way, cupping Steve’s face while he kisses him with the obvious intent of someone who wants to get laid – and fast. Steve mumbles protests against the kiss, but Tony is having none of it, draping himself more on top of Steve to silence him. Steve holds on to Tony’s back after a beat, stroking gently, decided on taking things as they come.

Can you not see what pains me?

Loki’s voice bounces in each corner of Steve’s mind when he tries to enjoy the moment.

I can’t stand to be in the presence of two lumbering fools, constantly cheerful and blind to everyone’s feelings.

Tony’s tongue swirls playfully, his hand fisting in Steve’s hair, unaware of the thoughts filling Steve’s mind. Loki couldn’t have meant those things. He lies. He always lies. That’s what he’s known for. Steve rolls them over, kissing Tony back with a bit more zest.

If I am unworthy of your attention then tell me, don’t force me to watch as everyone else claims it.

Steve pulls away, face flushed, and breathing heavier than he has in months. It’s not the kiss, it’s the discovery. Loki wants this – what he’s been doing for months, trying to find the right match – and he wants it only with Steve.

“I have to go,” Steve mutters, running off before Tony can convince him to spend the night. What are friends for if not understanding?

---

Loki is in the living room, plagued by insomnia again, but for another reason this time.

He didn’t think Earth had anything to offer, no matter how often Thor praised the humans and their creations. They seemed like children, infants, too young in their history to be taken seriously. But Steve, the man who is out of his depth, a stranger to the world he was born of, somehow Loki can relate to him.

Newspapers and websites don’t speak of the man behind Captain America, so Loki thought he didn’t exist. How mad must a Frost Giant traitor, an Asgardian adoptee, be to fall for the man who could arguably have anyone he chose to pursue? Loki does not appreciate celebrity or fame; family and recognition have been his values of choice. And when they could not be attained, revenge would have had to suffice.

Unbelievably though, Steve has shown Loki the strength of family – related or not by blood – and how having one important person recognize your worth could be fulfilling enough to last your existence. Sadly, Steve’s one person was far in the past now. And, selfishly, because no one has spoiled Loki or even tried to, he believed himself worthy of filling that gap in Steve’s life. He wanted to be a reason for Steve to wake in the morning.

How wrong he was.

---

Steve sits next to Loki on the couch, hair disheveled and shirt twisted and wrinkled, but otherwise wearing his usual serious expression. Loki glances at him momentarily, then away to the television, trying not to imagine what could have caused this state. It’s not his place to be jealous; he is nothing to Steve and his tricks will only amount to a more difficult living situation. It’s torture enough to have to spend the next thousand years by Thor’s side, day and night.

“Hey,” Steve whispers, crossing and uncrossing his legs. He fiddles with his shirt collar afterward, waiting impatiently for Loki to respond.

“Evening,” Loki murmurs, watching Steve from the corner of his eye. Steve hasn’t been able to stop fidgeting for a moment. “Have you insects in your trousers?”

“What? Oh, no. Just—” Steve scratches his cheek nervously. “—can we talk?”

“I believe we already are,” Loki replies smoothly, a small curl to his lips. Steve is still as adorable as ever.

“Right. Well, tell me if I got this wrong but you – you seem to like me.” Steve swallows, eyes darting over to Loki then back to his hands, wringing them together. “Am I wrong?”

Loki considers lying; it’s never failed in the past. It’s also never brought him much happiness, if his current predicament is any indication. Steve looks about ready to scrape off his own skin when Loki mutters, “That is correct.”

Steve’s mouth falls open. He suspected this may the reason they’d become so unfriendly, but he didn’t actually believe its truth – until this moment. “Really?”

“Why do you have so little faith in yourself and so much in others?” Loki replies, avoiding the question in ways only he can.

“I don’t see myself the way people on the outside do,” Steve says, running a hand though his hair to smooth it back. “But you really – you like me? You? A god?”

Loki shuts off the television, sighing. Incredulity is only appealing for so long. Loki faces Steve, green eyes trying to convey his genuine feelings for the first time in his life. Steve’s blue eyes search Loki’s visage for hints of a lie, a trick, and finds nothing but apprehension. Steve smiles approvingly, and it hurts as much as it heals Loki.

Then Loki is shifting closer, pulling Steve in for a kiss that they’ve both been waiting a lifetime for. Steve wraps his fingers around Loki’s neck, stroking his nape as Loki ventures in, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, and allow Steve’s tongue access. The moan that one of them makes (or both perhaps) startles them out of dreamland, and Loki moves away first, straightening his clothes and hair.

“Has my answer appeased your disbelief?” Loki says, voice low and filled with promises his words can’t hide.

“Yes. But I just want to know one thing.” Steve reaches for Loki’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Is this serious? You only want to be with me? Or will you be with others, too?” This time, Steve doesn’t think he wants to share.

“I don’t appreciate the insinuation, but I will allow it this time.” Loki grins when Steve frowns at the pseudo-threat. “I am teasing as you would say. My interest lies solely in you, and I expect you to offer me the same.”

“Of course.” Steve squeezes Loki’s hand gently. “I’m an old man inside, you know. I just preserved well.”

Loki brings Steve’s hand up to his mouth, kissing the back softly. “In that case we are the same.” His skin turns to blue, and Steve watches in awe as a creature that is already so exceptional becomes even more so.

“Beautiful,” Steve mumbles without meaning to. Why would a man want to be called beautiful? “I mean - uh –”

“No, that is,” Loki hums, slowly switching back to pale skin, “pleasing. I’ve never been complimented on my natural form before.”

“I don’t see why not.” Steve smiles, a hint of red crawling across his cheeks.

Loki could write a thesis on ‘why not’, but it would ruin the moment. “Yes, well. I am glad you feel that way.”

And that’s it.

As easily as that, Steve and Loki fall asleep wrapped together in a blanket on the couch. The fire of that passionate kiss was enough to soothe the desire in both men, their insomnia merely a thing of the past.

But Steve gets the feeling they forgot something…

---

“What have you done?” Thor bellows loud enough to make the frames on the walls shake.

Steve’s eyes snap open, and then he remembers who he’s currently cuddled with on the couch. Loki peers at Steve, seemingly just as sleepy and unsure as Steve is. They can’t tell which of them he’s yelling at (more).

“Loki,” Thor continues. “Have you forgotten what we discussed? You have taken advantage of him, have you not?”

Loki sighs, burying his head in the place where Steve’s neck and shoulders connect to calm himself. He breathes in the scent he looks forward to learning intimately before biting down. Steve yelps, and Thor glares at the head of hair with no visible eyes.

“He is the one who has offered me the pleasure of his company, Thor,” Loki corrects. Thor’s eyes dart to his leader’s face, eyeing him warily.

Steve rubs at his neck, looking anywhere but at Thor’s face. He is going to get murdered any second now, isn’t he? Loki laughs, face tucked too close to Steve’s skin for anyone but Steve to hear it.

Steve clears his throat. “Thor, I – I meant to tell—”

Thor is coming closer, and Steve is considering jumping over the back of the couch and running away to avoid a thundergod-style execution, but Loki is still laughing. That’s a good sign, right?

“We have already shared a kiss,” Loki adds, delighted.

Thor roars, and Steve’s face blanches at the monstrous sound. The hand reaching out must be to choke the life out of him—

Thor ruffles Steve’s bedhead. “Steven! How I am proud of you. You’ve succeeded where I have failed countless times. Loki indeed seems like a changed man.”

Thor looks over at Loki with a softened expression, a smile small enough to be missed. He cups Loki’s face, and nods, walking away with a spring in his step.

“I must share this fine news with the people who inhabit our home!”

Steve grumbles, and Loki giggles, kissing Steve’s neck where he’d bitten. “You see? You’re still among the living. He has not called for Mjolnir yet.”

“Yet?” Steve croaks, going cross-eyed when he tries to look down into green eyes.

Loki smirks, untangling himself from Steve, and sauntering away to follow his brother.

“What do you mean yet?” Steve calls after the Trickster. A bowl of fresh fruit appears next to him on the couch where Loki was seated. The apple has the word ‘yet’ carved into it.

Steve’s head falls back against the couch as he bemoans his previous outcast state, wondering if he’s going to regret dating Loki for the rest of his life.

~*~*~

There are a lot of inappropriate comments and questions at first (mostly from Clint).

Clint, and secretly Natasha, are curious about Frost Giants. What does he taste like?

Does he change into a girl so it’s easier to have sex? Clint, again, curious, but this time about Loki specifically.

Phil making sure his idol is well taken care of. Does he ever compliment you?

Is this why he disappeared for a week? Bruce, ever the perceptive scientist.

Were humans and Asgardians not good enough for Captain America? Tony, of course feeling rejected, using guilt and humour.

And the insanity continued for many more days until Thor threatened to eradicate the next person to utter a question involving ‘Loki and Steven’s destined joining’.

Loki still spends most of his time in Thor’s room or in common areas, but at night he creeps into Steve’s room, and they share his queen size bed. It’s the only way they’ve found to ensure they get eight, uninterrupted hours of sleep.

Sometimes Loki can’t sleep until he asks Steve what he feels, if he misses being with the members, if they were better company. It was different with each of them, but it wasn’t better. And even if Steve wanted to go back to that strange game of musical rooms he was playing, they’ve moved on.

Clint and Natasha start dealing with their sexual tension, and it makes for many noise-filled evenings in the tower. How two people can break a bed once per week will never make sense to Steve. Even Thor doesn’t manage that.

Tony convinces Bruce that sex won’t make him Hulk out, and then proceeds to scream for help when it actually does (that one time). Nothing keeps Tony from good sex though; he installs an emergency button that alerts the team of his imminent demise, and brings it with him every time they have sex – just to be safe.

Thor takes affection where he can get it (now that the two he’d take it from are involved). Phil seems to like the big, manly types, and Thor…takes where he can get. They end up in the same bed a lot, but no one asks if they’re getting serious because it doesn’t matter either way.

Pepper is all over the place, sometimes with Natasha and Clint, other times with Thor and Phil, but unfortunately never back with Tony ~~unless she’s drunk~~. Mostly she’s too busy being the best CEO in the world to have sex in the Avengers tower. (There are rumours about her and a certain god’s half-brother though.)

And when any of them need a bit of variety, they have no qualms with exchanging partners once in a while.

The strangest part of all these couples, the swapping, and family meetings in between crime fighting is that it makes sense to them.

And another oddity? The fact that Steve and Loki haven’t had sex yet. The team seems to be waiting for them to, so they can eavesdrop (and possibly film it), and it’s only making Steve push it further and further down on his list of things to do with Loki.

The drawing that brought them together in the first place is finally completed, and hanging in Steve’s bedroom where Loki admires it every night before curling up and snoring softly. Maybe they don’t need to move quickly; they can just kiss and sleep in the same bed.

That could work, right? Loki is an understanding guy…sometimes.

~*~*~

Steve kisses Loki’s forehead when he wakes up one morning. Loki hums, shifting impossibly closer, his hips moving in slow circles against Steve’s thigh. Steve blinks the sleep from his eyes, trying to focus enough to see if Loki is awake or doing it in his sleep.

“Steve,” Loki breathes, batting his eyes in a feline manner.

Steve stretches, lifting the blanket to see what his mischief maker is up to. Loki nudges a leg between Steve’s thighs, continuing to roll his hips against Steve’s hip until he feels Loki hardening. Steve sucks in a breath – anxious, nervous and excited all at once – when Loki rolls his body on top of Steve’s, holding his face in his hands.

“I have been patient long enough,” Loki explains, grinding harder now, each movement making Steve’s length have to follow along Loki’s path. “You are going to give me this because I know you crave it as well.”

Steve moans, trying to slip out from under Loki – that sound is probably enough for ten ears to already be glued to the door – but Loki continues to pin him easily, with a little help from his magic. Loki grins, scraping down Steve’s chest as he claims his mouth, tongue lapping hungrily over swelling lips.

“Loki,” Steve pleads, but the rest turns into sporadic breathing patterns when Loki dips his hand in Steve’s boxers, stroking him to full hardness.

“You were saying?”

He can’t just give in. “Loki, we can’t—”

“I beg to differ. We will, in fact,” Loki chides, gripping Steve’s erection tighter on each up stroke.

Steve bucks into Loki’s hand, gasping when long fingers press into the slit at the head of his cock. “I don’t - I don’t want to--”

“Use your words, darling,” Loki teases, sealing his lips over Steve’s, and concealing Steve’s cries with some of his own.

Loki’s magic fades, and Steve shifts away to say, “I don’t want them to hear, Loki.”

“Is that what you have been concerned about?” Loki chuckles, relieved. “I thought you were afraid I could not satisfy you.”

“Of course not,” Steve pants out. Loki’s fingers continue stroking, but with less urgency.

Pressing a kiss to Steve’s brow, Loki slides his fingers away, parting his lips and swirling his tongue around his digits obscenely. “Well, I have just the solution for our predicament then.”

They appear somewhere else, in a bigger bed with fancier blankets and softer pillows, but in the same position.

“Better?” Loki smirks, throwing the blanket over his head, sliding down Steve’s body.

A tongue traces the head of Steve’s cock, around and around, and Steve’s brain feels like it’s going to slowly ooze out through his ears. And he can’t even see Loki. Or maybe that would be worse. But it’s not fair anyhow that he’s so good at – whatever he’s doing.

“Wait – wait – where are we?” Steve manages after many painful breaths, drawing the blanket down enough to at least see hair.

Loki hums, lips stretching around the head of Steve’s cock, tongue darting out to collect pre-come. Steve mewls, abandoning the blanket in favour of gripping Loki’s hair, patting it in an attempt to distract himself from bursting at the seams.

“We are in not place they could hear us,” Loki mumbles, slurping along Steve’s cock messily, saliva trailing down his mouth. Steve reaches out to wipe it and Loki sucks Steve’s fingers instead. “You are going to enter me, Steve. I have been prepared since last night.”

Steve bites his lip, each pad of his fingers wet and sensitive. “When you say prepared…”

“I have inserted an item of considerable girth, Steve. Do not disappoint,” Loki explains, smirking when Steve’s face reddens in record time.

“I’ll t-try,” Steve fumbles out. He sits up, bringing Loki in to sit in his lap. “Did you really put something—”

Loki guides Steve’s fingers down to his boxers, slipping in the back right against his entrance filled with a rubber object. Steve mouths at Loki’s shoulder, shivering when Loki forces him to push it in further. Loki throws his head back, crying out when Steve eases it out and then in a moment later.

“Can you get on with it now?” Loki urges, hair falling in his eyes when he gnaws at Steve’s throat.

Steve pushes Loki’s bangs away, holding him just below his mouth, thumbs resting on his chin. “How do you want to do it?”

It’s insanely hot for a submissive man to finally take control, Loki decides. “Like this. I cannot bear to wait.” Loki puts his hands on Steve’s shoulders, standing with trembling legs. “Take them off. Now.”

Sliding off Loki’s boxers, Steve lifts his hips to strip off his own while Loki kicks the blanket into…nothingness. It just disappears. Steve is distracted by the, well, magic of it all, and Loki uses that to shove Steve back against the headboard.

“Remove it for me,” Loki orders, spreading his thighs. “Slowly, if you are able.”

“Okay,” Steve mutters. He doesn’t follow the lines of pale skin like he wants to; he knows how angry Loki will be if he isn’t obeyed immediately. He spreads Loki’s ass, holding the object with two fingers as he gently drags it out.

“Ah. Keep going,” Loki encourages. His nails dig into Steve’s shoulders as he pulls it out completely. “I don’t need lubricant, thankfully,” Loki jokes. “I hope you appreciate all the work I’ve done.”

“Yes,” Steve answers. “I always am.”

“Emotional during intercourse, are we?” Loki smirks, lining himself up with Steve’s cock. “Let us see if I can’t adjust that.”

He lowers his hips little by little, leaving a cluster of bruises in Steve’s skin where he’s digging in deep, fighting to not sit down faster. Steve holds Loki’s hips, tracing the bones there gently, pressing soft kisses to Loki’s bare chest. Loki’s face contorts with the need to just be filled.

“Does it hurt?” Steve asks, worrying more because he isn’t in control.

Loki looks at Steve through lowered lashes, smirking. “Not until tomorrow.”

Loki sensually drops his hips all the way down, impaling himself harshly. Steve holds in a swear word, biting his lip so hard he tastes metal on his tongue. He squeezes Loki’s hips, concentrating on the tightness around his cock, on the weight of the man in his lap, on what this means.

“This is,” Steve begins, his hips jolting up without his consent, forcing Loki to wind himself around Steve not to be bucked off.

After nipping Steve’s ear for being a naughty mortal, Loki finishes for him, “Amazing. I agree.” He gasps with each thrust, meeting them with a grind of his hips so rough it leaves him feeling raw and achy down to the soles of his feet. He’s definitely going to hurt tomorrow, but Steve is more than worth it.

“Faster,” Loki pants, running his fingers through Steve’s hair, their chests pressed together and rubbing with each uncoordinated, powerful thrust.

Steve moves his hands down to Loki’s ass, spreading him wider to slip in and out just how he wants. Then he finally finds his rhythm, and Loki is thanking the heavens his lover is a fast learner because Steve’s hitting something inside him that makes him want to weep with joy.

“Is it good?” Steve asks. Loki cries out, nodding.

Forget words when Steve is thrusting in harder, his cock opening Loki up, sliding in and out slicker with each desperate stutter of his hips. Loki wraps his palm around his cock, tugging it at the maddening pace Steve’s set. The rough slapping sounds Loki’s ass makes when it lands in Steve’s lap is enough to make Steve come, but he wants to share this with his lover.

“Close,” Steve grinds out, fucking into Loki mercilessly, banging against Loki’s prostate on each try. Loki hides his face in Steve’s neck, sinking his teeth into Steve’s flesh when he finally comes with a startling shout. It drips over Loki’s knuckles, sticking to their stomachs as well. Steve lets himself release when he feels the clench inside Loki. He pushes in deep one last time, and stays there. Steve’s body shakes as he tumbles from the ladder he’s been steadily climbing, Loki clinging to him with similarly trembling limbs.

Steve leans back against the headboard, his eyes falling shut with the excitement of it all. Loki purrs, leaning into Steve’s strong hold, floating back down to earth while Steve pets his hair.

“When are we repeating this experience?” Loki utters, grinning against Steve’s shoulder. Steve looks at Loki, incredulous. Loki rolls his eyes and strokes Steve’s cheek, following the shape of his cheekbones and chin. “I did not mean today.”

Steve laughs, kissing the end of Loki’s nose. “Whenever you want.”

Loki quirks a brow; Steve doesn’t actually mean that. He can’t be serious.

Steve watches Loki happily, his eyes drooping with sleep. He smiles, grateful to have someone like Loki to keep him entertained. Loki chuckles when he sees the romantic side of Steve returning.

Steve clearly does mean what he said, and Loki settles in against Steve’s chest, not sure he can ever move if this is what it’s going to feel like each time.

Circumstances, however, always get in the way.

“Loki,” Balder says, unamused.

Steve gasps, reaching for something to cover them, and Loki frowns at Balder standing in his armour. Thor’s irritating brother is ruining his post-coital bliss with his precious mortal.

“I thought we agreed,” Balder continues, stern and unaffected by their nudity.

“This is Steve. He and I are intimate,” Loki explains, trying to avoid the scolding he’s about to receive. Steve hides behind his hands.

“I saw,” Balder deadpans, unimpressed

Steve whimpers. Maybe it would have been better to just stay in the tower where Steve knows the people who watch him have sex.

-End!

Marvel_bang - Ball and Chain - part 4/5

2012-11-06T03:02:54Z

Title: Ball and Chain (of Fools)
This is part 4 of 5
marvel_bang Masterpost HERE

It was definitely the shower of a lifetime, but Steve’s gotten used to not expecting more than sex from his fellow superheroes. There’s just too much responsibility on their shoulders without having to consider a serious relationship. It may have taken Steve more than once to figure it out, but he gets that now. So when Thor doesn’t change the way he treats Steve at all for the following week, Steve’s oddly…accepting of it.

It was fun, but that’s it. It’s much easier to stay friends and teammates; they can still count on each other’s support, and that’s what matters. Steve can appreciate having more than a handful of companions to spend time with.

~*~*~

Tony.

Tony’s been at the back of Steve’s mind for weeks. He’s done what his friends have asked and not bothered him, given him space, but it’s only seemed to worsen while Steve wasn’t around to keep him sane and sober.

Pepper is a good reason for anyone to fall off the bandwagon; she’s smart and confident, and entirely too amazing for her own good. And Tony made a mistake – a drunken one no less – that ruined what he had with her, what they’d built over the years from working together. She seems more or less able to cope, especially now that she’s an extended part of the Avengers, but Tony…

Falling down the stairs in an Iron Man suit is the final straw for Steve. He’s had enough of sitting back and watching his best friend drink his life away. Someone has to put a stop to it, and since Steve’s the Captain, their leader, the one they can always rely one, it’ll have to be him.

~*~*~

If you know Tony Stark, the last thing he’d ever want to do is admit something is wrong. Now more than ever, Steve is finding that out. But they’re both stubborn in their ways, intent on making the other fold.

“I don’t like what I saw the other day, Tony,” Steve says, stepping into the penthouse.

Tony is fixing himself a scotch, without ice. “Oh, you mean Thor’s hammer? Yeah, I thought it would be bigger, too.”

Steve forgot about that whole Jarvis tells Tony everything problem. “No, I meant you. Your suits are your children, and you almost scrapped it by having too much to drink.”

“I’ve had more. I just tripped over my laces, Cap. Lighten up.” Tony swishes the brown liquid in his glass, not making eye contact.

The blonde steps closer, sitting in a round, metal chair, crossing his arms. He refuses to budge this time; Tony is going to kill himself.

“I gave you time, Tony. I’ve left you alone. I ignored what I saw. But it’s too much now. I’m worried.”

Tony winces at the last part, throwing back the contents of his glass in one gulp. “When aren’t you worried? I could have a splinter and you’d be here with the same puppy-eyed expression. I’m fine, mom. I’m a big boy.”

“This isn’t funny,” Steve states flatly.

“No one’s laughing. Except maybe people who have a sense of humour.” Tony grins in that way he knows rubs Steve the wrong way. “I’m fucking hilarious, Cap.”

“The sad ones always are,” Steve replies, his gaze softening, but Tony still hasn’t looked at him.

“Oh, okay. That’s – that’s not playing nice.” Tony pours himself another glass, muttering about stupid, old-fashioned Capsicle ruining his buzz. “You know what? I don’t want your help. I want to be left alone, drink my scotch that’s younger than you, and work when the time comes.”

“What happens if I do that -” Steve stands, walking towards Tony at his mini-bar. “- and another alien army attacks, and you’re too drunk to even walk down the stairs in your suit?”

“That was one time—”

“It doesn’t matter, Tony. It happened.” Steve puts his hand on Tony’s shoulder. “And I’m your friend. I consider you my closest friend. So why not let me help you through this?”

“When did you decide I needed friends? I didn’t invite you guys to live here, you volunteered my tower. Fury forced my hand.”

“So you don’t want me here? You don’t want the Avengers around?”

“Why do you think I stay in the penthouse so fuckin’ much now, Cap?” Tony snaps, pushing Steve’s hand off his shoulder.

“Because you miss Pepper and she lives with us, not just with you anymore,” Steve says softly, trying to make Tony look at him.

“Shut up,” Tony grinds out, already feeling his head spinning. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You’ve never been in a relationship, and you certainly haven’t dated Pepper.”

“I’ve loved someone though,” Steve murmurs, reaching out to rub Tony’s shoulder.

Tony shoves Steve back, away from him, far enough that Tony doesn’t need to look up to see his face when he says, “Peggy? Get over it! You only kissed her. And that was decades ago.”

And that hurts. Steve’s hand drops to his side, his shoulders slumping. He knows this is Tony’s defence mechanism, but it’s hard to ignore a jab like that when Tony knows how much Steve thinks about her. This isn’t about Steve though; this is about getting Tony better. He can be upset some other time when alcohol isn’t coursing through Tony’s veins, poisoning him.

“Fine. If you’re not going to help yourself, I’ll help you,” Steve says, sternly. He grabs the biggest bottles in front of him, filled with 40 proof alcohol, and strides toward Tony’s sink.

“Hey. Hey! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Tony chases after Steve. “Give me those. Those are things Pep—” He swallows the rest of the sentence down.

“What were you saying?” Steve wouldn’t waste them if they were gifts; that’s not his goal.

“They’re from her,” Tony mutters. “And even if you pour my entire stash down the drain, what will that accomplish? I’ll just have someone bring me more or get it myself.”

Steve frowns, putting the bottles down. “Then talk to me!” Tony rolls his eyes, and makes his hand talk to mimic Steve’s whining. “Pepper is moving on, Tony. And she’s running this company without you.”

“Don’t talk about her. Don’t do it,” Tony warns, sipping his scotch.

“You know she was a mess not long ago. Almost as bad as you are now, but she let me in. She let me talk her out of the destructive behaviour.”

“Stop. I don’t want to hear it. Good for her. The one who breaks up with the other always gets better first!”

Steve feels sad for Tony; he’s lashing out more than usual. She must have really been a big part of him. “You loved her, didn’t you? Are you angry because she kissed me?”

“That’s it! Get the fuck out. Leave!” Tony spits. “I don’t want to hear your time-travelling, Back to the Future advice that doesn’t apply to my day and age.” When Steve just watches Tony, crossing his arms, Tony rushes out of sight. “Then I’m leaving because you are a terrible so-called friend, and I don’t want to see your pretty blond head anymore.”

In moments, Steve is watching Tony suit up and fly away, not bothering to wait for the door to slide completely open when he smashes through it.

That went well.

---

After a few hours, Steve can’t wait anymore.

“Jarvis, where’s Tony?”

“I believe he returned to his previous flat. I can provide you with coordinates if you like,” Jarvis replies.

“Thank you.”

---

Somewhere along the way, Tony grabbed some more to drink. When Steve arrives – thanks to Phil pulling some strings and getting him a lift there – Tony is half-sitting, half lying on his balcony, the face of his suit removed, clutching onto a bottle like a life line.

“Cap!” Tony slurs, a grim smile on his face. “So glad you could join me. Take a seat, strip off your clothes. Let’s fuck around like you’ve done with everyone else.”

Steve’s brow furrows, but he bends down next to Tony. “Are you saying you’re jealous?”

“Pfft. What? Of an innocent, old man? What are you like ninety now?”

“I’m twenty-five, Tony,” Steve says, smiling in spite of the situation. “The years I was frozen don’t count.”

“They count to most people,” Tony mumbles, taking a swig straight from the bottle.

“Okay, I think you’ve had enough.” Steve takes the bottle away easily; Tony can’t figure out which of the three Steve’s is the real one.

“I don’t think so,” Tony sing-songs. “The party’s just starting. Wooooo!” Tony flails his arms, accidentally hitting the back of Steve’s perfectly coiffed head.

“Definitely had enough,” Steve says, rubbing his head.

Steve flings Tony’s arm around his shoulders, but he can’t lift him. Tony’s limbs are heavy and limp, and the suit reacts to his physical state – that’s something he added recently in case he ever plummets from outer space again – making it very hard for someone to just throw him over their shoulder. Steve’s going to need help.

“Thor.” Tony was nice enough in his drunken stupor to tell Steve where his laptop was. “I need your help. Can you find me through Jarvis?”

“I will ask the robotic being and be there shortly, Steven!”

---

Thor leaves them alone, since Steve asked, but mostly because he wants to watch the Lion King 1 ½ with Clint and Bruce.

Steve knows there’s no point in asking questions when Tony’s like this, so he busies himself with trying to get the suit off. “How do I—”

“There’s a button around somewhere, I don’t usually take it off manually, so you’re gonna have to search.” Tony flicks a strand of Steve’s hair out of his eyes. “How do you get it so perfect? I think bed-hair suits me better, personally.”

Steve just nods, turning Tony from one side to the next, sliding his hand across the metal with clinical intensity. Tony realizes Steve probably isn’t going to share the secrets of ~~his hair~~ the universe.

“I think she is the first woman I ever loved,” Tony mumbles, leaning on an elbow as Steve’s fingers search deftly for a button he’s beginning to think doesn’t exist.

Steve considers saying something, but he decides on letting Tony say whatever he feels instead.

“She could always fix whatever I broke. I don’t mean robots or systems; that’s my job. She could fix everything else, the little stuff – the important stuff.” Steve watches Tony’s eyes close, wondering if he’s about to drift off into sleep, but he continues. “And now I’ve broken her, and the only thing that could fix it is her. Or maybe I’ve just broken myself.”

Tony sighs, cracking an eye open. “Feel free to chime in any time, Cap. I’m just baring my heart here, leaving it out on a metal slab, waiting for you to tenderize it.”

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to say anything. You said before—”

Leaning up too fast, Tony holds his head; the room is spinning at warp speed. “I know what I said. And I’m – I’m sorry.” He turns his palm over, pointing to a small, silver button. Steve laughs, shaking his head. “Consider this my way of making it up to you?”

“Were you going to let me search all night?” Steve asks, cocking a brow, smiling all the same.

Tony lets himself fall limp in Steve’s arms, taking great pleasure in seeing Steve try to hold him up. “I may have considered it for a moment. But you’re just so freakin’ nice. It’s hard to stay mad at you.” Tony pokes Steve in the chest. “Maybe that’s your superpower. Niceness. Kindness? No, niceness sounds better.”

Steve presses the button and the suit retracts instantly, climbing away from Tony’s limbs, and leaving him in a t-shirt and jogging pants. It collects itself into a compact metal square that Tony leaves on the floor next to his bed.

Tony lets out a jaw-breaking yawn, and Steve figures that’s his cue. “I’ll just let you rest—”

“No. Cap, you have to stay a bit. We haven’t hung out, just us two, in a while.”

“I think in weeks is the better description,” Steve corrects, grinning.

“Even worse! Don’t worry, I won’t pull out my big seduction moves on you. That stuff is only for people with adequate experience.”

“I have some experience,” Steve admits, rubbing the nape of his neck.

“There you go. Now you have to stay and chat a while.” Tony goes onto all fours, crawling over to his bed, and lifting himself just long enough to fall on top of it. He pats the space next to him, Pepper’s side, his mind adds mercilessly, waiting for Steve to run away like a blushing bride.

“I’ll only keep you company if it’s a two-way street, Tony.” Steve brushes off his pants and walks around the bed, carefully taking off his shoes and sitting down.

“Stretch out, man. Relax. And yep, definitely. Two-way. Three-way even.” Tony groans. “That’s not what I meant.” Tony digs the heels of his hands in his eyes. His head is going to explode during the night (or tomorrow if he’s lucky) isn’t it?

Steve laughs at the awkward, inebriated version of his best friend. Maybe alcohol can have a plus side.

~*~*~

It’s not the first time Steve’s woken up in a bed that isn’t his own – and the number of times has only increased since meeting the Avengers – but it’s the first time he’s slept in the same bed as one Tony Stark.

Tony is a cuddler.

Steve usually gets up around the same time as the sun, but he’s up slightly earlier this day because Tony is wound around him so tightly, Steve has no choice but to take in large gulps of air through dark strands. Pushing the hair out of his eyes, Steve moves over slightly, trying to untangle Tony’s limbs wrapped around him like an octopus.

“No. Pepper,” Tony mumbles in a sleepy voice. Steve feels bad until: “Oh. It’s just you.” Tony smiles sheepishly and stretches a mostly bare leg in the air when Steve narrows his eyes.

Something about how much more content Tony seems makes a chill skitter down Steve’s spine. And now that he’s not covered in a cloak of Stark, he can see that his shirt is missing. He doesn’t remember having taken it off, though.

“D-did we have intercourse?” Steve stutters, staring at the ceiling, trying to draw on what he remembers from last night.

Tony pauses for a very long time. Deliberately. “I don’t think so.” He smirks when Steve sighs with relief. “Your box ‘o’ condoms is still in your room, gramps.” Tony messes up Steve’s hair before rolling onto his back. “Besides, you could not forget if we had knocked boots, or shield and suit in this case.”

Steve sighs, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. Nonchalance is tolerable once in a while, but Tony uses it as a second skin; he pretends nothing fazes him, and when something does he uses every means he can to avoid thinking about it.

It was good last night; Steve had made a breakthrough with his best friend. Tony had honestly opened up. Now, however, the quips are back, and getting under Steve’s skin for obvious reasons.

Steve quickly grabs his shirt from the ground and pulls it over his head, moving away when he feels Tony lift it back up for a peek at his back. “Stop, Tony.” He’s not in the mood for the jokes and the play-flirting.

“Wait, don’t be mad,” Tony says softly, uncharacteristically so. Steve turns to look at Tony, and his face is right there. Tony grips Steve’s chin with one hand and kisses him softly on the lips. “Thanks, Cap.” Tony lies back down as if that was the most logical thing he could have done, perhaps, for him, it was.

Steve wipes the wrinkles out of his shirt and stands to leave. “You’re welcome.” But I still don’t understand this world where people kiss their best friend.

~*~*~

Steve goes out for ice cream with Pepper and Thor, and when he returns to his room to change his shirt – Thor still isn’t very good at aiming for his mouth – he finds a package from Tony waiting for him.

Opening it doesn’t really explain its purpose, and Tony wasn’t kind enough to write up instructions. Steve rolls his eyes, tucking it under his arm, running up the stairs to the penthouse.

Tony is banging a wrench against a malfunctioning arm when Steve walks in. It’s not something he ever thought he’d see in his lifetime. But this is his world now, apparently.

“Yeah, Cap? Oh, you found it. Great.” Tony bangs the arm when it wiggles back to life again.

“I – uh – don’t understand what this is.” Steve opens the package, and takes it out carefully. “What is it?”

“It’s a cape. Well, a mechanical one. You can switch its density if ever someone is standing behind you and they shoot –” Tony puts down his wrench when Steve raises a brow. He gestures for Steve to hand it over. “Let me show you.”

Tony clips the cape onto the collar of his shirt and it springs to life, a series of long metal strips covering the length of Tony’s back all the way down to his calves. It’s like Steve’s shield, but in the form of a silver cape, protecting the most vulnerable part of him.

“When did you even have time to make that?” Steve gapes. “That’s amazing.”

“Oh, this was nothing. You should see what else I have in mind for you.” Tony grins, removing the cape and waiting for it to shrink back enough to hand it over to Steve. “Enjoy old man. I just want to make sure you’re always the oldest around – after Thor obviously.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” Steve utters genuinely. Tony clears his throat and waves a hand dismissively.

~*~*~

It’s the first of many new gadgets, it seems.

The next time Steve steps out – he goes with Bruce to an Italian restaurant and Clint tags along, having invited himself – there are knee-level, sky blue boots in front of his door with a red bow attached to them.

Steve doesn’t even bother trying to work out what they do, taking the stairs straight up to Tony’s workshop.

“Are these just for appeal or comfort? Or do they do something that I should be careful of?”

“Hi, Cap. I’m glad to see you, too. Oh, and don’t worry about thanking me, that only took three days out of my life,” Tony rambles out, fixing a loose wire of his Iron Man suit. He peers at Steve across the room and Stve looks back at him with his arms crossed, unimpressed. “They complement your abilities.”

“Really?” Steve says, slightly more curious.

Tony nods, clipping the end of the wire and taking off his safety glasses. “Come ‘ere, I’ll show you.” The older man makes grabby hands at chest-level to (successfully) disturb his old-fashioned leader – who doesn’t even have breast.

They enhance Steve’s strengths, as it turns out. Although the serum made him able to jump farther, higher, to run faster, these boots provide him with an extra boost of power right at the end to increase it. Steve spends most of the day in the gym, bouncing off walls – not on purpose – and running across the ceiling – on purpose – trying to get the hang of them.

And then there are more gifts.

Tony redesigns Captain America’s shield quite a few times, but Steve can’t seem to control them as well as the first one Tony made, or maybe he just can’t part with it when it’s been so faithful to him.

Then there are pads that are big and clunky and hard to get on. (“Hold still or my hand’s going to end up somewhere very unpleasant. For you,” Tony teases.)

Steve becomes a running joke soon after. Natasha and Clint ask him what his weekly wardrobe malfunction is this time. He doesn’t miss the way Bruce and Phil are eavesdropping, and that Natasha keeps Pepper up-to-date during their outings. But, worst of all, is how interested in each suit change Thor is.

The fabrics interest him, the complexity of them, even the designs. He’s the cause of many gift-deaths, as Clint dubs it, and Steve is always too guilty to tell Tony why he isn’t using a specific one anymore. (He really liked those boots; they made him feel like he was on the moon.)

The mad scientist – not to be confused with the green giant, who is Bruce – decides to take on much larger scale modifications. He researches through old Captain America videos, ransacks (and crashes) the internet for sources of fabric, sends Bruce drawings of designs to get his opinion on, and adds in a little modern flair to them.

“Just pretend you’re a runway model,” Tony suggests, “then you won’t feel so bad about me touching you in your private areas.” Steve sighs, but Tony’s not finished. “Not that you should worry about that anymore, considering just about everyone in this tower has seen your family jewels.”

Steve sighs again, a long winded sound that Tony seems to bring out of him. “Thanks Tony, that really makes me want to try on the new suits.”

“Hey, don’t be ungrateful.” Tony zips up Steve’s ‘improved’ Captain America costume, patting Steve’s butt and rubbing his shoulders for no other reason than to bother Steve further. “Once you try these ones, you won’t ever go back to the old one.”

“Let’s hope you’re right,” Steve snaps, moving away when Tony cups his behind. “Is that necessary?”

“No, but don’t I deserve a reward for all my sweat, blood and tears?” Tony purses his lips, and Steve shifts further away. “Geez you’re a stick in the mud today.”

“Do you have a mirror?” Steve says, not bothering with the pointless provocation.

“Am I not good enough? Do you not trust my fantastic judgment?”

Steve doesn’t even falter. “No.”

“That’s harsh, Steve. I thought you were better than this. And besides, I’ll have you know I’ve won best dressed billionaire of the year quite a few times in a row.” Tony crinkles his nose.

“Fine.” Steve stretches out his arms. “How does it look?” He smooths out the creases in the fabric, feeling uncomfortable about the tightness of it in certain areas, but overall it’s easy to move in. He leans forward, kicks out one leg then the other, stretches his arms above his head and rolls his shoulders. It feels good, not stiff at all.

Tony makes a ‘turn around’ gesture with a finger, and Steve complies, albeit not without frowning beforehand.

“Nice,” Tony says under his breath. “Looking good, Cap.” He tilts his head, making an appraising noise in his throat.

“That’s – that’s uncomfortable,” Steve admits, crossing his arms.

“I agree. Did your arms get bigger? I should have measured you again.” Tony smirks when Steve scowls at him. “Next one!”

There are so many clasps on some, too many buckles on others, weird fabric that bunches up in Steve’s groin area, and Tony just uses all of those factors as an excuse to squeeze this part, rub that part, lean in close against Steve’s back and breathe filth into his ear. Steve is only human, an adaptable one at that, so he can’t help ignoring it after a while to save his energy. Tony, on the other hand, thinks that’s a step forward in their bonding process, and his touches linger, become bolder and more consistent until Steve really can’t remember why he protested so much in the first place.

With his magical seduction skills, Tony has Steve against the wall, grinding into him as he laps his tongue over Steve’s collarbone roughly. His hands encircle Steve’s body, kneading his ass, and Steve leans in, taking Tony’s lips between his own. His stubble scratches at first, not as soft as Thor’s was, but not as unkempt as Bruce’s, and it creates a sultry kind of friction that Steve decides he wants more of. He deepens the kiss, rolling his tongue against Tony’s, huffing out a laugh when Tony growls his approval and forces their hips flush together.

Something must be in Tony’s water supply because Steve feels hungry, and the only way to satisfy it is to be filled or to fill someone. Tony seems to approve either way when they land on the carpet in a mess of limbs and slippery kisses. Steve moans when Tony’s fingers rub between his ass, teasing him through the strong but paper-thin fabric of the newest design. He throws his head back, rocking into Tony’s knowing hands, and Tony chants how fucking gorgeous Steve is, gnawing on his neck, and purposely laying his claim in the form of bright red bite marks.

They’re rolling around on Tony’s plush, white carpet, whimpering and writhing, Tony cursing himself for having such a hard time taking off the costume – that was the part of the plan he didn’t think through – and Steve laughs, breathless, moving his hips in slow grinds against Tony, urging him on.

“Fuck this,” Tony grinds out. He reaches for scissors on the table nearby and cuts through the suit, too eager to even care that this was probably the best one he’d made.

Steve bites his lip, stretching out like a painter’s dream, waiting for Tony to finally, finally, show him what all his talk has been about. And even if they can’t stay friends after this, maybe they can be something more.

Tony pounces, humming as he bites into the pale skin at Steve’s throat, and Steve just writhes beneath him, mewling with the sole purpose of making Tony move it the hell along. Steve’s hard, he’s tired, and his best friend kisses like he’s made of carnal things; sex needs to be happening and soon. He’s only had teasing and foreplay up to this point, so it seems only natural Tony would have the privilege of bringing him all the way.

They kiss for a lot longer than Steve thought they would, perhaps because Tony is worried this will ruin things like it did with Pepper, but Steve accepts this challenge. He rolls his clothed erection against Tony’s jeans, hissing when the fabric catches in unexpected, interesting places. Tony sucks on Steve’s bottom lip, bruising it when he finally starts meeting each of Steve’s movements with one of his own.

“Sir,” Jarvis says flatly.

“Not. Now,” Tony grits out. He’s been waiting to get this superhero in his bed, to pry him open like a clam, to steal his pearl away and harbour it for the rest of his miserable life. That is all he wants to accomplish, and Steve is irrefutably on board with this plan, so Jarvis needs to butt the fuck out.

“But sir, someone is—”

“I said not now!”

Steve’s eyes flutter open, cupping Tony’s face with that look. The one that tells Tony he needs to pay attention to something other than his own needs. But he is! He’s going to make Steve come so hard he’ll feel it—

“Oh dear god,” Phil says weakly from the doorway.

“Dammit, Jarvis. I thought I told you to keep everyone out!”

“I did, sir, but Agent Coulson has overridden the panels as usual,” the AI announces calmly.

“I – uh,” Phil wheezes in a breath when he notices who’s below Tony on the floor. “Cap.” He swallows thickly, cutting the eye contact he previously had. “Fury needs to speak to you, Tony. He’s on the landline downstairs.”

Phil rushes out as quickly as he came in.

“Guess we should…” Steve starts, feeling sick about the whole thing suddenly. Phil just saw his childhood hero being manhandled by the man he likes the least in this tower.

Tony runs his fingers through his hair, sighing. “Yeah. He seems pretty devastated that I touched his crush.” He straightens his clothes, and gives Steve a wry smile before leaving to find out what Fury needs this time.

Steve collects what’s left of the suit, and slips on his gym outfit. Some training would do him good (and hopefully make the blood in his dick circulate elsewhere).

~*~*~

Tony and Steve don’t really discuss that whole intense make-out session, even if Tony continues his flirty remarks when they cross each other’s paths. Steve plans household activities with Phil to make up for what happened – although it isn’t the first time he’s been with someone else – and the team seems to like them.

Poker games – which Thor pleaded for – are played on Tuesdays, the biggest loser having to do an embarrassing dare that everyone agrees on. Movie nights continue to be on Fridays, but they start sooner, last for longer, and have themes to choose from. Tony builds a pool in the gym for Natasha, and Clint suggests they have tournaments once per month to see everyone’s improvements.

When they have missions or if they go out and happen to stop a crime, they write it on the ‘badass scoreboard’ Tony set up to prove that he is – in fact – the most productive superhero. Unsurprisingly, he’s not; it’s a tie between Clint and Phil because they spend the most time outdoors, and happen to be at the right place at the right time.

Thor starts giving the Avengers random piggy back rides on Wednesdays – which used to be their collectively most despised day of the week – and Bruce decides to test his new formula by doing the same as the Hulk.

Steve is glad to see Phil smiling again, enjoying his turn on Hulk’s back as they run around the entertainment area. If there’s anything he doesn’t want, it’s to hurt someone’s feelings with his careless actions. He’s not like this, he’s reliable and faithful. He doesn’t want to go from bed to bed in search of an accepting partner. He wants to be happy and stable.

Is there even such a thing for people like them? That’s the question that stays in Steve’s mind during the next week.

~*~*~

Steve and Thor are flexing their biceps while watching 300 when something unexpected happens.

A silence hangs in the room, acrid and intense, begging to be shattered before one of their hearts stops beating. Thor is typically the man for the job.

“Brother?”

“Thor.” Loki smiles tightly, not moving from his spot next to the couch.

“Loki, what are you doing here? Have you escaped? Why have you do—”

“I have not. Calm down.” Loki sighs, pushing one of his coat sleeves up slowly.

There’s a metallic bracelet on his wrist, pulsing with a pale green light. When he approaches Thor, the green intensifies, and the pulsing morphs into a steady beam of colour.

“They have allowed you leave? But why? I was told you had another millennia in prison,” Thor’s voice softens the way Steve imagines it would with his children – if he decides to have any.

Loki is his brother no matter what he’s done to his family and the planet, and nothing seems to change that fact. Steve wonders if he could be as forgiving of his siblings if they turned on him so fiercely.

“The why is of no importance. I am here because I have been told to stay under your care,” Loki states dryly. He gazes over at Steve who frowns, his brow creased. “I assure you this is not of my choosing. I would rather not be in the home of people who captured me in the first place.”

Steve stands, pulling Thor aside to whisper to him. “I don’t want Loki here. We need to find a way to get him back to Asgard.”

“Steven! He is my brother!”

Steve nods, leaning closer. “I know. I know how much you’ve missed him. But what if he starts another war? What if he uses you? What if another city is destroyed because of him?” He rests his hand on Thor’s shoulder. “We can’t risk the lives of everyone here. You need to bring him—”

“No!” Thor shouts. “I refuse to send him back to that prison when I know all too well what fate awaits him there. They will assume he has betrayed me once more, that I care not what happens to him, and the torment will be more severe than you can possibly imagine, Steven.”

Steve’s eyes widen, never having been defied so strongly by Thor. Thor always follows his orders without protest – except wherever Loki is concerned. “And if he kills again? Then what?”

“If that time comes to pass, I will deal with my brother. On my own,” Thor snarls. “He does not deserve the treatment he will receive in Asgard, especially now that they know the truth of his origins.”

Steve tries to explain that he doesn’t mean to upset Thor, but he continues. “If even a single hair on Loki’s head is touched, by Odin I swear to you, you will not only have him to worry about.”

There’s no room for disagreement. This is where Steve and Thor will never see eye to eye, but Thor is powerful, and Steve doesn’t want to make the mistake of turning him to the wrong side.

“Fine, but he’s staying in your room.” Steve gives Loki one last long look, hardly containing his disgust.

He wouldn’t be surprised if this was all part of a ploy the Trickster set up to return to his playground on Earth. And if that’s the case, and Thor loses control of his brother, all of the blame will fall to Captain America’s shoulders for allowing it. Let’s hope Thor is right.

~*~*~

Steve spends the next hour or two (or three) explaining to the Avengers what’s happened, and asks them not to freak out when they arrive to find Loki lounging in Thor’s bedroom. Fury calls Steve the moment Phil receives the news, and, for a second, Steve wishes he could punch the agent for being so loyal.

“What’s this about Loki being in your care? And why wasn’t I the first to be informed?”

This is starting well. “I’m sorry, sir. It happened so quickly, and I had a dispute with Thor over it. It won’t happen again.”

“It damn well won’t. I don’t intend to ever keep a criminal from an alien planet in our midst again.”

“Yes, sir. I understand, but this has been approved by the authorities in Asgard. They apparently sent him here for Thor to take care of.”

“How is him being here with one Asgardian god better than him being surrounded by them?”

“I don’t know yet, but as soon as I find out, I will tell you.”

“If this can’t be helped, which it sounds like it can’t, make sure Thor keeps him on a tight leash. You got that, Captain?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll inform Thor of your orders.”

“Good.” Fury promptly hangs up, but not before Steve hears the beginning of a very colourful swear word.

~*~*~

Steve is lying face down on the living room couch when Thor picks up his feet, and places them gently on his lap.

“I have spoken with my brother. He has told me the reasoning behind his appearance. I assume you would like to know, yes?”

Steve nods his head, turning so he can almost see Thor’s expression. Thor strokes Steve’s thigh as he speaks, an unspoken pact they’ve made to never deny each other physical attention, so long as it isn’t sexual in nature anymore.

“The guards of my world were being, well, tricked by my brother. He fooled them into believing he had escaped on an almost daily basis. They could no longer handle his games, and they decided being in my care would ensure he remain on his best behaviour.” Thor laughs, shaking his blond hair. “They believe I am best at handling Loki. Is that not mad? He stabbed me between my armour with a hidden blade not one year ago.”

Steve moves his legs up to his body, shifting until his knees bump against the side of Thor’s thigh as he sits up next to him. “You don’t think he’ll listen to you?”

Thor’s shoulders slouch, his hair falling into his eyes. “I believe he is angry. With me most of all. And I cannot leave things as they are, Steven.”

Steve pets Thor’s hair, and strong arms pull him in instantly. “What must I do, Captain?” Thor hides his face in Steve’s neck, and Steve rubs his scalp slowly, hushing him when he feels a tear fall onto his skin.

Loki better realize how much he’s hurting his brother; this isn’t how Steve wants to see a god ever. That was a promise he’d made a long time ago.

~*~*~

Tony, Steve realizes, is not the worst behaved person in the tower anymore.

Loki is completely unpredictable, selfish, unfriendly, and a general bother for the Avengers. It makes sense that he would want to drive his captors crazy, but while trying to annoy them to death, he’s also creating weird, unexpected bonds. However, Phil and Pepper stay at least a hundred feet away from Loki at all times; they’ve heard too many horror stories from the Avengers.

Loki turns Thor’s face into unmoving cement during poker nights, making him impossible to beat. He thinks up the absolute worst dares when the time comes for the loser to suffer. (Shaving cream tastes nothing like cotton candy by the way.) And if anyone asks him to put the same spell on them, to even the odds, he pretends not to have heard their request.

Natasha’s favourite time of the month is ruined by him. Loki enjoys filling the pool with mud or freezing it over with the ice of his parentage, to make the swimming tournaments more ‘appealing’. She comes close to begging after she swallows some of it, but his smirk only makes her want to trudge on.

Then, he changes the numbers on the scoreboard so often the team has to start keeping track of who beat up the most criminals by taking pictures of it beforehand. Tony is always happy because Loki has a penchant for giving him the biggest number each week.

On hump day, Loki refuses to make an appearance, forcing his brother to bring him meals to their shared bedroom. (Which is what he does every day anyhow, insisting that ‘mortals reek of lives poorly spent’.) Thor would give him the longest, most irritating piggyback ride if Loki ever decided to participate. But Loki is far above such infantile games, as he repeats each week.

(Secretly, Loki wishes he could get a ride from Hulk, but he’s afraid he’ll be smashed into the floor again.)

The only day that Loki behaves is on Fridays. He enjoys the themed film nights so much he offers Steve suggestions of his own during the third week of his arrival. Steve writes them down, putting them into a hat and drawing one randomly, but it always ends up being one of Loki’s ideas. That may be due to Loki’s magic, but there haven’t been any complaints so far, so Steve lets it slide.

When he isn’t wreaking harmless havoc, Loki is in Thor’s room reading books he takes from Bruce’s library (when he’s not looking). Most are about genetics and chemistry, but he finds a small pile of fiction novels which he takes a liking to. Or so Thor says; Loki doesn’t speak to anyone in the tower except to insult them.

During supper, Thor always fills a plate with extra food so he can share with Loki, but Thor’s unwelcome sibling refuses to eat most things they make. The exception to this – and there is always an exception with Loki – is the rare times Thor tries his hand at cooking. It’s not terrible, but it isn’t as sophisticated or as skilled as what Bruce or Natasha can make.

Thor can slow-cook a boar he found who-knows-where with mediocre seasoning accompanied by mead he’s learned to make himself, and Loki will eat it every time. Steve begins to wonder if it has something to do with feeling like he’s back at home, with everything just as it used to be.

Thor seems happier when he recognizes that as well.

~*~*~

Thor is completely smashed one night when he stumbles into the common room. The only people still awake are Steve (as usual, his duty keeping him up) and Phil.

There’s no filter between a god’s mind and his mouth when he drinks, which is odd because they’d always assumed that was only a human thing.

“My brother has rejected my advances,” he slurs, holding a pitcher of mead in his large hand.

Phil closes his eyes like that was hard to hear, and is still physically causing him harm. Steve squints trying to figure out if that meant what he thinks it means. He turns to look at Phil who shakes his head, eyes screwed shut.

“I’m going to bed,” Phil says flatly. “Goodnight.”

Steve is left gaping – it’s what he does best – and Thor replaces Phil on the couch, staring down into his half empty drink. Maybe Steve doesn’t want to know if he’s right. Maybe it’s best he doesn’t ask.

“I told him of my interest, and he said that I could not touch him in that way even if I were the last Asgardian in existence.” Thor hiccups, taking a long gulp of mead. “Am I repulsive so?”

Well that clears things up.

“Of course not, Thor.” Steve winces when Thor belches in his face, forgetting his manners.

“Then why does my own brother not want to share his flesh with me?”

Maybe because he’s your brother? “I can’t really answer that,” Steve says, repentant. “I don’t ever know what Loki is thinking.”

Thor chuckles, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “That is true. Perhaps he is playing ‘hard to get’ as Tony says.”

“Maybe,” Steve replies. But probably not. Loki seems to be sure of what he wants, and when he doesn’t want something he won’t waste time telling it straight.

“You are a good friend, Steven.” Thor wraps Steve in a rough embrace. “And an even better leader. What would we do without you in our lives?”

Steve smiles, his flushed skin making an appearance after a long absence. “You’d be fine. I’m just here to guide you.”

Thor’s reply is a roaring noise that sounds suspiciously like snoring. And, when Thor’s head tips back and he spills mead all down the front of Steve’s shirt, he realizes it was. Steve frowns and strips out of his shirt, grabbing a blanket from the linen closet to cover Thor with.

A voice startles him as he turns to bring it to Thor. “I will take care of that babbling buffoon,” Loki declares, sounding off-put.

The blanket disappears from Steve’s grasp, and his head starts hurting when a clean shirt appears on his body. This is more help than Steve would have liked. He can still feel the buzz of Loki’s magic against the skin of his back when he lies down in bed that night.

~*~*~

After that, Steve takes it upon himself to avoid Loki. It’s bad enough that he has to share his living space with a pompous murderer, but to have him leave traces on Steve’s skin makes him feel…strange. He doesn’t like it; he won’t let himself.

Loki, on the other hand, likes a challenge. And a challenge the unrelenting Steve Rogers is.

It has nothing to do with Captain America and his righteous battle, his miraculous comeback. It has everything to do with Steve’s stubborn yet caring duality, his anger and craving for pacifying all situations, even most that are completely out of his realm – literally.

Loki feeds off of challenges, and he’s stumbled upon the greatest one yet.

Thor is quite the opposite. He’s easy to crack open. It helps that they have history together, too. Loki simply mentions Steve’s name, and all of the leader’s habits, characteristics, deeds, flaws, hopes, dreams, experiences come pouring out like the splendid waterfall Loki expected it would.

Now he has facts from which he can draw from to pick at Steve’s scabs until Steve can’t help scraping himself raw.

~*~*~

Loki breaks into Tony’s computer feed one night, taking with him the months of footage he’s missed while he was in Asgard, busy tormenting lesser beings.

At first he expects what he sees; Tony being a child, Bruce hiding away in his lab, Clint watching them all from above, Natasha fighting non-stop, Thor being oblivious, and Steve frantically trying to fix it all. But as minutes pass and Loki fast-forwards the videos (after nearly breaking the device a few times), skipping days and weeks, he falls on some interesting events.

Natasha convinces Steve to sleep with her, and he accepts. Then Steve steps out of his comfortable boundaries and indulges a subservient fan. And the demeaning behaviour doesn’t end there. He gives his attention to a man who most definitely took advantage of Steve once they reached his bedroom, he consoles a woman who would never love him back, and he helps the doctor feel again, only to be cast aside when the doctor is afraid to go any further. The worst part, Loki seethes as he watches, is how quickly he allows Thor – the son of Odin who always, without exception, receives what he wishes to have – to take advantage of him. Thor knows not of love, of service to the person you would die for. And Steve offered himself willingly to a man so spoiled as Thor.

It almost makes Loki stop watching.

Tony’s unabashed flirting was a constant, but it reaches an irritating level, and then Loki does put an end to his self-inflicted torment.

Steve is a coward, afraid to wait, afraid to forever be alone, so he settles for whoever will have him. And evidently everyone will because he is noble and brave and…Loki destroys the video recordings with a snap of his fingers.

That is enough of that nonsense.

~*~*~

The next day it is still bothering Loki, and if he cannot erase the damage, he will have to make the source of it suffer instead.

Steve is reading a newspaper, trying to catch up on the news from when he was frozen, as he eats a toast point. Loki suddenly appears, green fog wrapped around him like a cloak. He pulls out a chair and doesn’t allow Steve’s obvious attempt at avoiding him to ruin his plan. He’s going to make the human angry, and it’s going to make Loki’s day.

“I noticed you’ve been quite the busy soldier,” Loki says, face perfectly expressionless.

Steve looks up from the newspaper, chewing slower. He doesn’t know where this is going, and, as usual, doesn’t think he wants to.

Loki waits until Steve is drinking from his glass and says, “Copulating with most of your teammates. I must say, I didn’t expect that from a man of your - what shall I say? Morals?” Loki grins when Steve struggles to wipe the orange juice he spit onto his newspaper.

Steve is not going to stoop to a murderer’s level, not this one and not any other one. Loki is going to have this conversation all on his own, and Steve is going to pretend the Trickster isn’t there. He bites into his toast point, reading around the blotch of liquid staining an article.

“Ah. Ignoring me now? I see. I am not worth speaking to, but someone as insignificant as agent Coulson, you will proffer your lips to.” He leans over and steals the last piece of toast from Steve’s plate. “That makes perfect sense.”

Steve glares at Loki, the lines around his mouth deepening as he feels his emotions begin to stir. What is Loki to Steve? He’s nothing. He means nothing. So why is Steve letting the words get to him? He’s letting Thor’s brother get too far beneath his skin.

Loki finishes up the toast, dabbing the crumbs away elegantly with one long, finger. “Well. This was undeniably entertaining. We must do this again.” Loki laughs, low and dangerous, when Steve tears his newspaper accidentally. “And may I say, although I don’t see the appeal, I’m happy your little team likes to take advantage of you.”

~*~*~

Tony and Steve have a conversation on Skype one night that only reminds Steve of the insults he had to endure from Loki.

“Let’s see. You were with ‘Tasha in the gym, quite a few times, but she initiated that. You initiated with both Coulson and Clint, though. At least, I think you did with Clint because you shut the footage so I can’t say for sure. But Coulson is more of a prude than you, so I expected you to have to do all the work.”

Steve grumbles, but Tony just rambles on.

“Actually, I think you’re still just very shy, and see yourself like that scrawny kid deep down. You think you’re not good enough for us. Is that it?”

“No, Tony—”

“Bruce got you in the lab. Your talks were fascinating by the way. And I can see why you didn’t ask me to explain instead. I would have jumped your old bones way before the doc got the balls to.”

Steve scrolls his mouse across the screen, trying to find the ‘end call’ button, but in the meantime—

“Thor, well. Thor’s a warrior – like a Viking – and that couldn’t be helped. I’d definitely hit that if he offered. It did surprise me that you stopped Pep, though. I always thought you’d choose her over me any day. I guess a revenge fuck isn’t much of a turn-on for a man with such high morals as yourself.”

And there’s that jab again. Morals. It’s always about morals.

Steve knows what his morals are, he knows how he thinks, but people’s minds can change, they evolve. It isn’t fair to always be lumped in with people from his time when he never felt he fit in that era to begin with. Steve holds his head, hoping the end of this conversation is coming soon. Or at least for there to be a point somewhere.

“There’s still me, Cap,” Tony says, crossing his arms.

Of course Tony’s point would be about him. “There’s still you what, Tony?”

“Are you going to initiate? Or do I have to waste time and energy seducing you a second time?”

Steve finds ‘shut down’ instead of just the window closing button, and he figures that should get his point across. He’s had enough with feeling bad over wanting to make other people happy. If he knew being ignored, insulted and feeling left out would be the result, he wouldn’t have bothered. Except he knows he would have because that’s what he does – designated martyr of the house, remember?

He tries to sleep and finds that he can’t, so he goes downstairs. He ends up staring at the back of a long-haired criminal when he reaches the living room. Apparently, some murderers can’t sleep at night.

“Can’t sleep?” Steve asks, sitting on the far end of the couch and leaving enough space for two people between them.

Loki doesn’t answer, wanting to give the same treatment he received at breakfast days ago. Besides, he quite likes this animated program, this anime, and Steve is disturbing him.

Steve sighs, glancing at the screen for a bit longer before standing. If he’s going to be ignored by Loki, he might as well do it elsewhere. A lean, black haired character on the screen swings a giant blade, his coat hanging loose on his lithe frame.

“He kind of looks like you,” Steve says under his breath as he goes down to the gym.

Steve doesn’t see it, but Loki smiles at that. Steve couldn’t know after only watching for a moment, but that character is the hero. Loki would like to be the hero for once. Maybe he can be this time.

---Part 5

Marvel_bang - Ball and Chain - part 3/5

2012-11-06T03:00:03Z

Title: Ball and Chain (of Fools)
This is part 3 of 5
marvel_bang Masterpost HERE

Bruce doesn’t seem himself that night or the next, so Steve continues to stay by his side in case any of the effects worsen or change. Fully capable of monitoring his own heart rate, his breathing, his temperature, Bruce insists that Steve go do something fun and stop worrying so much. But as the leader of the Avengers, that’s just not how Steve is programmed. He’s worried, more than he expected he would be, and he doesn’t care if Hulk suddenly shows up during the night and smashes him, because at least that would be normal, expected.

The drowsiness and perpetual calmness surrounding Bruce is more disturbing than the monster he hides deep down. Steve has a feeling Bruce misses his alter ego as well.

“You should at least do something productive. Watching me sleep isn’t going to get me better, Steve.” Bruce fixes the pillow behind him, tugging his blanket up to his chest.

“What if-” Steve takes a breath, for courage. “-I ask you about some medical things?”

Bruce smirks, folding his hands on his lap. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Depends on what you think it is?” Steve’s brow furrows, already regretting having mentioned that.

“Is this about the box of tricks Tony got you? Cause if it is, yes I can help.” Bruce smiles, genuine and charming, and all the things that make people forget the Hulk even exists.

“It may be,” Steve says, clenching and unclenching his fists. “I don’t know what most those things are…”

“That’s normal. Most people don’t. Tony isn’t exactly a regular guy, I’m sure you know.” Bruce sits up, taking his glasses from the night stand. “Do you have them with you or do you know what you want to ask by memory?”

“I have it with me,” Steve replies, reaching for the box. “You’re okay with this? I’m not going to make you uncomfortable?”

“I’m certainly not a general practitioner, but I know a few things about the human anatomy. Sex is a normal part of life. This could be good practice for if I have kids one day.” Bruce smirks and Steve nearly crushes the box unconsciously. “I think you’re the one who might be uncomfortable with this situation.”

Steve nods, lips fighting off a smile and losing. “Yeah. Might as well learn from someone I trust at least.”

And that’s how their nightly intercourse conversations start. It’s the beginning of something shockingly…entertaining.

~*~*~

“This one says it’s ribbed,” Steve reads aloud. “Does that mean it’s more pleasurable for the woman?”

“Show me the box,” Bruce says, gesturing for it from his bed. His legs are stretched out and Steve is at the end of the bed, right next to Bruce’s socked feet. He hands him the yellow box. “It says it’s ribbed at the base and tip. That means you both – uh – feel it.” Bruce knows how nervous Steve gets with explicit descriptions.

“I’ll use my imagination, I guess.” Steve reaches for another set. “What’s the difference between ribbed and studded?”

“More pleasure with studded.” Bruce clears his throat. “I mean it’s more upraised, and usually it’s pre-lubricated.”

Steve frowns, but takes out another packet. “Climax control? That sounds painful.”

“It’s not. There’s an anaesthetic agent at the tip that seeps into the erection during intercourse and, well, you can’t climax as quickly.”

Reading the packet carefully, Steve turns to look at Bruce. “You almost quoted it word for word.”

“I was bored in med school,” Bruce answers simply. “After studying eighteen hours straight, your mind goes to odd places. The internet is a treasure chest of useless facts. But right now, you’re proving that my knowledge isn’t that useless after all.”

“Guess not.” Steve chuckles. “That doesn’t make me want to use the Mac Tony bought me, though.”

“I’ll show you the good stuff online one day. So, what’s next?” Bruce grins, leaning closer to peek inside the box.

~*~*~

And the next night—

“This is the last one.” Steve’s eyes widen. “Why does it say it’s flavoured? Do I want to know?”

Bruce, having spent hours the previous night explaining ways to please a partner, how to delay orgasms, the types of sexual relations and even some basic positions, really isn’t afraid to say anything at this point.

“That would be for oral sex. If a woman or man is performing fellatio on their partner, and if they are using a condom, then flavoured is usually a better choice. The taste of regular condoms is god-awful and I really don’t suggest you try it.” He pauses then adds, “There are a ton of flavours available: bubble-gum, lollipop, fruit, chocolate, you name it.”

Steve swallows around his nerves, trying to process all that. He nods slowly. “I’ll take your word for it, doctor.”

“I guess I’ll let that slide since we’re talking about sex.” Bruce smirks. “So anything else you wanna know? Or are you an expert now?”

“I’m far from being an expert, and I’m sure there’s a lot more I may need to know, but I wouldn’t know where to start.” Steve feels his skin burning up at the thought of the ‘new world’ and how prominent sex is in society nowadays. He really needs to catch up so he doesn’t seem so much like a man out of time, which he is.

“Pick a topic, and we’ll go from there. Unless you want to stop?” Bruce watches him with intensity, looking for any sign of discomfort. Maybe he’s pushed too far? Steve isn’t from this decade; this isn’t how they behaved back then.

“P-positions,” Steve stutters out promptly. “You mentioned something about Karma sutra?”

“Kama sutra – good choice. I’d say that’s the classier side of sex.” Bruce beams at Steve, taking his glasses off. “We might need the internet for this one. I don’t have a book on hand about that. Do you mind handing me my iPad?”

Steve tilts his head.

“The touch screen that Tony gave to all of us on his birthday, and that Thor broke five minutes later.”

“Oh.” Steve reaches for it. “That’s what it’s called? Strange.”

Bruce laughs softly. “Okay. So there are 36 chapters, and despite people thinking it’s a book strictly about positions, there’s actually a lot more to it. It’s about mutual understanding of pleasure, love and family. It’s kind of like a guide to having really good sex with the person you love the most in the world.”

Steve considers that a moment. “That actually sounds like a really interesting book. Would the library have it?”

“I’m thinking yes, but I could save you time by sending you this website.” Bruce smiles. “But let’s get to your question: positions.”

Steve gulps, but manages not to flush for once.

“According to this source, there are 64 positions. I’m not sure if you want to go through all of them, since most of them are similar, but you can tell me to stop if it’s too much.” Bruce looks over his glasses at Steve.

“Okay,” Steve breathes out, fiddling with the strings of his jogging pants.

“Just scream if you have to,” Bruce teases. “I won’t take offence.”

Steve scratches at the nape of his neck, looking away. “I’m fine. I like how you explain things. It would probably be worse with someone else.”

“Glad to be of help.” Bruce dips his head. “Okay. Number one is called Greyhound. And it requires the person being penetrated to be on all fours while their partner is kneeling behind them…”

~*~*~

It’s been a week, and Bruce is doing much better – the complications having long faded and Hulk’s presence returned – but their nightly discussions of a sexual nature haven’t stopped. They’ve simply changed their meeting place.

Bruce is working on his previous formula, lowering the dosage of this solvent, tweaking the amount of that chemical, and Steve is seated nearby, out of the way. They’re on position 35 of the Kama sutra – getting off track a few times in the past week by Bruce’s personal anecdotes that Steve enjoyed perhaps too much – and eating Indian food because Bruce said Steve had to try some.

“Can I say something before you start?” Steve asks, dipping the last of his naan bread into his curry.

For some reason he brought along the condoms. He’s probably become accustomed to having it around when Bruce mentions which type would work best with which position. Steve’s a hands-on type of person; visual aids always help him learn.

“Shoot.” Bruce’s plate has been finished for an hour; he practically inhaled the food as soon as they sat down.

“Have you tried any of these things? Is that what people do now? Or do you just remember everything you learn about?” Personally, Steve has a notepad. He draws what he imagines the positions would look like with a description of it below each.

Bruce blushes, like really blushes. And Steve is so relieved he isn’t the only person in the house who’s plagued by this happening.

“I just like reading up on interesting topics. Sex happens to be one of them. I tried a few things in my youth, back before…you know. But I never got very far in the Kama sutra department.”

Moving the condoms from his lap to the table, Steve stands and throws his container away. It’s certainly better than the shawarma Tony made them try after they were too exhausted to even speak. Or maybe that’s why Steve couldn’t enjoy it. Note to self: try shawarma again on a good day.

Bruce sees Steve’s intense expression, and wrongly assumes it’s related to what he just said. He feels horrible for all of the personal comments, opinions and, most of all, stories he’s shared with him; Steve’s more or less a virgin, and it must be freaking him out to know how sexually adventurous his teammate is.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce says suddenly.

Steve glances up from wiping a stain on his pants. “For what?”

Bruce is pouring a liquid into a large beaker when he notices Steve grabbing the box of condoms on his table. He’s only distracted for a moment, but it’s enough for him to drop the – luckily – empty glass tube, and cut himself in the process.

“Ow, fuck.”

Rushing over and looking ready to fight an army, Steve grabs Bruce’s hand. “This is my fault. Wait a second.”

“No, it’s me. I wasn’t paying attention,” Bruce corrects.

There’s nothing at hand that could be used as a bandage or temporary gauze for the cut in Bruce’s palm. Steve decides his gym shirt has seen better days, and should be used for a worthy cause. He rips a strip from the bottom of it, smiling proudly when he looks up at Bruce.

“I was going to throw this out soon anyway.” Steve wraps Bruce’s hand carefully, apologizing each time that he hisses. Sadly, the makeshift bandage doesn’t look secure or comfortable in the least. “Maybe we should go upstairs and find something better—”

Maybe it’s the Hulk’s return that inspires it. Maybe it’s through knowing how little experience this man has. Maybe it’s the effect that wonderful, kind, reliable Steve Rogers has on everyone he meets. Or maybe it’s a combination of all those things that drives him to do it. But all Bruce knows is that Steve makes the taste of curry much, much more appealing.

Steve is moaning into Bruce’s mouth without meaning to, and that seems to stir him up even more. He fists his hands in blond hair, dragging Steve down to his height, licking into Steve’s mouth like he needs every bit of the flavour there.

This isn’t exactly what Steve thought would happen, but perhaps he secretly wished he could have someone with so much experience show him how things are done. Steve hunches over, wrapping his arms around Bruce, stroking his dark hair gently, pressing his body closer with each new kiss. When Steve’s hand drags languidly down Bruce’s back, he pulls away, eyes darker than night, and sweeps whatever he had on his table onto the floor.

“Bruce—”

“I’ll make more!” Bruce somehow lifts Steve right off the ground, dropping him onto the now bare surface.

“W-what are you doing?” Steve asks, more turned on than he’s been in a while. Bruce is strong, even without turning green, and the lust in his eyes is almost intoxicating to see.

“I—” Bruce taps the side of Steve’s thigh, urging his hips up, “—am—” he drags down Steve’s pants, then his white briefs, “—sucking—” Bruce kneels down, licking his lips, “—your cock.”

Steve gasps when lips wraps around the head of his erection with just enough pressure, making the air stutter painfully out of his lungs. “Or, if you prefer, the more scientific expression is ‘making you blow your load down my throat’ I think.”

A very high-pitched sound - a cute one - is all Steve utters before Bruce forces more of the length between his spit-shiny lips. Bruce hums, smirking around Steve’s cock when he arches off the table, grabbing the edges so hard he could be leaving handprints. Keeping both palms flat to Steve’s thighs, Bruce bobs up and down, lathering Steve’s cock as he goes, fluttering his eyes as he makes eye contact with Steve. When the table creaks dangerously, Bruce pulls off, panting warm air against the head.

“You can touch me, you know.” Bruce bites his lip; Steve’s cheeks are bright red, his hair sticking to his forehead where a trail of sweat has started to collect. “I want you to touch me, Steve. Makes this a lot more interesting.”

Taking Steve as far as he can, he sucks messily at the Steve’s straining cock, darting his tongue out to collect the pre-come spilling out in bursts. Steve bucks up into the heat, but the hands pressed to his thighs are steady, keeping him down against the cold table. Bruce adds a bit of teeth, just a graze, and Steve’s hands fist into the dark hair instantly, needing the contact, the connection before he loses his mind entirely.

Bruce drops one hand, trailing it along the inside of Steve’s thigh, pulling a full-bodied shiver from him. His blunt nails scrape gently, following along Steve’s short, light pubic hair, stopping right between the base of Steve’s cock and his neglected entrance.

“Tell me if you don’t like it,” Bruce murmurs, mouthing at the head of Steve’s cock. “Otherwise I’ll just make you come, and come, and come…”

Steve whimpers, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. “P-please,” he chokes out.

“Oh, you like that?” Bruce grins. “God, I’ve missed this.”

Bruce swallows Steve’s cock all the way to the base, his finger circling Steve’s entrance gently. There’s something about a doctor, a good friend, someone with a lot of sexual experience, taking pleasure in Steve’s arousal that is bordering on too much to handle. Dragging his finger in the saliva dripping along Steve’s cock, Bruce presses in with his middle finger, slowly, until the tightness eases up.

“Oh. My God. Yes,” Steve mewls, nearly falling back against the table when his elbows give way.

Bruce drags his mouth away, wrapping a hand at the base of Steve’s cock. “I’d say you enjoyed that. But just in case—”

Warmth and slick covers Steve’s pucker, when Bruce leans in, lapping his tongue between Steve’s thighs. There’s not much fight left in Steve at this point; he can’t deny he’s close, so close, that he needs to come or he’s going to very well die.

“Please,” he begs. “Please. Just—"

Bruce’s tongue slides in at the same time as he strokes Steve’s cock, not worrying about the death-grip in his hair dragging him closer, forcing his tongue deeper inside the ring of muscle. Steve rolls his hips, grinding his ass on Bruce’s face, and he knows how this would look from the outside, but he can’t be bothered when there’s warmth, and pressure, and a hand twisting at the head of his cock and oh—

Steve spills over Bruce’s skilled hand, crying out as the tongue continues to impale him through the aftershocks. And this time Steve does lean all the way back when his limbs give out, his legs falling apart as Bruce shifts to standing between them.

“Good?” Bruce whispers, running his clean hand across the bare patch of skin where Steve’s shirt was ripped.

“Very good,” Steve replies, feeling spectacularly sexed out. The tension between them must have been building for so long, right under his nose. “Thank you for showing me that.”

Bruce moves closer, rubbing circles along Steve’s abdomen softly. “The pleasure was all mine.”

Steve grins when a kiss is pressed to his stomach. “My lips are here.” He points, pushing himself up to get within reach.

“So they are,” Bruce answers coyly. “But I don’t think you want to—”

“Shut up, doctor,” Steve cuts in, dragging Bruce in so roughly the wind is knocked out of him when their lips finally connect again. “And teach me how to do what you just did, okay?” He pats the front of Bruce’s pants playfully.

~*~*~

Eventually Steve is good enough at blowjobs that he can use his mouth and fingers to tear Bruce’s maddeningly collected mask away, bringing him to climax within five minutes each time. And Bruce, on the other hand, challenges himself. Each time Steve visits, Bruce is drawn away from his work – not by the younger man, but by his craving for the sounds and scent that are purely Steve – and he attempts to beat his previous record.

On a particularly messy, raunchy encounter, Steve brings Bruce to climax on his fingers alone, but he swears he sees green in the doctor’s eyes when Bruce comes apart. Bruce seems to pick up on this, and doesn’t want to put Steve in danger, so he asks him to visit less often.

(Besides, Bruce was getting nowhere with his new formula.)

Tony replaces Steve in the lab – not sexually, but as company – and aids Bruce with his research, keeping an eye out for any more mishaps (at Steve’s stern request).

They drift apart in a natural way, still being friends – just not needing the physical aspect as much. Instead, they go for walks together, they cook together, and they take each other’s side when the Great Friday Movie Debate comes around each week.

Steve is okay with them just being friends because at least now Bruce is spending more time out of his lab, and Steve isn’t afraid to be in Bruce’s vicinity for long periods of time.

~*~*~

There’s something wrong with Tony, more than usual that is.

When he isn’t watching over Bruce, he’s hiding away in the R&D department or in his personal workshop, constantly building, or he’s lying in bed for often days at a time, drinking scotch straight from the bottle. (Steve knows because Jarvis told him as much.)

Pepper has been his friend, or at least she was, for a very long time. And before that she was his confidant, his assistant that he could always count on to keep him stable. But now that Pepper herself is having a hard time getting over the break-up, she can’t be around to hold Tony’s hand. And that aside, she’s his CEO; she doesn’t have time to mope in bed, and reminisce over all the good times she shared with Tony. There’s a company to run, and Tony is in no state to do it – not that he ever was.

For a week, Steve asks the other Avengers what to do, and they tell him to just give Tony time and space, and he’ll be right as rain in no time. (Phil says he sees nothing out of the ordinary, but that Steve can borrow his taser if he’d like to.) But what if he isn’t? What if this time is actually different? Steve takes their advice, though his uncertainty makes him anxious, and he concentrates on other things.

~*~*~

It never seemed like a possibility to Steve, but Clint and Natasha are socializing with the rest of the household at long last.

Natasha likes to spar with Tony – when he isn’t busy drinking himself into an early grave – and helps Thor with his hair when he breaks the mirror in his room for the hundredth time. She continues to flirt with Steve, but she doesn’t act upon it anymore. Pepper and Natasha start speaking again when Natasha explains that she never meant to hurt Pepper. (Her goal was to seduce Tony, to make him hard as a rock, and then leave him high and dry and in pain. Pepper really likes that; laughs about it with Natasha until her jaw hurts.) They bond by pointing out Tony’s flaws, and sharing the new ones they discover as time passes. They become so close that they reserve Saturdays for a girls’ night out, picking an unfamiliar restaurant or lounge to check out each week.

Clint eats with everyone, teases Bruce about ‘coming out of his green shell’ while stuffing his face with the Bruce’s amazing cooking, and teaches Phil how to shoot moving targets while falling through the air.

(That leaves quite a few arrows through the ceiling, but Tony doesn’t mind so long as they don’t hit the chandelier.)

Steve and Clint chat, often during movie night, and the leader finds out he actually sleeps in his bed most nights now. Natasha pulls Steve aside and explains that it has to do with ‘wanting to smell Steve’s scent’. Steve could have done without that little bit of information, not that he’s even sure she’s telling the truth. It wouldn’t be the first time she made Steve believe something false.

(Like that time when she said there was a weeping ghost in the basement, and it turned out to be Phil crying over The Lion King.

“There was some dust in my eye,” Phil said, defensively.

“Were you trying to get it out by deafening it?” Natasha asked, smirking.

“I’m going back upstairs,” Steve announced to no-one in particular.

“Wait!” Phil wiped his eye quickly. “Can you bring me some tissues?”)

Overall, Steve is impressed with everyone’s attitudes – Tony would come around surely – and he couldn’t even take the credit if he wanted to.

~*~*~

There’s never been a time where Steve worried about Thor; he’s always so easygoing, so bright and cheery. He makes living in the tower better for everyone around, when he isn’t destroying appliances and furniture. But when he’s upset, the whole team feels it – Steve most of all.

Steve approaches Thor when he isn’t his usual happy-go-lucky self.

“What’s wrong, Thor?”

“My home calls to me. I miss my people, my family. I miss Asgard,” he answers solemnly.

“You’ve been on Earth for a long time. You should take some time off and go back. I’m sure Fury would—”

“I cannot!” Thor interjects. He sighs, looking dejected. “I know myself. If I were to return, I would beg for Loki to be released. And that is not the right decision for my world or yours.”

Steve joins Thor on his bed, rubbing his back gently. “I know how it feels to miss family, trust me. And my home looks nothing like it used to so I don’t even have that.” He smiles when Thor looks at him questioningly. “I think we should make a second home for ourselves, here, in New York.”

“How can we?”

“Well, do you know much about the city? I don’t. We can go explore, get our mind off things.” Steve stands, placing both hands on his hips. “What do you say, pal?”

Thor’s nostrils flare for a moment, and then he’s smiling so wide Steve wonders what he’s done to merit such a reward. “I will follow you, Captain Steven. Let us create an adventure of our own!”

~*~*~

Somewhere between browsing bookstores, trying to understand fashion – what is hipster, Steven? I think it’s a colour, maybe – and sampling too much ice cream for a normal person to handle, they end up stopping a bank robbery.

Well, Thor and Steve just happen to be passing by, Thor’s ice cream gets knocked out of his hand by one of the criminals, and he throws a tantrum of godly proportions. Lightning shoots from the sky, wind gusts and blows some of the men across the street, rain starts falling in a torrential way and…you get the idea.

And since everyone is frightened off (or unconscious), Steve is left to calm his teammate alone, explaining that they can just buy some more. After Steve treats Thor, the authorities show up and praise them both for their good work. Someone, somewhere – where do these people and their picture-taking telephones come from? – snaps a photo of them shaking hands with the police, and all hell breaks loose.

Rumours of a sub-group featuring only two of the six Avengers start spreading like wildfire.

Surprisingly, the Avengers don’t really care what Steve and Thor do in their free time, and most of them even encourage it. Thor likes this distraction and how positive it is, so he requests Steve join him on a ‘formidable crusade in Midgard’.

The next time they’re out together, having an unplanned picnic – Thor is always hungry – an old lady has her bag stolen, and it’s Steve’s turn to leap to her rescue. It takes him all of ten seconds to catch up to the thief, and when the man recognizes him, he passes out.

This time, a news reporter asks them about their reasoning and what their team is called.

“We’ll get back to you on that,” Steve answers promptly, pulling Thor away before he explains how his love for ice cream is what brought this on.

~*~*~

“If we’re going to take this seriously,” Steve can’t believe he’s saying it himself, “we should make it obvious that we are not representing the Avengers. We need a name and a different costume.”

“Indeed! Steven, you are as intelligent as you are brave!” Thor exclaims, banging Steve on the back just this side of too hard.

~*~*~

It’s all Thor’s fault, Steve complains to himself.

They’re in a Halloween shop going through masks, trying to find some that are as far from their usual outfits as they can. Steve picks a black mask with gold tips that covers the top half of his face, and then he finds a black cape and buys that as well. Ever since he was a kid, he’s wanted a cape.

Thor, on the other hand, can’t decide between a Pierrot mask and a pink one that he says matches his red cape splendidly. Steve can’t make eye contact with the cashier when Thor picks the pink – or light red, as Thor deems it - one with sparkles and white feathers at the top.

And if that isn’t bad enough – oh yes, it gets worse – Thor is flipping through channels one day (without crushing the remote for once) and comes across a pretty, cheery weatherwoman.

“Steven!”

Steve is in his room, lacing up running shoes for the jog they planned to take. He cracks his door open to answer, “Yes, Thor?”

“Weather forecast!” Thor shouts, hardly containing his excitement.

Raising a brow, Steve steps out of his room. “What about the weather?”

“No, no. You misunderstand. That will be our sub-group’s appellation!” Thor crushes the remote then, accidentally, when he intends to clasp his palms together. “We will be called Weather Forecast!”

It makes sense considering Thor’s powers, but how does that represent Steve in any way. “And how does that include my abilities?” he asks out of genuine interest. Maybe Thor has a logical explanation.

“That is true. I had forgotten.” Thor clicks his fingers. “We can be Weather Forecast Shield!”

Steve blinks a few times, leaning on the bannister. “No, Weather Forecast is fine. Are you ready?”

“I could battle without garments! All I require is Mjolnir by my side.” Thor beams.

As Steve takes out his keys to lock the door behind them, Thor grunts and startles them both.

“I’ve forgotten my mask and cape!”

Says the man who could fight naked.

~*~*~

After another week of stopping petty crimes, Steve wants to call it quits. He’d like to be able to say it has everything to do with wanting the rest of the team to be included, but he knows it’s mostly because people are recognizing them, and Thor’s costume is getting them teased from every possible angle.

“Rain clouds,” Clint calls from where he’s perched on the edge of the couch. “I hear you guys are doing well with saving kittens from trees and walking people’s dogs.”

“We are Weather Forecast, Eye of Hawk. You would do well to remember our name correctly for we have done much good!”

That’s Thor; ever-ready to defend their sub-group’s honour. Steve just slinks down into the couch, munching on popcorn Bruce made him.

Phil says from the kitchen, “Does Thor know people think he’s a Barbie princess?”

“I don’t understand that reference,” Steve utters.

Thor nods in agreement, but assumes it’s a compliment because Coulson isn’t usually mean-spirited. “Thank you, Philippe. But I would prefer to be akin a prince!”

Clint falls off the couch laughing, and doesn’t stop when Natasha drags him away.

~*~*~

The next day, there’s a Barbie princess DVD waiting for them in the shared entertainment room. Thor watches it and enjoys it so much he forgets that he’s meant to be insulted. Steve leaves half-way to try and plan a way to break the news of their disbanding to Thor.

It turns out he doesn’t need to because Thor has other things on his mind.

“I would like to learn of the technology Midgard possesses. It is something you do not comprehend as well, yes?”

“So you want to learn about cellphones, video games and the internet?” Steve asks, raising a brow. “And what happens with our crime-fighting duo?”

“We are merely taking a well-deserved vacation. A Peter Parker informed me of his return to New York, and thanked us for helping during his leave. Do you know of him?”

“Peter Parker…Not a clue,” Steve replies, scratching his chin.

“Spiderman! Spiderman contacted Thor?! I’ve been trying to get him over here for months!” Tony wails from the penthouse elevator.

“He said he does not intend to join the Avengers at this time,” Jarvis informs the room. “And he believes Tony will try to seduce him if he were to move in.”

“Thank you very much, Jarvis,” Tony says dryly. “Remind me to ease up on your sass levels, will ya?” He turns to Thor, saying, “So what was that about technology?”

~*~*~

They decide that Tony is a bad teacher when he hacks into a dating site, uploads pictures of them during their Weather Forecast days, and leaves them with hundreds of emails to sift through. Steve just shuts the computer down and doesn’t reopen it until Bruce explains how to delete messages.

Thor likes Google search most. He types in strange keywords that he expects people on Earth wouldn’t have thought of, but he’s surprised each time to find out he’s wrong. After a week, Steve shows Thor an old picture of himself that someone ‘scanned’ onto the ‘web’, and they are both blown away.

“That is you, Steven! But why does this photograph appear so aged?”

“I guess it’s from before I was frozen.”

“This internet hides many secrets. We need to discover them,” Thor murmurs as though conspiring against the government.

~*~*~

Thor spends too much time stomping – more like trampling – through the tower, excitedly rushing up to Steve’s room to show him images and videos of animals, so Tony teaches them about Skype.

(Clint and Natasha thank Tony by sneaking up to his bedroom one night for some ‘adult entertainment’. Pepper thought Thor’s excitement was cute, but promptly changed her mind when it happened at one, two, and then three in the morning. Phil sleeps like the dead, and was too busy stuffing his face with Bruce’s home recipes to notice. )

It’s 2am when Steve gets his first Skype call from Thor.

“Good evening, Steven!”

Steve can hear his voice through the walls, all the way upstairs in his room. How is this solving the noise factor exactly? “Thor, can you – uh – keep your voice down?”

“I don’t understand. Are we plotting some attack on one of our allies?” Thor’s voice booms again, and Steve sighs exaggeratedly.

“No, it’s just late and—”

“They are not asleep, you have my word! I saw Philippe going into Bartonson’s quarters but minutes ago, and Lady Widow is out with Pepper on their hebdomadal expedition. And –”

“Okay, I get it,” Steve chuckles. “So what did you want to show me?”

---

Thor almost seems to feel bad for the bloodshot eyes his roommates are sporting the next day, except he finds another picture of a cat sleeping on its back, and that occupies his thoughts instead. Steve wants to jump out of a tall building which – lucky for him – he just happens to be in. If they’re all exhausted (Steve included because Thor had so much to share) then they can’t be ready to fight when the time comes. There have to be boundaries of some sort.

---

Another call comes in on Skype that night, and Steve decides to go to Thor’s room instead. If anyone has to be exhausted the next day, it should just be him – not the entire Avengers tower.

“Steven! Why had you not simply answered my transmission?” Thor asks, frowning.

“I wanted to come in person so we could talk more privately. I think the team will appreciate it if we keep our voices down,” Steve replies, patting Thor’s arm.

“I see.” And idea comes to Thor’s mind, and his brow shoots up. “Tony has taught me a fine game to entertain us. I am glad you are here.”

Thor pulls out a deck of cards, shuffling them then passing some out.

“What are we playing?” Steve takes his cards slowly. Cards he can handle; that’s what everyone used to pass the time during the war.

“Poker…Wait. I am forgetting a word.” Thor looks up at the ceiling, scrubbing through his bristly, blond beard. “Allow me a moment of thought, Steven. I will recall the name soon enough.”

“Well, I know how to play poker—”

“Ah, yes!” Thor cuts in. “Strip Poker. Starkson taught me how to play it earlier.” Thor’s brow furrows. “Why is your skin the colour of an apple?”

“T-that’s what we’re playing? You know that means we’ll both eventually be…” Steve can’t say it, even after his sex education with Dr. Bruce.

“Nude, yes I am aware. We are both fine, young men. I see nothing wrong with it.” Thor slaps Steve’s knee, definitely leaving a handprint behind. “I am not ashamed of my body, nor should you be. Now come, let us enjoy this new game!”

If only Steve could get drunk, this would be a lot easier to deal with.

---

It just so happens, Thor is terrible at poker; he can’t hide his emotions to save his life, and Steve can always tell when he’s bluffing. It also turns out, not so surprisingly, that Thor enjoys being naked, regardless of who is in the room with him.

Thor has one sock left – why he chose to remove his underwear before his socks, Steve will never understand – and if he loses again, Steve will be declared the winner. But anyone who knows Thor knows that he has the attention span of a two year old on a good day. And today is not a good day.

Steve is deciding whether to bluff or not when Thor stands, bending over right in front of Steve, clenching his butt cheeks for some unknown reason. Then he twists his body one way, the other, flexing his biceps and back muscles as he goes. And really, whose fault is it if Steve’s mouth is hanging open when Thor turns to look at him?

“I can read your thoughts perfectly, Steven!” Thor exclaims, grappling forward to wrestle Steve to his carpet. “I did not know Midgardians enjoyed such practices!”

“W-what practices?” Steve croaks out, trying to slip out from under a very, very naked Thor.

“Wrestling, I believe it is called here.” Thor grabs for Steve’s shirt, and you’d swear they were having two separate conversations.

“Thor. Thor. What are you doing?”

“Men in Asgard practice this without any body armour. You have an unfair advantage over me, Steven!”

Apparently wearing a t-shirt is an advantage. “Okay, I guess.” His shirt is stripped off faster than he can blink.

“Now the fun begins!”

Thor really wasn’t kidding about wanting to wrestle.

Steve is on his back the next second, parts of Thor’s anatomy pressing in places he wishes wouldn’t, so he struggles, wiggles, and switches their positions, straddling Thor’s hips. Thor cries out with joy, twisting Steve’s arm and forcing him back where he was, face flat against the carpet. Something dangling hits him between his shoulder blades, and he doesn’t know how to feel about that, so he leaps up, unintentionally bringing Thor with him.

Thor bares his teeth, slamming Steve’s back against the wall, pressing his palm right below Steve’s throat. The god chuckles when he feels Steve’s pulse quicken and his throat bobbing beneath his fingertips.

“Play fair, Captain. That is ticklish.”

Ticklish? There may be hope yet. Steve thrusts an arm free of Thor’s hold, and reaches out to Thor’s waist, gently sliding his fingers up and down and—

“No! For the love of Odin!” Thor tries to stifle his laughter, but can’t. “I should not have mentioned my weakness so soon!”

Thor continues laughing as he drags Steve with him atop his bed, pinning his hands down roughly. “That is enough of that. I thought you a real warrior, Steven.”

Steve tries for nonchalance, but fails when his voice cracks mid-way. “I am a s-soldier, just not at three in the morning, Thor.”

“Are you ill? Why is your temperature elevated so?” Thor narrows his eyes. “Have I injured you?” He shifts, and his hips brush against Steve’s in a way that is just plain evil.

Steve gasps Thor’s name. “Sorry. I should go n—”

Thor palms Steve’s bulge through his pants before he has a chance to stand. “I am not ashamed of my sexuality. You should take what you wish to! I will gladly give myself over to a mortal such as you.”

“I can’t just make you…do things with me, Thor,” Steve tries to explain, but Thor insists on palming him.

“Is it not normal to fulfill your needs on this planet? If I am hungry, I eat. If I am dirty, I bathe. If I am aroused, I fuck.”

The word sounds so filthy rolling off of a god’s tongue that it makes Steve impossibly harder, and he’s agreeing to anything and everything Thor will offer before his mind even catches up with it. “Wait, wait. You’re not even turned on. I don’t want this to only be about me.”

Thor tilts his head, eyes shining with admiration. “Such beautiful words, Steven. But fear not, I can feel the heat building in my loins as we speak. You are a very alluring man.”

Steve flushes, but can’t even thank Thor because his pants are being ripped off and thrown across the room. He opens his mouth to protest one last time, and Thor silences him with a palm over his lips, dipping down to breathe in the smell of sex and pre-come on Steve’s cock.

“Your scent is potent. I will enjoy this very much.” Thor dabs some of it on his fingers, shoving them into his mouth without hesitation. “Oh. Why have you been hiding this for so long?”

Steve’s hands tangle in Thor’s hair, pulling gently when Thor tongues across and beneath his balls, humming so loud it feels like a vibrator (Bruce is an efficient teacher). Tugging a bit more on Thor’s hair, Steve hopes he gets the message through; he’s not worked on his stamina enough to survive this kind of teasing.

Thor moves his hand from Steve’s mouth and grabs his waist instead, flipping him over with one swoop. He leans over Steve’s body; his cock fitting between Steve’s spread legs easily. Steve’s socks suffer the same fate as his pants, and Thor’s hand finds Steve’s cock hanging heavy between his thighs.

“I believe you are mostly untouched, are you not?” Compared to Asgardian royalty, most people would seem like virgins.

Thor’s breath is dizzyingly warm against his bare neck, and when Steve looks down between their bodies, he sees the single socked foot and it makes him oddly at ease.

“I’ve had some experience lately.”

“I shall provide you with more,” Thor murmurs (as much as Thor can), tracing Steve’s ear with his tongue.

Hips shift, and Thor’s cock is rubbing slick between Steve’s ass, catching on his entrance with each thrust. Thor nibbles over Steve’s shoulder as his hand wraps firmly around Steve’s length, easing him into the pace. His strokes are rough and tight around Steve, his palm secure and mostly dry. It burns deep all across Steve’s skin, and his chest heaves with each forward movement of Thor’s hips.

Thor is sweating onto Steve’s back, his hair tickling his shoulders, and Steve nearly collapses when Thor’s cock prods his entrance accidentally. Thor leans forward, holding Steve up and stroking faster, swiping his fingers over the head with each tug.

“You are intoxicating, Steven,” Thor growls out, spreading Steve’s ass wide to watch as his cock presses in teasingly, leaving a mess of pre-come behind. “I feel you are close to climax. Do not hold back. I would like to hear you.”

Steve arches, pushing his ass closer to the thick length stretching him slightly. Thor presses lazy, open-mouthed kisses on Steve’s lower back, squeezing at the head of Steve’s throbbing cock.

“Thor,” Steve whimpers. “Faster.”

A seductive laugh rumbles out of Thor, and he sinks his teeth into the reddening flesh of Steve’s ass. “Anything for my leader.”

Thor edges closer, as close as he can, and the tip of his cock slides inside Steve, barely, just enough to make Steve buck into Thor’s tight grip.

“Yes.” Steve leans his head against his arm, biting the skin of his bicep to keep from screaming.

Thor slaps Steve’s ass, pulling his other hand away for a moment to spit in his palm. Steve makes the mistake of looking down at what Thor’s doing exactly to catch his cock slipping in and out of vision within Thor’s large hand. His whole body tenses, squeezing around Thor’s massive length, and he comes for what feels like an hour, all over the bedding and Thor’s hand.

Thor falls forward and against Steve’s back when he comes; the pressure having broken the last of his restraint. He gnaws on Steve’s shoulder until he’s moaning louder and louder, his cock no doubt filling up with blood again.

“May I clean you up?” Thor drags his lips across the marks he’s left on Steve’s skin.

Steve pants noisily, looking back at Thor over his shoulder. “What do you—”

Thor forces Steve upright, kissing him over his shoulder, sucking at his tongue. “I would like to clean you. Follow me to the bathing area.”

There’s no room for refusal, it seems. Not that Steve would; he has zero energy to move right away. He nods, starting to turn to face Thor, but the god lifts him easily, throwing him over his shoulder and scurrying out of his bedroom. He smacks Steve’s ass as he did Bruce not that long ago.

So it’s not just a drunken thing, Steve thinks idly. Thor tastes each of his fingers that were soiled by Steve, and he has to cover his eyes to keep from spontaneously-combusting over that.

Everyone in this tower is so bad, but so good at the same time; it’s a paradox Steve doesn’t care to correct.

“Shall I prepare the water for you in the shower,” Jarvis butts in nosily.

Steve mentally kicks himself for forgetting to turn off that untrustworthy robot – again.

---Part 4

Marvel_bang - Ball and Chain - part 2/5

2012-11-06T02:55:48Z

Title: Ball and Chain (of Fools)
This is part 2 of 5
marvel_bang Masterpost HERE

Steve is returning late from volunteering at a nearby animal shelter, humming an old tune under his breath, when the elevator dings open and leaves him beyond speechless. The tower is in shambles.

There are empty bottles of beer and hard liquor littering every flat surface, including every step of the stairway leading to Steve’s bedroom door. The living room table is flipped over. There’s smoke coming from the kitchen. Thor is wrestling with the Hulk – not Bruce Banner – and smashing through the surviving furniture. Tony’s suit is flying around on its own with no one inside while Clint tries to shoot modified rubber bands at it. Natasha is trying to keep Tony from sliding his hands under her shirt as they make out on the stairs next to a half empty bottle of rum. Phil steps out of the kitchen with burnt Poptarts and Thor calls ‘temporary battle withdrawal’ so he can eat them without the Hulk pummeling him.

This, Steve decides, is definitely all Tony’s doing. How he even persuaded Phil to join in on this debauchery is beyond his knowledge, but it needs to stop before they burn down the entirety of the Avengers tower.

Where is Pepper when Steve needs someone to keep Tony on a leash?

The elevator dings behind Steve, and the small gasp from the person behind him is the biggest relief for all the wrong reasons. (Steve couldn’t imagine having to wrangle up the wild bunch of so-called humans he lives with on his own.) Pepper taps Steve on the shoulder, clipboard in her other hand.

“Did you just get back?”

“Yeah.” Steve feels almost bad for having left.

“Tony?”

“I’m guessing. But I don’t want to assu—”

“It’s Tony’s doing. I know his style.” She grumbles, eyeing the mess with disbelief.

Steve nods, serious. “Can you take care of him?”

“Where is he—Oh. Of course,” Pepper says, gritting her teeth.

“I’m sorry,” Steve offers, touching her hand softly. He’d been so wrapped up in the mess he forgot who Tony was with. Pepper smiles at him, but her eyes tell him not to get involved in her affairs.

“He’s always been interested in Natasha, even when she was my assistant. I should have seen it coming.” She straightens up, clipboard pressed tightly to her chest. “But I’m still his goddamn CEO, and he is destroying the Avengers headquarters. Time to get to work, Steve.” She forces a smile.

Steve tips his head, and rushes into the kitchen before the fire alarm goes off because of the smoke.

The toaster is balancing dangerously close to a sink full of water, clogged by who knows what. He’s not dealing with that, nope; there could be a large number of things floating in there that Steve doesn’t want to think about. He unplugs the toaster, wraps the wire, and tucks it away in a cupboard.

When Steve steps out of the kitchen, Bruce is now naked and no longer green, sitting with Thor on a half-couch. At some point they found time between fighting, eating burnt food and being drunk, to slice the sofa perfectly down the middle. Steve will never quite understand this new world he’s found himself in. They’re leaning against each other, looking drowsy – seemingly coming down from their sugar rush – so Steve moves on to more pressing matters.

“Jarvis, stop the Iron Man suit, please,” Steve instructs sternly.

“Are you certain you wouldn’t like me to open a window and allow it to fly out instead?” Jarvis replies.

Steve sighs. “Yes, I’m sure.”

The suit falls straight down from the center of the room, and Steve has to catch it before it lands on Phil – who’s passed out in front of the halved sofa. Steve rests it underneath the overturned table, which he places back on its legs, and picks up Phil afterward. He carries him to his room and tucks him in, shutting the light on the way out.

Natasha is rubbing her face when Steve returns, a handprint across her cheek – Pepper’s logically – with Tony nowhere to be found. Pepper must have managed to drag him away and up to the penthouse so they could deal with their issues privately.

Clint trips over a beer bottle on the way to where Natasha is seated on a step, but she steadies him with an arm on his hip. He then shoots a specialty rubber band at Thor’s head, but Thor does little more than grunt, pulling clothing-free Bruce closer to his chest.

They’ll be fine for a bit longer, Steve decides.

Steve collects all the empty, and unfortunately not-so-empty, bottles around the floor in a garbage bag, and leaves it in the kitchen. As soon as Steve steps out of the kitchen, a rumbling sound startles him and ends his internal rant of why do I associate with these people again? Oh yeah, to save the world.

Natasha is gone, and Clint is slumped against the bannister, snoring silently, a band between his thumb and index. Thor is carrying Bruce away like a prized maiden, and Steve realizes that the rumbling sound came from Bruce when Thor smacks his ass (again) to make sure he doesn’t fall asleep. Clint wakes up just in time to see the two men pass near him, reaching out to pinch the naked skin but failing.

Everything else seems to be in order, so Steve dashes up the steps, takes the increasingly saucy archer by the arm, and carries him down to his bedroom.

---

Originally intending to drop Clint off like he did with Phil, Steve is hit with a sudden intriguing thought: he’s never been in Clint’s bedroom, and he may not get a chance to again (since it’s usually locked and empty).

Steve puts Clint atop his blanket, and takes in the surroundings while Clint settles in.

It’s inordinately clean, even for Steve who was complimented in the army for his tidy room. There’s not a single speck of dust, there’s nothing out of place in the shelves, the clothing in his closet is almost colour coordinated, and his weapons are all safely hidden behind a glass door requiring a pin to gain access. It’s shockingly organized, almost as though no-one lives here. And, all things considered, Steve really doesn’t think Clint ever stays in his bedroom.

“Do you want me to take out some things for you to sleep in?”

Clint grunts in response, and it vaguely sounds like ‘yeah’.

There’s a wooden dresser next to Clint’s closet, and Steve slides open the first drawer to find….arrows? Usually the top drawer is for socks and underwear, but okay. The next drawer has socks and underwear – still in their packaging – so Steve knows he’s getting closer. Bending and pulling the bottom drawer out, Steve isn’t aware of the silent assassin’s movements until Clint’s reaching out to touch Steve’s ass.

“Whoa.” Steve pushes Clint back with one arm, holding a t-shirt and pants in the other. “I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink.”

“You’re the one showing off your goods like a tease and not letting anyone touch.” Clint chuckles, his gaze raking down Steve’s torso and stopping at his crotch. “Except maybe Natasha.”

“My eyes are up here, Clint,” Steve says firmly, but still blushing.

“I always wondered how you fit into that suit. The old one was already tight, but this new one is pretty much painted on.” Clint sways on his feet, so Steve holds him by his shoulder. “How do you get in it?”

“Do I have to answer?” Steve utters, lips curling at one side. Clint may be a lot of things, but he’s also amusing.

“We can play the question game if you want it to be fair,” Clint slurs. “I just need to sit down first.”

Steve helps Clint back over to the bed, and puts the change of clothes on his lap. “I use a lot of powder.”

Clint barks out a laugh that makes Steve’s shoulders jump. “I wasn’t serious about that, but thanks for answering. Your turn.”

“Why do you spend so much time high up?” Steve rubs his knees nervously. He didn’t mean to end up sitting on Clint’s bed, let alone be in his room for so long.

“So I can see everything.” Clint closes an eye, scrunching up his nose like he’s tasted something bitter. “Don’t ever trust Thor to make you a mixed drink by the way.” He clicks his tongue. “Okay, my turn. Have you ever done it with a man?”

Steve frowns; does everything have to be about sex with Clint? “No. And before you ask, yes Phil was the first man I kissed.” He crosses his arms. “How often do you sleep on the roof?”

Sighing, Clint rubs his head. “I don’t like your questions, Cap.” He turns to look at the wall. “Maybe four or five times per week.”

“You’re going to get sick from it one day. You should take better care of yours--”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay. Would you have sex with a man?” Clint raises a brow, crossing his arms to mirror Steve.

“Why are your questions always about that? Are you trying to hint at something?” Steve’s brow creases.

“You need to answer before you can ask a question, Cap.”

“Fine. Yes, if I liked the person I would.” Steve looks down at his feet on the floor, wondering how he can still feel so small despite the strength the serum has granted him. “Are you trying to say that I’m in denial about being gay?”

Clint laughs, throwing his head back. “Oh, man. You old time guys were really oblivious.” Clint bumps Steve’s shoulder with his own. “No, Cap, I’m not trying to make you realize you’re in the closet. I’m trying to make you see that I want to get in your pants that are way too tight to be fair.”

Steve sucks in a breath when Clint’s hand finds his crotch and squeezes. “Oh,” Steve croaks, the word coming out ten octaves too high. “But you’re not gay, are you?”

Rolling his eyes, Clint leans in close. “I’m the straightest one in this tower, Cap. I just like to touch pretty things. Now, are you going to let me or do I have to answer 21 more questions?”

“Can’t we…do both?” Steve murmurs coyly in reply. It’s the best smartass answer he can come up with while a hand is stroking him through his pants.

“Sure,” Clint whispers in Steve’s ear. “But all of this stays between us. Okay?”

Steve bites his lip, nodding. “You have my word.” And how Steve ended up in a situation like this again, he’ll never know.

“Good, ‘cause the whole house doesn’t need to know about Captain America topping me.” He grumbles in frustration. “I probably should have deactivated Jarvis in this room, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck, I’m too drunk for this.”

“Then we can just--”

“No way! You’re in my bed, you’re hot, and I can feel your dick getting hard in my hand. Three great things at once. Jarvis, shut off temporarily.”

“I was so looking forward to telling Tony all the details, but as you wish,” is Jarvis’s witty retort.

“He’s way too human for his own good,” Clint snaps.

---

Nothing is really happening. Not in the sense of let’s pretend it didn’t happen, but in the actual not occurring kind of way.

Clint is too tired, too drunk, seeing double and groping air when he can’t find the real Steve. Steve tries to help by giving him directions, but most of the time Clint is yawning too loud to hear them. Eventually, Clint is naked, and so is Steve – no thanks to the sleepy archer – but his eyes keep closing when Steve tries to ask what he has to do next. How could Steve do it by himself? He hardly even knows what he’s doing with women yet.

Steve feels bad after one of Clint’s many jaw-breaking yawns, and decides to give sleazy Clint a present: a blowjob. (Or is it called fellating someone? Steve will never be good with all the sex terms.) Maybe that could kick Clint’s body back into sobriety.

Clint’s stretched out on his back, Steve seated between his spread legs, rubbing up and down the surprisingly soft, bare thighs. Clint grunts, cracking an eye open long enough to see Steve’s nerves getting the best of him.

“Are you actually gonna do what I think you are?” he says, voice deep with long-needed sleep. “’Cause if you are, I would like to say this before I pass out: I fuckin’ love you.”

Flushing as easily as ever, Steve just nods in response, bending down, and breathing hot against the stiffening erection. Clint’s hips jerk at that, automatically searching for the source of pleasure. Steve looks up at Clint; he’s stretching out, his arms folded behind his head smugly. He’s definitely aware of what he’s doing.

A lick to start is what Steve does, Clint showing his approval in the form of a hungry growl. It’s a nice sound. It’s sexy and just loud enough for Steve to enjoy. Steve licks again, this time peering into Clint’s hazy eyes for his reaction. Clint reaches behind himself, grabbing at the headboard of his bed, thrusting his hips closer to Steve’s tongue.

“Keep going, Cap.” He rumbles out, eyes screwing shut when Steve obliges, tongue swirling over the head of Clint’s length with purpose.

“Like that?” Steve asks, lapping his tongue across the slit at the top, something bitter covering his taste buds.

Clint gasps, the muscles in his chest, arms, shoulders flexing all in tandem, so perfectly tense and defined that Steve has to do it again, so he can sear the image into his mind and draw it later. Clint’s toes curl when Steve decides to add some pressure with his tongue, curling it into the slit, and continuing to watch in case he does something wrong.

If Steve can’t be the best, he’s going to avoid being the worst at least.

Rubbing the inside of Clint’s thighs with his thumbs, Steve starts to get courageous – at least according to his standards – and takes the head of Clint’s erection between his lips, sucking just enough to feel for a response. Hands soar from the headboard to Steve’s hair in a second, tugging and tangling in blond strands, hips shooting up to push through the warm heat of Steve’s mouth.

Well, that’s one way of saying you like something.

Steve pulls back to lick his lips, stealing the taste of salt and bitterness. Not a bad combination. Clint’s lids are drooping – he’s clearly fighting to stay conscious at this point – and Steve really wants him to have this before he passes out, so he gets to work.

He sucks, and swallows as much of Clint as he can, choking on it at one point, but that only seems to make Clint’s experience better, his thighs spreading wider to accommodate Steve’s large frame. Steve grips the base of Clint’s length, rubbing up and down while swallowing a bit less than previously. His throat’s burning from that last attempt.

Clint’s body is covered in a sheen of sweat when Steve gingerly touches his sac. It interested him because the rest of Clint is so hairy, and down there everything is as bare as a newborn baby. Perhaps he planned to seduce Steve and wanted it to look appealing – which it is.

In fact, Steve is so distracted by wanting to remember how thick Clint’s shaft is, how swollen the head is, how much slick is dripping from the top and onto his tongue, and how his balls are recoiling and tightening that Clint’s orgasm takes him by surprise.

Shouting his one-word praise of Captain, Clint sputters white across Steve’s lips, over his chin and down the hand still gripping the base of Clint’s cock. As much as Steve intended to keep it all a secret, the whole house probably knows what’s going on now. So much for a little discretion.

Steve tastes the bit of come on his lips, but it’s a bit too foreign for his liking. He looks up to ask Clint for a tissue, but he’s already passed out, his shoulders hunched and his mouth wide open.

Sneaking out like an adulterer, which isn’t what he’d hoped for himself, Steve rushes down the hall and up the stairs to his room before one of his drunken (and possibly still conscious) roommates catch him looking unraveled in the worst kind of way.

Steve is in front of his door when Natasha says, “I see he finally got to you. How was it?”

He rushes into his bedroom, pretending he didn’t hear a thing.

~*~*~

Luckily for Steve – and unluckily for everyone else – the house is filled with people who have hangovers, and they can’t remember exactly what happened the day before. Clint is included in the group of people who kind-of-sort-of-almost-remember-something-but-not-quite. Luckily for Steve, again, Clint had turned off Jarvis in his room before…well, before Steve did that thing to him. There’d be no security footage for Clint to watch.

Steve is on an armchair, enjoying a fresh cup of coffee, internally laughing at the bewildered looks on both Thor and Bruce’s faces; they very clearly can’t remember what happened the night before. Steve finds it fascinating that the Hulk can’t get drunk, but once Bruce changes back, all the alcohol seems to attack his smaller body.

Clint is walking around, pacing actually, a dish of French toast in his palm, and wearing black sunglasses that could block out the sun at close range. Natasha is standing with her back against the wall, watching Clint pace, a knowing grin on her lips when she glances over at Steve.

Steve’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head ever so slightly, putting a finger up to her lips. Seems his secret is still safe for a while.

Phil shuffles up the stairs, ignores everyone while holding his head, makes a strong, black coffee, and goes back down to his floor.

“I see everyone is drinking coffee this morning. Shall I make another pot?” Jarvis offers. And if Steve didn’t know any better, he’d think the AI was trying to piss everyone off with his gleeful tone. Then again, he was made by Tony…

Tony doesn’t make an appearance, but from the lack of screaming and items being thrown, Steve predicts they’ve already settled on a decision. No-one goes up to ask if everything’s all right, not wanting to disturb in case they’re still arguing or angry. Natasha seems somewhat guilt-ridden when she goes down to the gym, so Clint follows her. Steve puts on a silent film, and Thor and Bruce watch it with him, needing some of the peaceful atmosphere.

The penthouse elevator dings, and all three men stop breathing at the same time.

“Pepper, come on,” Tony begs. “I was drunk. I didn’t know what I was doing. I need you, Pep.”

“No, you need a CEO,” Pepper snaps. “We’ve been through this. You don’t love me, and I haven’t been in love with you for a while. I’ve been trying, but this is it Tony. This is where we end.”

Tony grabs her suitcase, at the top of the stairs, not letting her go any further. “You can’t go. I don’t function without you. The company will crumble, and the Avengers here will be on the street begging for money like homeless people. Is that what you want?”

Pepper shoots him a glare.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll be serious.” Tony lets go of her suitcase. “Just, will you reconsider? At least stay in the tower with us. You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to.”

She seems contemplative at that. She looks down at the three heads staring straight through the television, trying to make themselves invisible to the current situation. They may still need protection from Tony yet.

“Fine. I’m staying in the room next to Steve’s. But you better not send me anything. And especially not strawberries, Tony!”

~*~*~

Most of the Avengers avoid Pepper, especially Tony and Natasha who seem to avoid the very air surrounding her. Steve, on the other hand, never knows what’s good for him. And, he feels partly to blame for letting her find out the way she did. He could have taken Pepper aside or broken up Tony and Natasha before she saw. Steve’s never experienced what Pepper has – catching your partner in the act with someone else – but he can sympathize all the same.

It’s while returning from a nightly jog that he hears Pepper sniffling in her room. When he knocks softly to see if she’s all right, she shouts Get away from my door, Tony before she even knows who it is, and it eviscerates what little courage Steve had built up.

He manages to squeak out, “Sorry. I’ll be next door if you need me, Pepper.”

Pepper grumbles when something heavy falls and rolls across the carpet. “Steve? No, it’s okay. You can come in.”

So he does. And boy does he wish he hadn’t.

Pepper is seated crossed-legged on her bed in a pinstripe skirt and white blouse, a new bottle of tequila in her hand and a half-empty one lying on her carpeted floor. She smiles when Steve shuts the door behind himself, leaning against it.

“Have a seat, Cap. Sorry, I mean Steve. I can call you Steve, right? Sorry, rambling.” Pepper snorts, twisting the bottle of tequila open and taking a long gulp.

Steve looks around, noticing there aren’t any chairs. He’s about to sit on the floor when she taps the bed twice, so he sits next to her, facing the door where he came from (wishing he hadn’t come in while she’s drunk). Does everyone in the tower use alcohol to deal with their problems?

Pepper nudges him with the bottle, and he turns to look at her. She’s smiling, but it doesn’t quite make it to her eyes. Steve gives her one in return, taking a small swig from the tequila; it’s not like he can even get drunk anymore.

“How are you doing, Pepper?” Steve hands her back the bottle, trying to keep his concerned look reined in. A lot of people seem to think it means he pities them rather than what it’s meant to be: worry.

“I’ve been better. Glad that I’m not alone anymore, though.”

Pepper’s smile does reach her eyes this time, and it makes some of the tension ease out of Steve’s shoulders. It’s always easier to help someone when they allow you to. She takes a longer gulp of tequila and seals the bottle.

“You’re sweaty. Been jogging again?”

“Oh, sorry,” Steve replies, looking down at his t-shirt sticking to his chest.

He tries to stand to avoid ruining her clean bedding, but she stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, Steve. I was just making small talk. Sit back down,” Pepper explains, reopening the bottle and chuckling softly around the next gulp of alcohol. She tips the bottle towards Steve, her arm brushing against his slightly. Her skin is surprisingly cool.

“So…” Steve grasps for something to talk about, but all they really have in common is Tony. He really needs to find out more about Pepper.

Pepper huffs, bumping Steve gently. “Let’s not talk about him, okay? People pay him enough attention as it is.”

She uncrosses her legs and hangs them off the bed, curling her painted toenails in the carpet. Steve finds himself focusing on them; the crimson nail polish is such a bright, charming colour.

“You like my feet?” Pepper snorts, tilting her head back with a longer drink of tequila. “I don’t like them that much, that’s why I paint my nails.”

“They’re nice feet. I’m sure they work swell, too,” Steve says, smiling.

Pepper laughs at that, loud and fulfilling for both of them. “I like you, Steve.”

Steve chuckles, looking down at his pants to hide his never-ending blush from her. “I like you, too.”

Finally putting the cap back on, Steve looks over at Pepper, gripping his pants when he sees the way she’s watching him. She tilts her head, dragging her eyes from Steve’s face down to his chest where he feels sweat cooling and making his skin feel chilled, down to his jogging pants that he’s holding onto for dear life.

“You shouldn’t be so nervous. Me and him are already broken up,” she murmurs, eyes trailing back up. “He got to test out his crush, shouldn’t I get to try out mine?”

Steve’s brows raise, his mouth drier than desert sand. “W-what?”

“For someone so attractive, you sure have a hard time thinking anyone would like you.”

Pepper cuts off Steve’s next words with a tongue in his mouth, her hands wrapping around his shoulders, climbing onto his lap with a bit less finesse than she would have sober. Steve lets her tongue curl against his, his hands on her hips to keep her from falling over, red hair tickling his cheeks when she turns her face to lick further inside his mouth. She moans when Steve finally responds to her advances, a strong hand stroking up and down her back slowly.

“Pepper—”

“Mmm. Not now, Steve. Wanna—”

Sucking on Steve’s tongue, Pepper makes him moan heartily. Steve’s already feeling himself harden in his pants. This is going down a road he’s been on a few times now, but he knows what this is really about.

“Wait, Pepper—”

“Why!? Why can’t I have a piece of my cake, too? You know he would love to get in your pants the way I’m about to. He would just make sure he’s drunk when it happens so that he couldn’t be blamed for it the next day.”

Steve blinks, pulling back to let the words seep in. Tony’s actually the one who has a crush on him? Or did they both have a crush on him?

“I said we weren’t going to talk about Tony, didn’t I? Broke my own promise.” Pepper reaches for the bottle of tequila, but Steve takes it away, moving her out of his lap at the same time.

“We need to talk about you, Pepper,” Steve says, his brow creasing. “I’m worried. You’re usually a strong, level-headed woman.”

Pepper sighs, nodding. “You’re right.” She laughs, a tinge of irony to it. “I guess this is how Tony feels whenever I bring him back down to earth.”

Steve chuckles softly. “Probably.”

“There I go talking about Tony again.”

Steve rubs her arm, pulling her to lean against his side. “It’s okay to miss him, you know. I’m sure he misses you even more. Just don’t do anything because you think it will hurt him. That’ll only hurt you in the end.”

Pepper frowns, putting her head under his chin, curling her arms around his broad chest. “Why are you so good with people?” She yawns. “I wasn’t lying about having a crush on you, Steve.”

Steve feels her arms squeezing him, needing to be closer than they are, but not attaining that perfect level. “I’m sorry, Pepper,” he whispers, knowing he’s not the one she wants to be holding right now.

“Thanks, Cap,” she mutters, rubbing her forehead against Steve’s chest, drifting off to sleep moments later.

Steve tucks her in, takes all the bottles away, and shuts the lights before wishing her sweet dreams in a quiet whisper.

~*~*~

Needing a change of scenery – he’s always in his room, being harassed by Tony, in the gym or in the common room – and wanting to find out a bit more about the soft-spoken Dr. Banner, Steve follows him to his lab one day – with permission of course.

Bruce is mixing a strange purple liquid with a clear one in a test tube, and that is the full extent of Steve’s understanding. He lost track of which chemical was which, and has what reaction to what, ten minutes ago. When Bruce looks up from measuring each liquid, he laughs. He combs his fingers through his hair when the tube is securely placed over a flickering blue flame.

“Sorry, sometimes I forget that not everyone is a scientist.” If he were Tony that would be condescending, but knowing Bruce, and how much of a humanitarian he is, Steve can tell he’s being genuine.

“Don’t worry, Dr. Banner,” Steve replies. “I was never very good at chemistry.”

“Bruce,” Bruce says, leaning an arm on his desk. “Just because I have a Ph.D. doesn’t mean I want to be reminded of the years I lost earning it.” He smirks.

Steve finds himself grinning in turn. The doctor – Bruce – is a funny man; he’s really witty, and not in a put-everyone-down kind of way either.

A timer goes off and Bruce looks down at his, now red, concoction swirling in the tube. Steve frowns at the experiment, not sure if observers are meant to watch so closely, and if he’s distracting Bruce by being in his personal lab.

“Should I go? I mean—”

“No, no. Actually, I think it’s safer for everyone if you stay here.” He continues with an almost deathly serious tone. “If I start to change, there’s a trap door Tony built for me that’s strong enough to keep the Hulk – or whatever else I may turn into – contained.” He points to a switch on the desk. “Just press this and the place under where I’m standing now will slide open. Okay?”

Steve swallows, but nods once. “I understand.”

“Okay.”

Bruce takes the tube away from the fire, pouring it into a small container surrounded by ice. Once he’s satisfied that the liquid is chilled enough, he takes a syringe and draws some of it inside. He looks around the lab, and points next to where Steve, frozen with fear, is standing. (The Hulk really isn’t a creature Steve ever, ever feels prepared to face.)

“Hand me that rubber strip, please.”

“Sure.” Steve subconsciously moves away again once Bruce has what he needed.

“That scared already? We should really spend more time together, Steve.”

Steve sighs. “Yeah.”

“Don’t worry. Tony’s not good at much, but I guarantee this trap door will work.” He smiles, as he injects the liquid into his arm.

“What is this supposed to do again?”

Bruce winces when it reaches his blood stream. “Make the other guy easier to handle, more human.”

“I see.” Steve is already bracing himself, and he feels bad about it because Bruce looks like he’s in serious pain. “Are you okay? Bruce?”

Bruce falls forward, leaning his elbows on the table, shouting, and Steve is struck with two choices: he can either wait a bit longer and try to help Bruce or he can press the button, assuming that Hulk is trying to break free. Either way, Steve is risking something, and the odds seem to be against him.

“Bruce? Bruce, are you all right? What should I do?”

“Something’s wrong…” Bruce grits out, gripping the table so tight his knuckles whiten.

“Do I have to press the button?” Steve asks, but Bruce screams in agony, falling to the floor.

Steve rushes around to his side, forgetting about Hulk, his safety and the Avengers’ as well. He kneels down beside Bruce. He’s curled in on himself, shaking like a leaf, and Steve really is at a loss for what to do next. This is an unexpected result for both of them. What is he supposed to do if Bruce is dying?

Bruce whimpers, his eyes opening slowly. He uncurls himself, sitting up best he can. Steve keeps a hand on his back, holding him upright. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I don’t think it worked.” Bruce holds his head, his body swaying to one side. “I feel dizzy, and…the anger is gone.”

“Gone? What do you mean gone?” Steve says, incredulous.

Bruce looks up at Steve, eyes wide. “I can’t feel the Hulk anywhere. Maybe he’s been subdued. Maybe I expelled him. I’m not sure.” He looks broken up over the confusion, more than Steve ever expected he would, considering the beast had made Bruce suicidal at one point.

“Can you stand? Should I get Tony?”

“No, it’s okay. I’m okay,” Bruce reassures Steve. He tries to stand but his legs are shaky and he falls against Steve. “Okay, maybe I need help standing.”

“I should call Tony,” Steve says, authoritative tone back.

“Please don’t. We both know he’s still upset about Pepper. This would just worry him more,” Bruce pleads. “Besides, this was just a small dose. Maybe the effects are only temporary. I just need to wait until it’s out of my system.”

Steve frowns, sighing. “Fine. But if I see you getting worse, Tony is going to have to get involved.”

“Fair enough.” Bruce nods. “Help me up now?”

---

Once out of the lab, the tower is surprisingly quiet. Bruce has an arm around Steve’s waist, and he squeezes to get his attention.

“Where’s everyone? Did a fire alarm go off or something while we were down there?”

Steve thinks about it for a moment, but Jarvis answers instead.

“The other Avengers have all gone on personal errands and the like. Would you like me to request their return?

Steve chuckles softly, shaking his head. “No, that’s fine. Thanks.” Bruce startles when something crashes in a room nearby, but Steve has an idea of who it is.

“Thor, however, is in his bedroom if you wish to speak with him,” Jarvis adds helpfully.

“I think he’s been avoiding me recently,” Bruce whispers to Steve.

A flashback of Thor smacking Bruce’s ass comes to mind. Yeah, Steve would be feeling pretty pathetic if he acted like that, too. Thor is a respectable god, most of the time, but it seems alcohol can bring out the worst in practically anyone.

“Maybe he’s just trying to figure out a way to approach you. You’re not the easiest guy to be friends with.” There, Steve’s said it, and it’s come out all wrong. “I mean – that’s not what I meant – ”

“I’m always hiding. I know what you mean, Steve.” Bruce smiles wryly, looking down. “I’m just worried that one day a switch inside me will turn on, and I won’t be able to stop the Hulk from coming out. I want to control it, keep you all away from the risk.”

Steve never thought Bruce was just as afraid of Hulk as he is. The only ones in the tower who seem completely unafraid of a sudden transformation is Thor, because he can handle Hulk, and Tony, because he’s batshit crazy. (And possibly has a death wish, but Steve needs to further investigate that.)

“Well you could use this chance to do something positive,” Steve utters while helping Bruce over to the living room couch. “You said that it blocks your changing, right? So you don’t have to worry about hurting anyone. And it’s better if you stay around while you’re still recovering.”

One side of Bruce’s mouth lifts, a knowing look in his eyes. “Aren’t you afraid of the big guy? I mean I don’t blame you, but you don’t usually suggest I stay in the common areas.”

“You’re not usually dizzy and falling over either,” Steve retorts. He can’t let Bruce feel unwelcome when, in fact, Steve has been spending much of his time considering how to overcome his fear. The perfect opportunity has just presented itself.

“That is true.” Bruce smiles, crossing his hands on his lap. “So deep down I guess you’re a mother hen.”

Steve shrugs a shoulder, taking a seat next to Bruce. “I just want to make sure you’re going to be okay.”

“I’ll be fine, Steve.” Bruce pats Steve’s knee gently. “After some rest.”

“Should I have brought you to your room?”

Bruce tips his head, considering if he’d rather watch TV or take a nap. “No, I’m good. There’s a movie I’ve been wanting to watch. Are you free?”

“To watch it with you?” Steve smiles. “I have to keep an eye on you, anyway.”

“That’s right. I almost forgot.” Bruce grins, reaching for the remote. “I hope you have your thinking cap on. I heard Inception is a challenging film to understand.”

“Always do.” Steve stretches out his legs. “Should I make us popcorn or something? Do you need something to drink?”

Bruce laughs, tucking his glasses in his pocket. “No thanks, mom. Just get comfortable. I’m not going to explode or anything.”

---

“So…what did we just watch?” Steve says at the end of the film. “Was it all a dream the entire time? Or did he wake up and have a happy ending? I’m lost.”

Bruce laughs louder than Steve’s ever heard him, and takes offense at knowing it’s because of his confusion. He frowns and Bruce puts an arm around his shoulder.

“Don’t get upset, Steve. I’m laughing because I got lost somewhere around the third level of dreams. You did better than me.” Bruce glances at his watch. “Hungry? I could make us some supper.”

“Are you all right to stand now? I can help if you like, though I’m not very good at cooking.”

“An assistant doesn’t need to do much, so sure you can help.”

Bruce gets up slowly, humming contentedly when he realizes that the world isn’t spinning out of control anymore. That’s definitely a plus, even if he still can’t feel the green guy under his skin anymore.

---

After considering how much to make, they decided three portions – Thor’s being the largest, evidently – would be enough since they didn’t know when the team would be returning. They sometimes leave on solo missions for days at a time.

Steve chops the carrots, peels the potatoes, and passes Bruce the seasonings for their homemade stew, but the rest is all in the scientist-turned-chef’s care. He looks just as much a scientist when measuring chicken broth as he did measuring gene-modifying solutions back in the lab.

When it’s done, Steve makes them each a plate and Bruce sets the table. And then they eat, comfortable enough with each other and with how the day went to stay in congenial silence. Thor, on the other hand, is never as quiet as them. Or maybe just never quiet, full-stop.

“Which of you has prepared this feast tonight?” His voice booms as he sniffs inside the pot.

Bruce grins. “It was all Steve over here, Thor.”

Steve chokes on the potato he’s chewing. He shakes his head, flailing his arms when Thor offers to dislodge the food by means of pounding his back.

“But I’ve seen many Midgardians doing the same to their children, why do you refuse me the honour Steven?”

Bruce laughs, not looking up at Steve for fear of being scolded like the rebellious child he’s being. “It was actually me, Thor. And help yourself, the rest is for you.”

Thor’s face lights up, all crinkled skin around his eyes and laugh lines around his mouth. “Are you certain it is all right? I did not mean to impose on your time together.”

Before Steve can stand and place a mat down for Thor, a heavy hand lands on his shoulder. “Bannerson is a fine choice, Steven. May the rest of your meal be pleasant and fulfilling!”

Steve doesn’t realize he’s gaping until Bruce leans over and pushes his jaw up for him. Taking the pot and a large spoon, Thor leaves the kitchen and returns to his room after giving Bruce a polite nod. They really need to talk about what happened when they were drunk, Steve thinks.

“Apparently you’re courting me,” Bruce states, laughing into his bowl. “I thought maybe the one cooking would be, but I guess I was wrong.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot to outer space. Is there something he missed? “Are you – are we – is this – ”

“I’m just bugging you, Steve. Don’t worry. Breathe or you might be the one who turns green one day.” Bruce laughs when Steve’s face is burning with embarrassment. “Or red. It seems to suit you better.”

Steve shakes his head. “For someone who doesn’t talk a lot, you sure have some surprising things to say when you do.”

“Thanks?” Bruce chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “So what are we doin—”

“Eye of Hawk, Lady Widow and Philippe! You are looking well. I take it your personal errands have been completed without difficulty. Where is Starkson?”

“Guess the team’s back,” Steve mutters as he leaves the table to put his bowl in the dishwasher. “We should probably clean up before –”

“Hey! What gives, guys?” Clint says, crossing his arms. “We leave on a teeny, tiny mission and you two are already going domestic on us?”

Bruce looks over at Steve, who refuses to show them how flushed his face is, pretending to wash his hands in the sink.

Natasha shoves Clint out of the doorway, stepping into the kitchen. “And you didn’t bother leaving any for us. That’s cold, Steve.”

A shudder runs down Steve’s spine at the accusation, making Clint and Natasha laugh at their forever innocent leader. It’s hard enough to face Natasha when she’s alone, but with Clint at her side they’re like an unstoppable force. He sighs. The evening was going so well, too.

Bruce stands, bumping Steve’s shoulder with his own before putting his utensils with Steve’s.

“We didn’t know when you’d be coming back. Right, Steve?”

Steve looks over at Bruce; Bruce’s eyes show nothing but compassion, something about him almost painfully similar to Bucky. Why do the Avengers remind him of so many people from his past? Steve nods, looking over his shoulder at the terrible two.

“Sometimes you leave for a week without so much as a note,” Steve explains. “We didn’t want this to go to waste.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Way to ruin our fun, Captain.”

Clint snorts. “Seriously, you had to get all stern on us and stop the roll we were on.”

Steve’s brow creases. Natasha shoves Clint again, calling out as she leaves, “We’re just teasing you, Captain. It’s so fun to see you blush.” Clint waves as he follows her out, discussing their take-out options as he goes.

Bruce pats Steve’s shoulder before saying, “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

Steve watches Bruce saunter out, dragging his feet slightly, and Steve can’t help but worry about leaving him alone. Phil creeps into the kitchen for a snack, but rushes back out when he notices Steve’s by himself.

“Wait—” Steve calls after Phil.

It’s going to be a long, restless night.

---

Steve falls asleep in Bruce’s room during the night, and wakes up with a crick in his neck. When he leaves to shower and make some breakfast, Clint is at the top of the stairs, narrowing his eyes like something disturbing just happened.

“You’re really doing the dirty with him? Him?! Of all the people in the tower, you pick the one who could literally rip you apart?” Clint laughs, but it’s dry, harsh. He sounds somehow…jealous.

“We didn’t do anything, I was looking after him. He wasn’t feeling well yesterday. I just happened to fall asleep.” Steve sighs when Clint raises an eyebrow in disbelief. “I’m serious, Clint. Ask Jarvis if you don’t believe me.”

“He is correct, sir. I can pull up the video and audio recording from last night if you need further proof,” Jarvis chimes in.

“Okay, fine.” Clint flicks a rubber band that Steve dodges easily. “But I’m watching you, Cap. We can’t have you becoming all sleazy like Stark. It’s bad enough he’s always around you. Your our American poster boy, no-one will support us if they think we’re all like bad boy Tony upstairs.”

“I’m sure that’s why this is bothering you,” Steve mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Steve answers quickly. “I’m going to take a shower now.”

“And wash away the evidence,” Clint murmurs, shaking his head.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing at all, Cap. See you later.”

--Part 3

Marvel_bang - Ball and Chain - part 1/5

2012-11-06T01:24:05Z

Title: Ball and Chain (of Fools)
This is part 1 of 5
marvel_bang Masterpost HERE

It may not have been Tony’s best day – losing all the letters but the ‘A’ on his tower – but it ends up working perfectly.

---

Not long after everyone went their own way, tied up their loose ends, visited family – all the normal things in one’s life – they returned to S.H.I.E.L.D. in search of any task to do. Except there was no bad guy to fight anymore. Not now that Loki was safely paying for his crimes in another world.

So what could six reckless people do with all their extra time and energy? They had a meeting – a very short one, because Tony hates them – and Steve came up with something a little unorthodox.

---

“We could use Stark Tower as our base,” Steve suggests, looking around the board table for reactions.

Clint looks over at Natasha, who tilts her head almost imperceptibly. Tony rolls his eyes, chewing harder on his gum, and tilting his sunglasses down. Thor’s eyebrows crease as he considers it, scraping his beard. And Fury seems… a bit too enthusiastic. Coulson isn’t looking at his Captain America cards because he’s too busy beaming at them – so excited to finally have a chance to ask for a signature. He’s mostly oblivious to the entire meeting (or maybe just an expert at pretending he isn’t listening).

“I have to hand it to you, Rogers,” Fury says, patting Steve on the back, “I think there’s a reason you’re the leader of The Avengers.”

“Now wait a second,” Tony cuts in, yanking his sunglasses off. “This is my tower, and he doesn’t even like it – I remember something about it being ‘big and ugly’. And if anyone should be the leader, it should be me because this is my tower. Did I mention that part already?”

Pepper clears her throat, her clipboard at her side, not entirely ignoring Tony, but it’s a close thing. “I think we should just vote – for both things.” Tony’s mouth falls open in disbelief; his own girlfriend turning on him.

“That is a formidable idea Lady Pepper,” Thor exclaims. “Let us be democratic just as we are on Asgard!”

Fury crosses his arms. “All in favour of Steve being the leader of The Avengers, and using Stark tower as your headquarters?”

Everyone, save for Tony of course, raises their hand. Coulson raises both arms

Tony pushes out of his seat, jabbing a finger in Coulson’s face threateningly. (Who else is he capable of threatening, really?) “You’re not staying here, agent,” Tony grinds out.

Fury fixes Tony with his non-patched eye and says, “I need to have someone here to keep you in line just in case Rogers is away or can’t handle you alone. Agent Coulson stays.”

“Do I get any say? Because, honestly, how is this even a democracy?” Tony looks to Thor who just blinks in confusion.

“It’s a democracy because there’s been a vote, and the majority agreed,” Steve answers, finally partaking in the discussion again.

“Yeah, sure, Cap here is all for it because it was his idea in the first place. You know what? Whatever.” Tony grabs Pepper’s arm. “I’ll be in the penthouse if anyone cares about my opinion.”

~*~*~

Less than a week later, all six of the world’s recent saviours are living in the renovated Stark tower (referred to as The Avengers tower behind Tony’s back).

Tony has the penthouse – which he shares with Pepper whenever she has time away from being his fantastic CEO – and he doesn’t spend much time outside of there, except to go into the R&D department. The two floors below used to be lofts, but have since been modified into bedrooms for the remaining members. Giant bedrooms. The kind of bedroom that could make anyone wish they had a mate to share it with. Maybe that was Tony’s goal when he designed them.

Steve, Natasha and Bruce live on the floor just below Tony’s suite, while Coulson, Thor and Clint live on the floor under them. It was the best arrangement Fury could come up with to avoid any late night brawls due to Tony’s often inconsiderate and noisy habits.

The tower is huge, even big enough to handle one of Hulk’s appearances, but it doesn’t stop them from bumping into each other. It takes time for everyone to come to terms with sharing as if they live in a dorm; they’d all mostly been living alone previous to Loki’s arrival.

Sometimes they meet in the kitchen for breakfast or late night snacks, they use one another’s bathrooms when their own is backed up, they fight over which rented movie they want to watch on a Friday evening, and they spar or work out together in Tony’s gym.

As odd as it sounds, once Coulson has the signatures he’d been wanting from Steve, he lets the ‘children’ run rampant and doesn’t intervene in the slightest. If Tony weren’t the one most often destroying things and walking around naked accidentally – he’s not used to sharing his home as of yet – then Fury would have had a piece of his mind a while ago.

It’s been a month, and, besides Tony’s childish antics and Thor’s impatience with human technology, there hasn’t been much trouble in the tower. It doesn’t stop Steve from holding his breath and expecting the inevitable to happen – sooner or later.

~*~*~

It takes everyone else five days to notice Natasha’s increased withdrawal. Steve already began to worry on the second day. It’s his job as their leader to make sure his teammates – he’d like to think of them as his friends, too– are mentally and physically well.

Steve waits until their scheduled sparring session to bring it up.

Natasha has him trapped like a vice grip; her thighs wrapped around his head, tugging on his right arm just hard enough to hurt and force Steve into submission. If he doesn’t stop her, his shoulder will pop out of his socket. And he’s been in this position before, so he knows there’s no point flailing about or trying to kick her off.

“I give,” Steve rasps out, tapping with his free hand against the mat.

Natasha immediately lets go, and stands, grabbing her towel from the corner of the mat. “What is it, Captain?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Steve replies, clambering to his feet a bit more slowly than he hoped. She really went all-out this time.

“You’re a super soldier, I’m sure you can take it,” she answers dryly. She won’t look at Steve as she dabs the sweat from her brow.

“Doesn’t make it hurt any less,” Steve adds, chuckling and slightly winded.

He steps towards Natasha, and she whips her head around, throwing her towel back where it was. There’s a renewed fire in her eyes. It takes Steve a second, but he realizes round two is about to begin.

Natasha’s using the elasticity of the mat to project herself at Steve, and he can’t do anything but raise his arms to avoid getting kicked in the face and ribs – those are her favourite places to aim for. She huffs, more vocal than she would be any day, and crouches down, sweeping Steve’s legs out from under him.

He lands in an awkward way, and lets out a yelp from the pain coursing through his elbow. It’s really not a funny bone. Natasha’s relentless as she straddles his waist, using his injury to her advantage, successfully blocking Steve’s airway with his own bulked up arm.

This time Steve manages to buck her off, and pins her with his weight. She tries to get her legs out from under Steve to kick him away, or at least wrap around his shoulders and neck, but he’s seated too heavily on her. Natasha growls and scratches at Steve’s arms until he’s forced to hold her wrists above her head.

“Are we going to talk about it calmly, Natasha?” Steve says, his face reddening from exertion. She’s really not an easy opponent to beat.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Natasha retorts, her even tone at odds with the scowl on her face.

Steve laughs softly. “Then why did you consider gouging my eyes out for a second there? I’m pretty sure that’s not nothing.”

Natasha’s eyes widen and she opens her mouth to protest, but quickly changes tactics. “What are your terms?”

“Terms?” Steve quirks a brow, a lazy smile on his face.

“I’m already compromised. What will it take for you to keep this between us?” She explains, visibly stiffening against the mat. She’s not good at admitting defeat, and probably never will be.

“Nothing, Natasha,” Steve replies softly, taken aback by her defensive tone. “You can trust me. I wouldn’t tell anyone.” He considers letting her wrists go, but thinks better of it. She could still decide to pluck his eyes out. “I just want to know what’s bothering you.”

“Do I have to tell you everything?” She sighs, looking away.

Steve does let go of her wrists then, but keeps her trapped with his body. “Of course not. Whatever you want to.”

Natasha rubs her wrist, eyeing Steve like she can’t trust him as far as she can spit. “I’ve just been having trouble sleeping.” She pushes at Steve’s chest gently, trying to get him off her.

“No, I don’t think so. You’ll just run away or knock me unconscious and then run,” Steve says sternly, crossing his arms. “Go on.”

“That’s all I want to say,” she replies firmly, trying to push Steve off again with a palm to his shoulder.

Steve catches her wrist; he wants to help with what’s keeping her up at night, but he doesn’t persist. He told her she could say what she wanted and that’d be the end of it, so he’ll keep to his word. He lets her go and starts to climb off, but she grabs his arm abruptly, making him lose his balance.

For all of a second, Steve’s afraid round three is on its way until Natasha’s eyes flutter closed, and she leans up to take his lips between her own. It’s rough and precise like everything else Natasha does, but there’s a delicacy to it that only a woman can provide. It’s only the second time Steve’s ever kissed a woman, but he’s starting to wonder if they’re all pros at tearing him apart.

She pulls away, breathing deeply. “You really don’t want to know anything else?”

Natasha has always been told what to do and how to think. And when that wasn’t the case, she’d be ordered to keep her mouth shut and bury her feelings under years of assassination experience. There was never someone like Captain America around – strong and humane – giving her the option to put on a brave face or to let someone in.

He steadies himself by resting an arm against the mat. “Of course I do. But I won’t force you to--”

Kindness like his is not something you acquire in Natasha’s line of work; it’s something you are born with, it’s a gift. And often a curse as well. Natasha can see that he means what he says, that he truly cares about her pain, her past, her as a person rather than simply as a weapon to be wielded.

It’s enough for her. That’s all she needs to know. Soon she’ll be able to tell him, but for now--

Natasha drags Steve in for another kiss, this time wrapping her legs around him, forcing his body closer to hers. She scrapes her nails down Steve’s back and laughs darkly when Steve lets out a sound a tad bit high for a man his size. Then there are lips on his neck, on his chest, fingers clawing at his shirt, a writhing body beneath him, and it’s really going too fast. Steve needs to soak it all in.

Steve moves away reluctantly, not wanting to end up a drooling mess on the mat for saying the wrong thing. “Is this what you need? I want to help you, Natasha.” Natasha looks softer, content, even offering the leader a small smile. Steve cups her cheek. “If you’d rather talk, I’m here for that.”

Steve’s trying to make sense of this situation, but he has no experience to draw from. Peggy was it, and even that didn’t go far beyond a professional relationship. This is the closest he’s ever been to a woman since, and Natasha knows what she’s doing. But this isn’t what he was offering. He wants to be her friend, her shoulder to lean on. Wasn’t that what women always wanted? Companionship rather than sexuality? Has he got it all wrong, and all that has changed in the 70 years he’s been asleep? It wouldn’t be the first time.

Natasha kisses the fingers close to her mouth, sliding her tongue along Steve’s thumb. She seems intent on driving him mad with desire, but he just needs to be sure this isn’t an act. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go out for some coffee?”

If he were any other person and it were any other day, she’d be convinced he was just as skilled as Tony at getting into women’s pants. But as it stands, this is the super soldier who puts his life on the line day in and day out, fighting for all the things that have long since disappeared in the world. And, if anyone deserves to get into someone’s pants, it’s definitely Steve.

“I’m not much for talking, but thanks, Steve.” Natasha bites her lip when she sees the flush across Steve’s face from finally being called by his first name. He’s almost too sweet to be a superhero. “I feel much better now.” And it’s not a lie for once.

‘Okay’ would have been his response, but instead it’s ‘oof’ when she switches their positions and drops on top of him like deadweight. Her hips roll at a languid, maddeningly slow pace with just enough friction for Steve’s erection to catch between her spread thighs. Natasha grins when she dives in for another kiss, dragging her fingers across Steve’s scalp and relishing in every little, embarrassing sound she can squeeze out of the first Avenger.

But come on, who else could say they’ve ridden Captain America like a horse?

Natasha takes off her shirt and bra, and then tugs at Steve’s t-shirt. Steve freezes, grabbing her fingers gently.

“What? We don’t have much time. Someone else could come down, Steve.”

Steve bodily shudders and Natasha smirks, dragging his shirt all the way off when he nods in approval. She doesn’t waste any time tugging off his gray jogging pants, and shimmying out of her own black ones.

That’s when time slows to a halt.

Natasha is beautiful, absolutely stunning inside and out. Steve wants to admire her, feel every inch of skin, and have the taste of this woman on his tongue for days. He wants to make her feel special because she is, and she deserves to know that she’s a good person. If nothing else, he wants to distract her from her sadness, and let her know through touch that he’ll always be around for her.

Pressing soft kisses to her jaw, neck and collarbone, Steve explores the body laid above him as Natasha sighs quietly. Steve continues to lavish her skin with attention, printing patterns across her shoulders, down her chest, reaching up to cup her breasts tentatively. She sucks in a breath, but rocks her hips against him when his digits circle and press against her nipples. That’s more than enough incentive for her to even up the game. She snakes a hand between their bodies while he leans in to kiss each of her breasts.

Although Steve is trying to enjoy the sight of a real, live naked woman, she’s making it hard for him since said woman is suddenly stroking his cock. She bends in a way that is completely unknown to Steve’s world, and licks a wet stripe along the underside of his length. And that’s when his skin starts vibrating with want.

“Think you can last a few minutes?” Natasha teases, standing just long enough for Steve to melt at the sight of her perky breasts and hardened pink nipples, then slides off her underwear, and puts it with her pants. “Ready?”

Steve hasn’t even answered the first question. He isn’t sure if he was meant to, but surely he can answer this one--

Natasha lowers herself onto Steve’s cock, nothing but her earlier saliva to ease the way at first. It’s so tight, so warm, and it’s getting wet. And slick. All language is abruptly lost to him.

Steve’s eyes roll back in his head because the pressure around him is amazing and ten million times better than using his hand and some lotion. She presses both palms to his chest, raising her hips up and down his shaft, her head tipping forward every time Steve feels like he can’t be any deeper inside her. Steve struggles to make his limbs move, but when he finally does, her reaction alone is worth the amount of effort it took.

His fingers trace her hips slowly and he meets her down movement with a thrust upwards, causing a sharp moan to stutter out of Natasha’s parted lips. He chews on his lip, squeezing her waist tight with each thrust until she collapses forward, letting Steve do all the work.

“Come on, Steve, harder. I can take it. Harder!” If that’s what’ll make Natasha happy, then that’s what he’ll do.

Steve rolls them over, taking this chance to admire her further as she writhes below him, whining for him to go faster, fuck harder, go deeper, and then, you won’t hurt me. Steve leans in, holding her face, kissing her, driving his hips in as far as he can. His skin is chafing from the friction on the mat, probably going to leave behind some nasty red marks. It doesn’t matter though because his stomach is tightening, his balls are pulling, moving in close to his body, his head is spinning and he’s spilling into Natasha – into another human being – for the first time in his life.

Steve’s sad for a moment when he considers he never had a chance to try this with Peggy. Natasha is like her in more ways than one, and reminds him of her at the strangest of times.

The last thrust must have been particularly hard because Natasha flings her head back, a cry forming on her lips but never making it out of her throat, her whole body tensing. And then she’s completely limp, satisfied.

Now that they’re spent, she clings to Steve for a moment, limbs trembling and sweaty, and Steve hums, not wanting to move, enjoying the intimacy. After the moment’s passed and Steve starts kissing her neck, she reaches down to pull Steve’s length out of her, and ends up with sticky, white strings between her fingers.

“You want my shirt?” Steve whispers, memorizing Natasha’s surprisingly open expression (and, secretly, the taste of her).

Natasha shakes her head but doesn’t tear her eyes away. She licks her lips to get his attention drawn there, and dips her fingers in her mouth, sucking them clean. “Wanna go again, Steve?”

And Steve isn’t about to say no to seeing more of this Natasha.

~*~*~

They have a conversation while breathless, and more or less clothed, still lying on the mat together.

Steve pets Natasha’s hair as she explains that her father was a high placed criminal boss who had her trained as an infant to murder their competition. She explains how she had to learn to slit people’s throats and break limbs efficiently when she was only fifteen, with an almost disturbing detachedness to her tone. Steve knows it isn’t her fault she’s as unaffected as she is, but he wishes he could make her understand that it will never be like that again.

She reaches for Steve’s free hand, lacing their fingers, looking up at him with a lopsided smile and an innocence he didn’t even know she could have. It’s heartbreaking to imagine what a ten year old Natasha would have looked like, waiting against a wall for her target, when she should have been playing hide and seek.

“I hope you know this doesn’t mean we’re dating or anything,” Natasha says suddenly, jolting Steve out of the thought.

“It doesn’t?” Steve had a feeling it didn’t, but he could always hope he was wrong.

Natasha’s expression turns very serious. “I’m sorry if you thought it did. I just wanted to give you something fun.” She traces Steve’s bottom lip gently. “I don’t want to get attached to anyone like that, Steve. It has nothing to do with you. I want to concentrate on our work, on my career.”

“I understand, Natasha,” Steve replies, one side of his mouth raising. “Don’t worry.”

“We can still be friends, right?” Natasha smiles, squeezing his hand once. “If we are friends?”

“Of course,” he says without apprehension. “I’d love that. I haven’t had a friend in a while.”

Natasha shifts onto Steve’s chest, letting him stroke her hair a while longer. Steve doesn’t regret what they’ve done together because, despite them not being in love, they’ve shared something and acquired a new part to their bond. She is very much like Peggy, more than Steve originally thought, and he loves Natasha for that – even if perhaps it’s too soon to say.

~*~*~

Natasha spends more time socializing in the entertainment room after the intense ‘workout’ with Steve. It allows Clint and her to discuss weird, deadly fight moves they’ve used on enemies in past missions. The kind of thing you would expect in a video game like Mortal Kombat, not in real life.

Thor listens with a bit too much attention for someone who can conjure lightning as easily as flicking a switch. Tony passes by, grimaces, and goes straight into the kitchen for some coffee. Bruce is already in the kitchen when he arrives and hands him a cup, following him out as they go to the R&D floor – as usual.

Steve notices all this because he draws it, paints it early in the morning when he has time to himself. But one thing he doesn’t see is Coulson joining in.

~*~*~

Later that evening, Steve is heading back to his room when he hears someone clear his throat behind him. Coulson is shifting his weight from either foot, smiling up at Steve like he’s the idol he has been worshipping for years. It makes Steve’s head hurt; he’s nothing more than a kid from Brooklyn.

“Hey Coulson,” Steve says. “Didn’t see you around all day.”

“I was… around.” Phil smiles, coughing to cover up his embarrassment. “I just wanted to thank you for signing my cards.”

“It was no problem--”

Coulson steps forward, pulling them out of his pocket and showing them to Steve. Pointing to them as he says, “I mean it. You’re a real hero, Cap.” He laughs, pushing his cards back in his pants. “I was so happy when Fury let me live under the same roof as you.”

“Come on, Coulson.” Steve claps Coulson on the back. “I’m just a regular guy. You should be impressed with Tony or Thor or Bruce, not me.”

“No!” Coulson looks down, shuffling his feet. “They’re not like you. You’re special. You care about people. You even care about me, and I don’t think most of them do.”

“That’s not true,” Steve replies sternly, “I’m sure the whole team is happy to have you around.”

Coulson smiles when he looks up at Steve, but his gaze never quite reaches eye-level. Steve watches him lick his lips subconsciously, and can practically hear what Coulson’s thinking. Coulson’s face colours with red when he realizes how obvious he’s being, but Steve really doesn’t see the harm in giving this man – his biggest fan – something he’s probably too afraid to ask for. He can consider it a token of Captain America’s gratitude.

Steve leans down, curling his fingers at the back of Coulson’s neck, and leading him in for a slow, gentle kiss. Probably too gentle for two men to be, but what does Steve know about sex (besides what Natasha taught him)? And besides, it’s just a kiss. What’s the worst that could happen?

Coulson’s face is crimson when Steve pulls away, his eyes wide and almost frightened. His body goes limp as he faints right then and there, crumpling against his most beloved hero.

Well, that’s most likely the worst that could have happened.

~*~*~

Two things bother Steve for the following week.

The first is that Steve actually kissed a man, a fan of his no less, and didn’t quite dislike it as much as he expected to. He had just wanted to give Coulson something back for making him feel worth something. And when Coulson displayed the need for physical attention, Steve lunged at the opportunity. Maybe spending so much time in Natasha’s company wasn’t the best choice of action – what with her never voicing things, and Steve having to guess the right thing to do each time.

Considering he had only kissed one woman in his time, Steve really didn’t understand the norms of society nowadays, especially involving sex. Natasha had barely given Steve more than an inkling as to why she wanted to copulate (do people use that term?) in the gym, and even then, he didn’t quite understand what ‘corrupting an innocent’ meant.

And although Tony made it blatantly clear that his tower was a judgment-free, loving place to reside, Steve didn’t quite believe that the rest of New York was so open to homosexual relations. When Tony and Natasha both admitted to being bisexual as their argument, Steve nearly fell off the kitchen stool.

Things like that weren’t uttered so casually, nor usually mentioned at all in his day. But times have changed, and Steve has always been a bit more adventurous than the people he knew, so maybe it’s not such a big deal that he kissed Coulson.

Everyone is basically the same deep down.

The second thing that bothers Steve is that everyone – and that includes Fury who doesn’t even live in the tower – knows about the incident with Coulson, and refers to it as Captain America’s finishing move.

Steve isn’t very up-to-date on many things (see: all) technological, but Clint had explained that it was a reference to combative video games – with an unnecessary amount of giggling. It’s bad enough that Steve’s body decided things before his mind caught up with it, but for everyone to constantly pucker their lips when they see him in the kitchen, in the hall, in the gym, on the field, in his room – everywhere! – is just adding insult to injury.

When Tony slips in to Steve’s room one night, and hands him a box with a gold bow, Steve’s immediate reaction is to throw it away. But no, Steve is the designated martyr of the house, the victim of the month (even though he wasn’t the one who fainted). And he opens it like the fool he is, only to find condoms of every shape and size – and flavour – waiting for him. And just in case that wouldn’t ruin Steve’s libido for eternity, Tony wrote a note.

“Read it,” Tony chides, picking lint off his shirt, face perfectly unreadable thanks to his shades.

Steve does, but only because he’s come this far already. He makes sure to glare extra hard at the same time, just so Tony knows he’s on to him. No point on holding on to the last of his dignity. Tony certainly doesn’t bother with nonsense like that.

Now that you’re all grown up, you might need to wrap up your junk.

You don’t want to get Natasha pregnant, do you?

And I’m pretty sure Coulson has a vagina as well.

Anal sex can get kinda messy, so use the reinforced ones.

From your sexual mentor,

Tony Stark

Steve’s skin is scorching hot, and he knows how that must look. Tony’s face seems like it’s going to crack from the sheer intensity of his guileless smirk. “You can thank me later when you don’t have herpes, Cap.”

Steve scowls and throws the box at Tony who moves out of the way just in time, but he runs out of Steve’s room when he sees Steve stand. When Tony is laughing down the hall, Jarvis congratulates Steve on scaring him away, but ruins the moment by also saying that Tony is right.

Too bad Steve can’t throw something at Jarvis.

~*~*~

At the very least, Steve can count on Coulson – might as well call him Phil after what happened – doing his job finally, and putting the Avengers in their place, while keeping them from constantly dogging Steve about that kiss. (Steve is almost 100% sure Phil is the one that told Fury. That’s most likely why he feels responsible, and is, consequently, helping out now.)

Steve’s goal had been to make the entire team feel comfortable, and in a way they really do, but only when it comes to mocking their leader. They still aren’t very good with deeper interaction and cooperation. Not as good as they should be. Not how a team would require it on the field.

Natasha only ever opens up to Clint (or Steve, after sex oddly) when she has nightmares about her past and the family she left behind in Russia. She allows Tony to get inside her mind at times, only because she knows he doesn’t really do the whole emotions and caring thing, and he won’t prod further than a stranger would; they have that in common.

Thor is oblivious, completely and without a doubt, so there’s no hope of him ever noticing her mood shifts. And even if he does, he seems to have been raised not to try and initiate help unless the woman asks for it. He doesn’t seem to have a problem with any of the members, but there are constant misunderstands as to Midgardian customs that Thor shouldn’t ignore. Steve isn’t so sure arguing with a god is a good idea, so he’ll let it slip for a while longer.

Bruce spends far too much time in his personal lab to notice much of anything, unfortunately. That in itself is a problem; the team can’t get close to him even when he’s not slaving away on a formula to control his transformation into the Hulk. Tony was the first to make contact with Bruce, but he’s not made much progress since – mainly because of his not wanting to deal with feelings issue again. Natasha won’t approach unless asked, and Thor breaks too many beakers when he goes into the lab, so he’s been banished.

Clint is always up somewhere. At times he’s sitting on the antique chandelier – until Tony screams bloody murder, and Clint zip-lines down – other times he’s at the top of the staircase that leads from the bedrooms to the entertainment room, just watching. He only comes down when he notices Natasha’s a bit shaken up from a dream she had, if there’s a movie he likes on TV, or when he needs to eat. Steve suspects he often sleeps on the roof of the tower, but he can’t be sure (and doesn’t want to check because, frankly, heights scare him since Bucky).

So where does Steve start? There are so many people, so many problems, so many different masks, and not enough hours in one day for him to build all these bridges alone. He’ll just have to pick the next person to approach him and go from there.

~*~*~

Steve looks over at his clock the next morning and it tells him it’s 5am. In other words, the alarm’s not due to ring for another three hours. He should be tired, having only slept four hours, but he’s not. Thank you once again fantastic serum? Not that the cause matters when Steve doesn’t need any more sleep.

It’s Saturday and Steve really doesn’t feel like showering and getting dressed yet. Coffee seems like a much better idea, especially since he can spend the extra hours contemplating his course of action on the Avengers dilemma.

When Steve steps out of his room in his sleepwear (thin jogging pants and a T-shirt), he doesn’t expect Clint to be awake at the top of the stairs – which happen to be across from Steve’s room, and the only way to the kitchen – looking more serious than called for at this time of day.

“Morning,” Steve says softly, not wanting to startle him or wake everyone up.

“Hey, Cap.” Clint grins, the earlier expression disappearing so quickly Steve wonders if it was ever there.

Steve closes his bedroom door, and puts a hand on Clint’s shoulder. “Something wake you up? Wanna talk about it over breakfast?”

Clint shakes his head, smiling at least. “Nah. Don’t worry your pretty little head, Cap. But I could do with some grub.”

~*~*~

Steve learns a few things that morning.

Sometimes the world makes decisions for you – as in the case of Clint being the next person that Steve will build a relationship with and try to understand. And the other thing Steve finds out is that Clint has a filthy, disturbing mouth and sense of humour once he gets started. And clearly the time of day has no effect on it whatsoever.

Perhaps Steve is considered a prude for the year 2012, and that could be part of why he ends up sputtering milk down his chin during breakfast, but something about what Clint is saying convinces Steve he wouldn’t be the only one startled by the rude comments.

“So I heard ‘Tasha made use of your dick, Cap,” Clint says, slurping on a spoonful of milk noisily. He looks up after a moment. “What was that like? I’ve always wondered how she is in the sack.”

Steve probably shouldn’t be surprised Natasha told her closest friend that she’d slept with him, but he expected a bit more discretion at least. “I don’t feel comfortable discussing my sex life, Clint. Besides, it wouldn’t be very nice to Natasha.”

Clint snorts, dipping his spoon in the milk. “I already know all the details, man. I just wanted to know if you liked it as much as she did.”

No answer may be the best answer in this case. Besides, Steve can’t seem to get saliva back in his mouth.

Laughing and tapping a hand on the table, Clint breaks the awkward silence. “I’m just busting your balls, Cap. She’s not that kinda girl. Plus, she knows I couldn’t keep it secret long.” He brings his bowl up to his mouth, finishing the milk. “She was walking weird for a few hours, though. Did the serum affect your dick, too, or something?”

Burning with heat spreading across his cheekbones, Steve clears his throat and says, “I don’t think it did. It just made it proportionate to the rest of me.”

Clint tilts his head in a way that reminds Steve too much of how Natasha had looked before she’d ravished his mouth, and it makes Steve suddenly very nervous of it happening out in the open this time. Instead, Clint just drops his bowl in the dishwasher, and steps out of the kitchen without uttering another word.

What just happened?

----Part 2

Marvel_bang 2012 - Masterpost

2012-11-06T00:58:00Z

Title: Ball and Chain (of Fools)
Author: trickylady
Betas: kimberlelly, marlee813, midorihaven, bogart @ ff.net and saintrevenge @ ff.net.
Characters: Steve Rogers, Loki, Thor, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Phil Coulson, Natasha Romanov, Pepper Potts, Jarvis, Balder, Nick Fury.
Pairing: Steve/Loki, Steve/Tony, Steve/Thor, Steve/Bruce, Steve/Natasha, Steve/Clint, Steve/Coulson, Steve/Pepper, and hints of others (between the Avengers).
Genre: humour, self-discovery, slice of life, H/C
Fandom/Universe: Avengers/movie-verse (and a smidgen of Earth-616 'verse for Balder)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~38k
Warnings: a slight moment of one-sided 'incest' between Thor/Loki

Summary: Steve is dead-set on making the Avengers (and everyone surrounding) get along now that they're living in the Avengers tower. If he finds happiness in the end because of it, that’s just a perk.

Or more to the point: A bunch of times people throw themselves at Steve with no intention of dating him, and one time someone likes him enough to never want to let go.

A/N: This is essentially about Steve discovering sex. 9000+ points to whoever finds the Shakespeare reference. Enjoy!

Fic links: Part 1 |Part 2| Part 3| Part 4| Part 5
AO3

Fanworker name: ctbn60
Type of fanwork: digital art
Link to accompanying fanwork master post: ctbn60's art HERE.

DeanCas BB 2012 - Masterpost

2012-10-21T23:08:48Z

Title: Drop Your Expectations (And Your Pants)
Author: trickylady
Artist: raths_kitten
DCBB Masterpost: HERE
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural; AU (not hunters), Humour, slash, slice of life, h/c
Pairing(s): Dean/Cas, Sam/Cas, Sam/Jess
Rating: Hard R
Word Count: ~21,700
Warnings: angst, infidelity, sexual content, swearing, alcohol consumption, sexting, mention of past character (minor) death.

Summary: This is the story of how Dean fell in love with his brother's boyfriend, and how Sam let Dean have this one thing he wouldn't ask for.

Excerpt: Their food arrives—burger, steak, salad—and peace is still hanging on by a thread. Then Dean takes one of his huge, jaw-breaking bites into his burger and hums loudly (and a bit obnoxiously), and Castiel drops his fork on his plate with a clatter of metal on glass. He dabs the corner of his mouth with his napkin, and crosses his arms over his chest. He’s not looking at Dean, but not bothering to look at Sam either.

“I’m done,” Castiel says firmly, moving away when Sam tries to shift closer and grab Castiel’s hand.

“What do you mean? You only ate one bite,” Sam asks, brow furrowing.

Dean smirks, crunching on fries and looking far too pleased. “Maybe he’s on a diet.”

A/N: Beta'd by kimberlelly, quiddative, midorihaven and juliathespookflegirl (from tumblr). Thank you so much for helping me make this clearer, and more entertaining to read. <3 *Icon also by my lovely artist.
Written for deancasbigbang.

Fic links:
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3
AO3 link
Art link: Art masterpost

DeanCas BB 2012 - Part 3/3

2012-10-21T22:19:45Z

Title: Drop Your Expectations (And Your Pants)
This is part 3 of 3
DCBB Masterpost HERE
Part 1 // Part 2

Castiel wakes up happier than he has in years. His first thought is Sam. How can he make Sam understand that he wants their relationship to work? Maybe visiting Sam briefly in the library, pulling him aside and telling him directly would be the best way.

(And of course taking a few reconciliatory kisses at the same time.)

---

Sam is in his usual spot with Jess, which makes it easier for Castiel to find him.

Castiel swings a plastic bag with a book Sam’s been dying to read as he sneaks over to the table. Jess is smiling, and it’s contagious in the way that it makes Sam and Castiel smile, too. Then Sam is leaning closer, and Castiel’s smile fades because he knows what’s going to happen but he can’t believe he has to witness it. Jess leans the rest of the way and kisses him softly. It’s very brief, but it’s intimate in ways that aren’t fair. Sam is reaching for her hand, and Jess is shifting closer to mold against his shape. She fits there perfectly. It doesn’t stop Castiel from fuming though, does it?

Before Castiel can come to terms with his anger and find a safe way to calm it, he’s taking the book out and throwing it at Sam’s table. It lands on the pile of unstapled papers, most likely Sam’s graduation essay, and the sheets scatter around the table like leaves in autumn. Castiel storms out of the library noisily, not caring if he’ll be banned from returning any time soon.

Not caring that he’s proud to not be the one that cut their remaining thread.

---

Sam returns from school later than usual, and Dean notices right away that he looks awful. His shoulders are sagging and he’s holding the papers in his hand so tightly that they’re crumpling. He plops down on the couch next to Dean, letting his bag drop on the floor like dead weight.

“What’s up with you?” Dean asks, muting the TV and turning to look at Sam.

“I think Cas is going to break up with me.” Sam shakes his head, sighing loudly. “He caught me kissing Jess in the library today.”

“He—you—what?” Dean says, beyond incredulous. “You’re joking me, right? I mean, this is you. You don’t do that kind of shit. How could you cheat on Cas?”

“It just happened. I don’t know. It just felt right at the time. I didn’t feel like I was cheating,” Sam explains, leaning forward into his hands with his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Did you apologize yet? ‘Cause you better have, Sammy,” Dean says, clipped and aggressive.

“I didn’t. And it’s none of your business anyway.” Sam stands, picking up his bag. “I’ll call him later.” When I can figure out the right thing to say.

“None of my business? Really? He’s your best friend, and you used to bring him over three times a week or more. He’s practically family. And now it’s none of my business?” Dean scoffs, turning the volume back up. “That’s an awesome way to treat him.”

Sam tries to explain that he’s confused right now, but Dean just keeps saying ‘whatever Sammy’. Eventually Dean shuts the TV and goes to bed, not bothering to tell Sam anything when he does.

Dean has his blanket over his head when Sam opens the door to check on him. It doesn’t make sense. Why would this bother Dean so much? Did they really get that close in the past few weeks Sam’s been busy with schoolwork?

Sam gets ready for bed but, before then, he sends Castiel a text message apologizing. And, just in case Castiel deletes it without reading it, Sam calls him and leaves a long, explanatory message about how he knows Castiel feels the change in their relationship, and that they should still stay friends, but he likes Jess a lot more than he planned to. Sam really hopes he won’t lose his best friend over that mistake.

Not that he thinks kissing Jess was a mistake, it was just wrong to do anything like that before talking through the break-up with Castiel first.

And what was up with Dean? He sounded like Sam had taken his pie from him, and then threw it out when Sam realized he didn’t like sweets…

Sam sits up in bed abruptly. That’s it. That has to be it.

Dean is falling for Castiel, and he doesn’t even know it yet. But does Castiel feel the same way about Dean? Sam regrets not having noticed this sooner.

---

Castiel calls Sam in the morning, knowing his schedule by heart.

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel says, his voice thick with sleep. “I received your messages.”

“I’m really sorry you had to see that,” Sam replies, “I wanted to talk to you about it bu—”

“It’s all right. I know you didn’t do it out of spite,” Castiel interjects. “You’re a good man. And I love you as a best friend. But I thought about it last night, and I think I understand why you fell for Jess. We were never really in love, were we?”

“Maybe at first,” Sam tries, but even he thinks it’s probably wrong. “So, you’re okay? Do you want me to come over? I have time before class.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry, Sam.” Castiel huffs, chuckling a bit. “Just so long as we can be friends.”

“I’d really like that,” Sam says, smiling. “And I promise we’ll hang out soon. Okay, Cas?”

“Thank you,” Castiel replies. “See you soon.”

Castiel feels lighter than air, like the things that were weighing him down have been untied at long last.

Being with Sam was simple because they were both nurturing and easy to get along with. But sometimes people need some spice, a challenge, in their life to truly feel alive. And Dean is like Tabasco sauce, all sharp edges and hidden flavours that it takes the truly skilled to find. Castiel never thought he’d prefer the hard road over the easy one.

Operation Finding Out If Castiel Likes Dean Back

For the next week, Sam spends all his precious free time planning with Jess how to match up the (possible) lovebirds. If, in fact, Castiel likes Dean as much as Dean –obviously –likes Castiel, then they could perhaps come to terms with it and accept it. Sam knows Dean would never try to take Castiel from him if he didn’t have full-blown permission, and now that he knows Sam likes Jess, Castiel is the only one left to worry about.

And besides the obvious, if this worked out Sam could keep his best friend and his brother both close to him for the rest of his life. It’s a win-win situation.

---

Sam invites them to a nice enough club –which Jess chose –and prays that they will show up at all. Sure, Sam has made peace with Castiel, but it doesn’t mean he wants to hang out with Jess yet. Dean, as well, might still be angry at Sam for the break-up, even if he explained that it’s all cool now. So, just to make sure they don’t throw a wrench in his plan, he texts them with ‘all drinks are on me’. Sam’s going to be a lawyer soon; he can afford it.

Castiel arrives five minutes later, having nothing to do with the text considering he lives at least half an hour away from the club. Dean on the other hand, texts back ‘seriously?’, and then a second later ‘Is Cas already there?’

Sam laughs, and shows Jess as he replies to it. At least Dean isn’t being subtle with his interest.

Jess and Castiel get along well enough that Castiel’s already mostly tipsy by the time Dean is shoving through the growing crowd of people. All the pawns are in place, so now starts the fun.

Dean gets to the bar and greets Sam with a pat on the back, and Jess leans in to peck Dean on the cheek. Sam hands Dean the first of many mixed drinks, and Jess does the same with Castiel. Conversation flows smoothly, at least between everyone who isn’t Dean and Castiel. They haven’t said anything besides hi to each other.

Sam puts his hand on Dean’s back when he nearly falls off his bar stool, and then hands him another rum and coke. He switches places with Jess when Dean looks away for a moment, and Sam orders some shots for Castiel.

“So, Sam didn’t tell me how handsome his older brother was,” Jess whispers in Dean’s ear.

“Can’t say I blame him. He needs all the help he can get.” Dean snickers, taking another sip from his glass.

Jess leans in, draping herself purposely close to see if Castiel will react next to Sam. Castiel clears his throat, and Dean stands, moving away from Jess. They’re almost in sync. Sam can’t believe how painfully obvious they both are when they don’t have their usual head about them. He hands Castiel the shots and tells him to share them with Dean. Castiel nods, taking the tray shakily in his grasp, and smiling at Jess as she passes him to get to Sam.

Sam and Jess move further away to have some privacy, but also to see how things will progress if Castiel and Dean end up more or less alone.

Castiel hands Dean the first from the row of shots and they knock it back easily. Dean has the advantage of having been late, but Castiel isn’t going to let that stop him from keeping up as long as possible. The next shot is a bit tougher, but it brings them close enough that their shoulders brush. Dean’s head is spinning, having nothing to do with the alcohol. The third shot nearly doesn’t go down for Castiel—laughing so hard it bubbles up his nose—because Dean spilt his mostly down his shirt, when he was too busy staring at Castiel licking his wrist. The fourth shot is nothing more than water at this point. They’re staring at each other with an intensity that makes Sam and Jess decide to stop watching them.

Castiel is swaying to the music, backing as close as he can to Dean, trying to give him the hint. Dean grabs him by the hips and grinds so hard Castiel nearly moans. Castiel tips his head back, leaning it on Dean’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck. Dean’s fingers trail down Castiel’s sides, breath hot against Castiel’s neck.

Castiel hums softly, pressing harder against Dean at his back, and that’s all Dean can take. Dean spins Castiel, pulling him into a kiss so fast it makes them both feel faint. Ever since that night when Castiel fell asleep on his shoulder, Dean’s been thinking about doing this, and now he finally can.

Castiel gasps when Dean nibbles over his lips, scraping his nails down Castiel’s back, dragging Castiel impossibly closer. Dean feels Castiel hardening against him and it makes him pull away abruptly. This is Sammy’s best friend, his ex-boyfriend. There’s so much wrong about what’s happening.

“I don’t think I can do this, Cas,” Dean says gently, panting in Castiel’s neck. “What about Sam?”

“What about Sam? We’re much better as friends, Dean,” Castiel says firmly, running his hand down Dean’s arm. “We never went further than kissing.”

Dean closes his eyes, his mind travelling down a road of all the things he would do to Castiel given the opportunity. Maybe finding out you’re falling for your brother’s best friend while drunk isn’t the best way.

Dean’s stomach is doing acrobatics, and his vision is blurring, but Castiel can’t know any of that. All Castiel knows is that Dean isn’t saying anything, and isn’t looking at him anymore. Silence speaks louder than words. Castiel assumes it must be too hard for Dean to accept him since Sam is his baby brother, and he moves away from Dean, slipping outside for air.

Dean follows after Castiel as quickly as his legs will take him, and the cold air is a shock that makes him practically feel sober. Castiel is standing near the door, arms crossed and close to his chest. He looks like he’s freezing. Dean stands next to Castiel and puts his jacket over his shoulders. Dean Winchester is stronger than a little glacial wind.

“What do you think of the kid who used to ignore you?” Dean says, smiling nervously at Castiel. He doesn’t add because now I don’t think he could ignore you even if he desperately wanted to. That’s way too sappy, even for a drunk person.

“I still feel the same.” Castiel bumps Dean with his shoulder, thinking about the letter his mom left for him. “You’re still as interesting and warm as you were.” Castiel steals a kiss this time, gripping Dean’s waist hard enough to leave marks. On purpose.

Castiel pulls away and hands Dean his jacket when his taxi arrives. “I put my number in the pocket.”

Dean nods, dumbfounded by Castiel’s smoothness, and feeling more sexually frustrated than he’s been in his life.

---

Dean: Did u get home in one piece?

Castiel: I’m fine, Dean. Did you?

Dean: Yep. Getting ready 4 bed now.

Castiel: So am I. What do you sleep in?

Dean: Boxers. U?

Castiel: Nothing.

Dean: You’re joking, right?

Castiel: I’ve consumed too much to search for suitable sleepwear.

Dean: So ur naked. Right now

Dean: U don’t even have briefs on?

Castiel: I couldn’t find anything.

Castiel: What do your boxers look like?

Dean: They’re just white.

Dean: Dude, if any1 should be turned on it’s me

Castiel: Who said I was?

Dean: Ur not? :(

Castiel: It was a poor attempt at humour.

Dean: oh. :)

Dean: so are we sexting right now?

Castiel: Is that what this is referred to as?

Dean: R u touching urself?

Castiel: Yes.

Castiel: Why?

Dean: Then yes we’re sexting.

Dean: What r u touching?

Castiel: My stomach.

Castiel: Is that not the right place?

Dean: There’s no right place, Cas.

Dean: Wherever u want is okay

Castiel: But I’m meant to touch my genitalia, correct?

Dean: How do u sound so science-y, srsly

Dean: I’d say ‘I have my hand on my cock’

5 minutes pass

Dean: Cas? Did u fall asleep?

Castiel: I was imagining what you said.

Castiel: And I got very aroused.

Castiel: I needed a moment to calm down. My apologies.

Dean: S’that so? ;)

Dean: How ‘bout if I’m stroking now, thinking about how much I’d like u to watch.

Dean: Would u like me to put on a show 4 u?

Castiel: Very much, Dean.

Castiel: How soon can we meet?

Dean: LOL

Dean: Maybe we should go on a date first, Cas

Dean: Where do u like to hang out?

Castiel: So you’re not coming over tonight, I presume?

Castiel: I enjoy spending time in bookstores and pet shops.

Dean: I’ll let u know when our date is

Dean: Go 2 sleep, Cas

Dean: G’night

Castiel: Sleep well, Dean

---

Dean would be jealous of the puppies getting all his date’s attention if Castiel didn’t seem like he is right at home with them. The way Castiel’s melting over every single furry –and not so furry—creature in the shop would be Dean’s downfall if he wasn’t already so into Castiel. Head over heels even one could say. It just wouldn’t be Dean saying it.

Castiel’s stomach grumbles loud enough that some of the bunnies start hiding, so Dean drags him away from his animal kingdom and into a nearby restaurant. They could always visit his family again some other time.

Dean hands Castiel a menu, and their fingers brush, making Dean clear his throat and Castiel’s cheeks flush. They haven’t really touched since that night—and that involved inhuman amounts of free alcohol. Castiel closes his menu when he’s done choosing, and grips the sleeves of his coat.

“Does it worry you to be seen holding my hand in public?” Castiel says, keeping his eyes down.

Dean looks up, raising a brow questioningly. “Where is this coming from?”

“I’m simply recalling how you would react when I held Sam’s hand or kissed him,” Castiel says, looking away nervously.

Dean huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. That’s true. There was a time like that not long ago. It feels so distant now. And they’ve only been dating for a week. Go figure.

In all honesty, Dean can’t seem to mind any of those things, even though it used to weird him out how much PDA Sam did with Castiel. Dean gets it now. He was annoyed because he wanted to be that person making Castiel’s eyes sparkle, making his skin flush. Sam was getting all of Castiel’s admiration and Dean wanted it. He wanted those touches and kisses. And how sad is it that it took Sam’s poorly planned club outing for it to happen?

The saddest part though?

If Cas asked Dean to do anything right now, he would probably say yes. Things ranging from wearing matching t-shirts to stripping down and having sex on this table before their meal even arrives. Any of it, all of it. Dean can’t imagine refusing Castiel anything, and because of that, Castiel will never be allowed to find out. The power it could grant him…Oh god.

“You can keep holding my hand,” Dean says, reaching across the table for Castiel’s fingers. “Even while eating if that’s what you want, Cas.” Apparently, his dick turns into a vagina whenever Castiel is around.

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel squeezes Dean’s fingers gently. He smiles, relieved, his eyes shining just for Dean, and brighter than Dean’s ever seen.

And Dean’s done. He’s lost forever. Castiel wins. And there’s no returning from this hell, is there? Not that Dean really wants to. The vagina can stay for a while longer.

---

Luckily, Castiel isn’t one of those people who actually holds your hand the entire meal because Dean’s steak is pretty fuckin’ delicious and it requires two hands to cut. Besides, Castiel is enjoying his lasagna possibly even more than Dean is his artery-clogging slab of meat. When Dean’s done, he doesn’t even need to ask and Castiel is shoving a forkful of cheesy pasta into Dean’s mouth.

It’s important that they are the same in the ways that matter most: food, entertainment and sex (hopefully).

Dean drives Castiel back to his home, and they sit in the car for a while, not talking, not thinking, just enjoying. It’s been a good day for both of them, and they don’t want to ruin it by saying or doing something stupid at the end of it. Castiel takes off his seatbelt and kisses Dean gently, the fingers of Castiel’s right hand rubbing through Dean’s stubble. It’s so innocent, it makes a dark part of Dean want to break Castiel wide open and see all the filth deep below his skin.

That’s definitely not a first date thing. And not a normal reaction either.

Castiel pulls away, his lashes fluttering. “Would you like to come in?”

Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes. But - no. No, no. Not a good idea at all.

Castiel mentioned something about having an exam in the morning, and Dean knows –knows the monster in him so sickeningly well –that it’ll end in a lot of (see: all) clothing being removed, Castiel being sore and tired, and most likely holding a grudge for having failed his exam.

“I don’t want to cut into your study time, Cas,” Dean says, grinning. “We’ll have plenty of time to see each other after your exam.” He winks, feeling especially playful around Castiel.

“I’ll hold you to that,” is Castiel’s rumbling reply.

It leaves Dean with a painfully large bulge in his pants as he watches Castiel hop out of the Impala and strut around it like he knows he’s sex-on-legs. Perhaps he does at this point.

(And when did one of the Einstein Twins get promoted to sex-on-legs in Dean’s head?)

---

Dean decides he needs Sam’s full approval before moving as quickly as he (and Castiel) wants to. Evidently, Sam didn’t learn his lesson–from when he was practically bare assed and rutting against Castiel like some sex-deprived freak–because his door is still unlocked, and this time Jess is in his lap, her tongue so far down his throat you’d think she was trying to taste the walls of his stomach.

That sounds fuckin’ disgusting, but that’s exactly how Dean feels, so it should be.

At least Dean knows the answer to that question he meant to ask. Now, to wash his eyes out with bleach, and ‘sext’ some more with Castiel to get those vomit-worthy images out of his head.

Dean: What r u wearing?

Sam escapes to Jess’s dorm with the same enthusiasm Dean has when he calls Castiel over for some much anticipated alone-together time.

Dean isn’t a fool. He likes his prey to utterly swoon before he devours them. Dean cooks another simple but filling meal for them and Castiel brings pie. The only tension in the room is from the knowledge that they can, and will, be having sex in not too much longer. It’s a good type of tension, though.

Castiel brought another DVD over so they watch it—or pretend to because they’re both buzzing with excitement and arousal—and before the credits even start rolling they’re fumbling up the stairs with their lips attached, and every part of them connected like magnets.

Once in Dean’s bed, Castiel pulls Dean on top of him, kissing down his face, licking his jaw, and nipping the skin there when he feels the bulge in Dean’s pants. Castiel is moaning loud enough that you’d think Dean is already pushing inside him—which really is too hot for words. But Dean needs to try.

“Have you ever been with a man?” Dean asks, breathless. Castiel squirms underneath him for some semblance of purchase; there are still too many layers between them.

“No, but I think I would enjoy it most with you,” Castiel replies, voice just as uneven. He huffs when Dean pulls away to look at the mussed, dark hair and those eyes he’s been keeping in his mind for years.

Dean’s been with a fair amount of people. Okay, he’s been with a shitload. He lost count back when he dropped out of high school to take care of Sam. And certainly Dean is happy to be at the top of Castiel’s throne, the one that Castiel is willing to bend over for, but maybe Dean’s not ready to cross that line. Castiel’s virginity should be treasured just a bit longer so Dean can feel like he made it special for him, and show him how it all works.

Castiel’s eyes narrow in impatience and Dean can’t help but laugh. The guy is so freakin’ adorable; it’s a mystery he didn’t fall for him sooner. Oh yeah, Castiel was with Sam. Dean probably shouldn’t be thinking about Sam with Castiel humping his leg. Surprisingly, Dean feels no guilt when Castiel’s fingers start fiddling with Dean’s belt and popping his jean buttons open either.

Dean catches Castiel’s wrist gently and stills him. “How ‘bout you join me in the shower?” Dean winks in – what he hopes is –a seductive way. Castiel shoves Dean from on top of him, standing and dragging Dean by his – well, Dean is the one holding on to Castiel’s wrist, so how does that work?

Castiel pulls his sweater over his head, and Dean will not make his diva wait longer than he already has. The bathroom door clicks shut behind them, and Castiel refuses to keep his hands away from the parts of Dean’s body that will make cleaning up unpleasant later. Don’t ask.

Dean turns the knobs, hoping the temperature is half-decent, but Castiel doesn’t give him a chance to check because he’s already pulling him under the spray of water. Thankfully, it isn’t scorching hot. Close, but not quite. Dean peels out of Castiel’s tight hold and bends over to fix the water. Castiel growls and crowds in close (well, closer), hands curling into Dean’s hips, his cock sliding up the cleft of Dean’s ass.

Okay. Time out.

Dean didn’t mean ‘hey Cas, want to fuck me in the shower?’, he meant ‘hey Cas, I’ll make you come in the shower so we won’t have to worry about stains later’. But maybe he should have told him that beforehand.

“Time out,” Dean pants, Castiel’s cock rubbing slickly against his entrance. Dean’s not going to survive being in a relationship with Castiel, is he?

For his part, Castiel does manage to slow down. “What- is it- Dean?” He all but snarls, though.

Dean shifts, facing Castiel, his back pressed painfully into the soap tray. “Calm down,” Dean tries, having a sinking feeling he’s going to end up very hard and alone in this shower soon.

“I. Am. Calm,” Castiel grits out. “If I were not, you would have remained bent over and I would be thrusting into you.”

“Okay…” Dean says, oddly turned on by the thought of Castiel being rough like that. “Okay, Cas. C’mere.”

Castiel’s palm presses flat on the tiles next to Dean’s head, his other arm coming around Dean’s waist and forcing their bodies to touch at every wet inch. Dean lets out a shuddering breath when Castiel’s cock bumps against his thigh. Speaking of which—

Dean’s mouth goes dry. How could that thing fit inside Castiel’s pants? Forget pants, how could it fit inside Dean?

Castiel’s hips stop rocking, and he smoothes his hand over Dean’s ass. Dean’s breath catches in his throat and, really, how is this fair? Castiel is supposed to be the virgin between them. Dean’s gaze moves (reluctantly) away from Castiel’s swollen, thick cock, dripping between them and up to those blues he dreams about. Castiel is frowning, impatience running thin, and Dean is going to fix that. He’s going to make Castiel come apart, too.

Dean’s hand wraps around Castiel’s cock and he jerks once, tentatively. Castiel hisses, his head hidden between Dean’s neck and shoulder. Dean waits a few moments, too long apparently, so Castiel sinks his teeth in. Hard. Dean winces, and starts stroking, the water and pre-come making it sound completely obscene. Castiel arches his back, tongue lapping over Dean’s collarbone, making Dean stroke faster.

“Dean- Dean. I’ve been- ah- dreaming about this.” Castiel moans encouragingly, and Dean’s cock throbs with the sound. Castiel’s hand squeezing his ass isn’t helping either. If he shoots his load without even being touched once, what would happen to his reputation? Not that he needs one anymore.

Oh, fuck it.

“Me too, Cas,” Dean admits, tugging faster on Castiel’s cock. Castiel’s whimpering and babbling starts, a mess of adjectives and praise and DeanDeanDean - Dean I’m close. And then Castiel’s spilling between them, Dean’s hand wrapped in strings of white and the rest painting their stomachs.

Dean’s out of breath more than Castiel is, his fingers tingling where they’re still wrapped around Castiel’s cock. Castiel cups Dean’s face with both hands, tongue plunging in with everything Dean would ever need to know – past, present and future. Dean’s seen their wedding pictures already, and their son riding a tricycle for Christ’s sake.

Something is terribly wrong with Dean’s brain, isn’t it? A mystical brain tumour or—

“It is my turn, Dean,” Castiel says matter-of-factly.

Dean swallows, still breathing too hard considering he was the one giving and not receiving the hand-job. Castiel grips Dean’s length firmly, eyes locked on Dean’s forest greens for approval.

“P-please, yes,” Dean stutters out, perpetually turned on by this side of Castiel.

Castiel’s lips part and Dean focuses on that when Castiel starts stroking earnestly. Otherwise, it’s going to take exactly sixty-seconds before Dean comes his brains out. Castiel’s fingers are long, tightly wound and rough. Dean’s knees shake, his chest already aching to let his orgasm free. Castiel mutters something, and Dean is careful not to listen because Castiel’s specific brand of sex-talk could make him blind them both.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut when Castiel’s fingers twist, his thumb rubbing across the slit of Dean’s cock. Close, too close. Castiel growls and Dean’s knees give way again, Castiel catching him with his other arm. Dean forces his eyes open, and Castiel hasn’t stopped watching him. It makes Dean’s skin burn with want.

God, Dean’s never wanted to be fucked by a dude so badly in his life.

Castiel squeezes at the head of Dean’s cock, glancing down at his handiwork. And Dean loses it. Between the hunger on Castiel’s features when he sees Dean’s cock, the small, needy whimper Castiel makes when pre-come squeezes past his fist, and the look of utter admiration Castiel has when he drags his eyes back up, Dean is lost.

Even Dean’s hair hurts from the force of his orgasm when it breaks free, coating Castiel’s elegant digits and the top of Dean’s thigh. At least the water is washing it away before Dean can consider feeling bad for the mess.

It’s moments, or minutes even, later and Dean’s shaking so hard that Castiel is pinning him with one arm, the other still stroking Dean through the climax of his life.

Castiel does most of the washing up, Dean is ashamed to say. His body was so unprepared for—for Castiel. Castiel’s smile stays the entire time he lathers them in soap and scrubs the come down the drain. Dean watches him with a tight feeling in his chest he hopes isn’t life-threatening. Dean intends to repay Castiel for all this, ten-fold.

Dean finds Castiel some clothes to sleep in and they snuggle up in his bed. It should be weird. Dean’s never shared his bed with anyone with the intention of seeing them again. It’s never been a man either. And it definitely wasn’t ever one of Sam’s exes or friends. Castiel peers up at him with a lazy smile, his dark hair tickling Dean’s nose. But it’s still not weird somehow.

---

Sam returns later that night, and finds them cuddled up in Dean’s bed, snoring softly. Sam takes another picture, but they don’t stir this time. Sam creeps back out of the room and smiles at the shot he just took; it can go with the other. And maybe if Dean asks really nicely, Sam can print them both out for him to stick into a scrapbook.

The End

Comments appreciated. :)

DeanCas BB 2012 - Part 2/3

2012-10-21T22:09:59Z

Title: Drop Your Expectations (And Your Pants)
This is part 2 of 3
DCBB Masterpost HERE
Part 1

If someone would have told Sam that forcing two people who hate each other to spend time together didn’t actually resolve conflicts in real life, he wouldn’t have bothered. But, of all things, for the result to genuinely make things worse is astounding.

They seemed almost ‘okay’ with each other before the group outings started, and the bar seems to have been the final straw. Dean won’t explain why - after Sam left to help Jess out - he dropped Castiel off at their place and locked him in Sam’s room. Any time Sam tries to broach the topic, Dean growls and calls Castiel a ‘douchenozzle of epic proportions’. It would be disconcerting if Castiel had the same reaction, but he doesn’t seem to understand Dean’s increased irritation either.

Sam’s graduation paper is due in a few weeks now, which means even less time with family and friends and more time spent nosing around dusty library books. Jess is the only person he really gets to see often anymore because their thesis topics are so similar, and they can use it to give each other tips on what sources to use.

Sam makes time for Castiel, of course, but it usually involves Castiel coming over to watch Sam study while Dean is downstairs watching TV. And perhaps a few teasing kisses between chapters.

Castiel isn’t able to hang around as much as he used to, which Dean is glad for in a way because it means less spats, but it’s also kind of sad how it makes Dean miss being able to argue and compete for Sam’s attention—even if Castiel is still a tool.

That’s one more hobby to cross off.

---

Dean has his ‘good brother’ moments. And inviting Castiel over - his phone number was written on a post-it in Sam’s room - as a surprise for an insomniac baby brother is part of that. He just knows Sam will be delighted by Dean trying to make peace and being able to spend some quality time with the people who matter after a long day of brain usage. Dean’s even going to try and whip up something half healthy for his floppy haired brother to enjoy eating.

Everything was going well; Castiel agreed to put their differences aside in order for the evening to go along smoothly, Dean found some vegetables in the fridge to make into a (tasteless) salad for them, and the meatloaf in the oven smelled like it would be done right on time.

But, as surprises are usually a secret, sometimes the parties involved don’t have their Spidey senses correctly attuned, and they inadvertently mess up the plans.

Dean’s phone vibrates on the kitchen table and when he flips it open, he doesn’t like what he sees.

Eat without me. I have to stay in the library for a while. Not allowed to take this book out. – Sam

---

Sam is in the library, but he’s not using any books he hasn’t already photocopied. Jess asked him to join her for supper, and, Sam not wanting to deal with more drama at his home, decided he would go. Telling Dean that Sam prefers to be stress-free with Jess rather than face his brother and boyfriend bickering again would only bring on a whole other kind of problem. One that Sam isn’t sure he’s ready to face yet.

Jess is sweet, funny, beautiful and so incredibly witty. Not to say that he loves her like he does Castiel – he’s his best friend and they practically share a brain sometimes, which is freaky – but he can just be when he’s around her. He doesn’t have to worry about what to do, who he might make jealous, when he can fit her into his life, because she already fits – just right.

And sometimes it terrifies Sam that he can see her this way, that they could be dating right now and Dean would have no plausible objection, but he isn’t the only one who seems to be distancing himself lately. He and Castiel have been like two ships slowly reeling in their anchors, ready to go on their separate journeys – or at least, that’s how Sam’s been feeling. Castiel is hard to read most of the time.

---

The first thing that comes to mind is Castiel; Dean has to tell him about the cancellation so he doesn’t come all the way here just to be disappointed. He scrolls to ‘call history’ and dials the only unknown number in the list. Castiel picks up on the first ring, which is freaky in a few ways, but now isn’t the time to be distracted by odd details.

“Hey Cas, sorry but Sam just said he won’t be able to make it. Said he needs to use a book and he can’t bring it out of school,” Dean says, tone softer than it’s ever been when speaking to Castiel. Maybe, in a way, he feels responsible for dashing Castiel’s hope of seeing Sam after weeks of hardly any contact.

“Oh.” Castiel sighs and Dean hears a car engine in the background. “I see.”

Dean notices how different Castiel sounds as well. “Are you already here or something?”

“About a minute from your home, yes, but I can turn ba—”

“No, no. It’s fine. I have too much food to eat alone now,” Dean cuts in. But honestly, what is he thinking?

Eating with Castiel—alone? They both know how supremely terrible that went last time; Dean never could eat cereal again without having an irrational fear of it being flipped onto his lap. And perhaps Castiel doesn’t want to spend a couple of hours with the ‘lesser’ of the two Winchesters.

“All right, Dean,” Castiel says dryly. “I’m in front of your home.”

“Okay, see you.” Dean hangs up.

This is going to be uncomfortable. There’s no point in denying that.

Dean leaves the door open so he doesn’t have to deal with an awkward greeting, and busies himself with setting up two places at the table. Castiel slips inside and, in a few strides, reaches the kitchen and greets Dean - anyway.

“Good evening, Dean,” Castiel says, putting a hand out.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean says, putting forks down on either side of the table, “you know me well enough to not do that. Just take a seat.”

Castiel’s hand falls stiffly to his side, and he pulls out a chair and sits, both hands politely under the table. Dean looks over and Castiel smiles a tight little thing that makes Dean’s mouth hurt. Dean wasn’t expecting a Stepford wife when Castiel said he’d be on his best behaviour.

“Relax, Cas,” Dean suggests, walking over to the oven to pull out the meatloaf, “it’s just me. You can be an ass if you want, man.”

Dealing with a guy who’s stubborn and cranky is much more appealing than a guy who’s trying too hard to keep everything peachy. Dean never thought he’d purposely ask Castiel to be a douche.

“I gave you my word, Dean,” Castiel explains, solemnly. “I will not retract what I’ve said.”

There’s the stubborn part at least. Dean chuckles slightly, and slices two pieces of meatloaf, putting some on their plates. “Whatever you say.” He opens the fridge and takes out ketchup and the bowl of salad, putting it in between their plates.

“You want something to drink?” Dean bends down in the fridge looking for something sensible to offer. “We have orange juice, filtered water, milk…” Sam would never drink this- “Beer -”

“Beer would be suitable,” Castiel says from behind Dean. When exactly Castiel had time to stand, and how he got there so silently will remain mysteries until the end of time.

“Jesus, Cas.” Dean folds in half, his chest heaving. “Don’t do that! Take this.” Dean presses the cold bottle roughly against Castiel’s chest to make some space between them.

Castiel returns to his seat and sits down, waiting for Dean so they can eat together.

“Here.” Dean twists off the cap of Castiel’s beer. “Eat now.” He sits down and twists off his own. “Hope you like it.”

“I’m certain I will. Smells delectable,” Castiel says, with a realer smile this time. One that makes Dean choke on his first sip of beer; he’s not used to Castiel being so…nice.

It’s weird as all fuck. Maybe that’s why Castiel is doing it—some kind of reverse psychology bullshit.

Dean eyes the salad skeptically; it’s for Sam, but if Castiel is anything like his nerdy brother, he probably eats the crap, too. For some reason, Castiel’s not taking any though, focusing on the meatloaf instead.

“You can take some salad, Cas,” Dean says, dipping his meatloaf in ketchup. “I don’t eat that stuff that much.”

“Neither do I,” Castiel says seriously, following Dean’s lead and dipping a piece of meat in ketchup.

Well that’s unexpected. Beer, check. Not as into greenery as Sammy, check. They have a lot more in common than Dean thought.

The rest of the meal goes by quietly, but quickly. They both use beer and bread to fill the void of the salad they refuse to eat, and then Dean cleans up their dirty dishes. Castiel is standing immediately, rushing his own things over to the sink.

And, hey, since Sam isn’t around to help with drying, Castiel will have to fill the position temporarily.

Before Dean has a chance to explain that, Castiel is taking the slippery plate from Dean’s grasp and running a dry cloth over it, more meticulous than he needs to be for such an easy task. Dean shakes his head, his lips curling in a smile, and he continues to pass Castiel the rest after he’s rinsed them.

Dean takes the cloth from Castiel. “Want to watch something? I’ll let you choose this time.”

“I’m not sure what’s on at this hour,” Castiel replies, furrowing his brow. “But thank you.”

Castiel sits on the sofa, leaving plenty of room for Dean to sit next to him. Castiel waits for Dean to get comfortable, and then hands Dean the remote control. Way too nice, but whatever. Flicking through channels, Dean sees all his favourites: porn, Dr. Sexy MD and Antique Roadshow.

Dean clicks on the playboy channel accidentally – truly it is a mistake. Why won’t anyone believe him? – and then fumbles to find where Dr. Sexy MD is before it gets even more awkward than it’s been all night.

“I sometimes watch pornography when I come across it,” Castiel says, as if it’s the most ordinary thing in the world. “Though, I watch it for a different type of entertainment. The acting is so amateur that I find myself laughing.”

Dean smirks; no denying that. He puts on his favourite show and turns to see Castiel’s reaction. Castiel’s face lights up, and he leans into the back of the couch, looking more relaxed than Dean’s ever seen him. Maybe it’s all an act, maybe he’s still playing the good little boy (or the psychological attack), but it’s a good look.

“You don’t mind watching this?” Dean says, keeping his eyes on the screen.

“I thoroughly enjoy this program,” Castiel answers without hesitation. Dean can see the smile spreading across Castiel’s face without the tightness it had earlier.

Well, damn, if that isn’t another thing in common.

Whether it’s because of the carbs and meat or because of the six-pack of beer they finished together, Dean and Castiel both pass out on the sofa with the television on. When Sam finally returns, Castiel’s head is leaning on Dean’s shoulder and Dean’s head is propped against the back of the sofa while they both snore softly.

One of the many Star Wars films is flashing on the screen, and Sam can’t help but soak in the perfection of this moment. The two people who he’s been struggling to make get along for weeks just naturally found out how to fix everything, and realized that they would be happier sharing interests rather than squabbling.

Then Sam notices the empty beer bottles on the floor.

Or, they just drank until they could stand each other.

Sam pulls out his cellphone and snaps a picture, the flash startling them both from their sleep. Castiel is more awake first, and he moves away from Dean on the sofa, rubbing his eyes. Dean just yawns and stretches, not even aware of where Castiel had just been sleeping. He smiles at Sam who’s standing with his hands on his hips.

“Hey, you’re back,” Dean announces, voice rough from sleep and alcohol.

“I am. Enjoyed your sleep?” Sam replies, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Dean raises a brow at the curious look he’s getting. “Yeah.”

Castiel stretches slowly like a cat, and he looks so adorable that Sam can’t help but want to scoop him up and carry him to bed. He won’t do it, but he does help him stand from the couch and walk him to the front door. Sam doesn’t close the door all the way, but enough that Dean won’t complain or gag if he passes by.

“I’m sorry if I ruined your evening, Cas,” Sam says quietly, pressing a kiss to Castiel’s temple.

There’s definitely guilt swimming through Sam at the thought of passing up being with these two fools in favour of a quiet dinner with Jess, but maybe his being there would have stopped them from bonding.

“It’s all right,” Castiel says honestly, “I ate and watched television with Dean. It was surprisingly pleasant.”

“Are you already trying to replace me?” Sam teases, pulling Castiel closer to him.

“Of course not, Sam.” Castiel wraps his arms around Sam, nuzzling his neck.

“Good.” Sam leans down, dragging Castiel in for a gentle brush of lips. Castiel tastes like beer mostly, but his lips are so warm and soft that Sam can’t stop at that one kiss. He pulls Castiel closer, pressing his lips hard enough for Castiel to understand the urgency for something deeper.

Dean stands drowsily, nearly knocking over the bottles like bowling pins as he passes by with the intention to tease Sam about showing off his boyfriend to the neighbourhood. But once he reaches the front door, seeing the way Castiel is clinging to Sam, and the intensity with which Sam is kissing Castiel, he decides not to. Instead he goes upstairs, doesn’t shower, pulls his clothes off, and falls into bed.

Something about what Dean just saw is making his insides feel strange and like they aren’t in their rightful places. It’s not a good feeling. It’s probably all the beer he chugged – that must be it.

---

Castiel is smiling, his eyes crinkling with the effort of it, and he’s sitting next to Dean on the couch, leaning into Dean’s personal space. Against his will, Dean’s fingers comb through the hair at Castiel’s nape, and the blue-eyed man hums softly, his breath puffing against Dean’s lips. Then Castiel is on Dean’s lap, pushing him against the sofa, whimpering with each roll of his hips.

Dean grabs Castiel’s hair and snaps his head back until Dean can have a pale, virginal patch of skin to defile. His tongue swirls over the skin right below Castiel’s earlobe and he sucks, biting down when he feels Castiel’s hips buck and stutter with each flick of his tongue and graze of his teeth.

“Dean. Dean, yes.”

Castiel moans louder, both hands on Dean’s shoulders to keep himself steady, and Dean continues his torturous trail, lapping his tongue over Castiel’s Adam’s apple and across his prominent collarbone.

“I want you,” Dean says against the reddened skin beneath his lips. And that’s it; Castiel cries out.

It’s striking enough that Dean wakes in a sweat on the floor of his room, the sheets tangled between his legs and his boxer shorts soiled beyond repair.

What the fuck is happening?

Attempting for a second time to surprise Sam, Castiel passes by with pie he’d baked himself during the afternoon. Sam smiles, but he doesn’t look as content as Castiel hoped he would. Castiel thought that perhaps a change from the usual healthy diet would be more welcomed, but it seems he was wrong.

“Is it not good?” Castiel asks, watching Sam eat with much less enthusiasm than Castiel had imagined.

“It’s great, Cas.” Sam smiles, putting his fork down. “I’m just not a big sweets guy. Dean though, he loves pie. It’s his favourite thing ever.”

Dean is walking down the steps, but when he hears ‘pie’ he runs down the rest of the way to find out if he heard correctly. “Did I hear you say pie, Sammy?”

“Yeah.” Sam points at Castiel fondly. “He baked some cherry pie today.” Sam glances at Castiel who is watching Dean intently. “Can Dean try your pie, Cas?”

“Of course.” Castiel cuts a piece and puts it on a dish for Dean. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“You bet I will.” Dean practically steals the plate out of Castiel’s hands and sits down. He notices that he doesn’t have a fork, so he takes Sam’s and digs in. Dean stops after the first bite and starts shaking, his eyes filling with tears. “Oh—” Dean scoops another bite into his mouth. “Oh. Oh my,” he takes three more large bites, his fingers still trembling. “Cas, oh my god. I could kiss you! This is—freakin’ incredible.”

Castiel looks away, face as stern as always, but his cheeks are flushed, and it makes Sam laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

“I’m glad you like it,” Castiel utters in reply.

“I love it,” Dean corrects. “Why aren’t you studying cooking instead of whatever you’re taking? You’d be amazing at it.”

Sam nods his approval. “I’ve told him before, but he doesn’t believe me.”

“I will consider it if ever I decide on a career change,” Castiel says, smiling at Sam, then at Dean.

Sam goes to the washroom, leaving his half-eaten piece of pie behind, and Dean has no doubt that Sam won’t finish it, so he pulls it to his side of the table. Castiel observes this silently, and takes a seat near Dean.

“I feel as though Sam is behaving differently lately,” Castiel says in a low voice. “Have I done something to upset him? Has he told you anything?”

---

Sam locks himself in the washroom, muttering a string of curses. He’d been out with Jess last night, studying of course, and she bought him a single piece of cherry pie – nothing to write home about – and somehow it made his world fall apart.

But today, Castiel’s baked an entire pie, with all of his heart probably – because that’s just how the guy works – and Sam can’t even pretend it made him feel half as good. And everything about that is despicable because Sam is dating Castiel, who is way too good for him in every way that counts, but he wants to be around immature, potty-mouthed Jess who doesn’t bother trying to be more than she can.

Sam doesn’t deserve to enjoy Castiel’s heartfelt gesture. Dean can eat all of it if he wants.

---

Dean’s mouth is too full to answer properly, “He just doesn’t like sweets, Cas. No big deal.”

Castiel nods slowly, and watches Sam reappear in the kitchen. Sam laughs at the sight of Dean stuffing his mouth with Sam’s leftover piece, and smiles at Castiel. Even Dean sees that it’s a little forced. Maybe the pie made him sick.

Castiel wipes down his trench coat and leans over to kiss Sam on the cheek. “I’ll leave you to your studies now, Sam. See you soon.”

Both Winchesters watch as Castiel slips out the door without saying another word.

---

Dean is holding an entire pie in both palms, walking toward Castiel with a grin that spans at least coast to coast. He mouths the words ‘thank you’ and dips his right hand into the pie tray, bringing the mouthful of cherry sauce and crust to his lips.

Castiel just watches him, a small smile on his face, suddenly kneeling down on the floor in front of Dean with his hands on his knees. Dean looks down at Castiel with pie smeared around his lips, the red from the cherry sauce making them even more tempting than usual. Castiel leans up a bit on his knees, stretching up to touch Dean, but he’s too tall, out of reach. Dean gets the message and bends over slightly, just enough for Castiel’s fingertips to trace the sticky mess on Dean’s bottom lip.

Castiel is on his back the next moment, Dean kissing him so hard he can taste morsels of cherry on his tongue but, more importantly, he can taste the current of arousal flowing out of Dean. Dean moans, swirling his tongue across Castiel’s parted, sticky lips, sharing the flavour of everything, including Dean’s growing need for intimacy.

The pie is flipped over on the floor next to them when Dean decides to pick Castiel up and carry him across the room, going as far as they can get while he insists on kissing Castiel with his eyes closed. They make it to the kitchen table, and there are pies all around Castiel, as though he’s on display with the things he resembles—or the things Dean enjoys most.

Dean kisses Castiel, knocking all the trays away to make space for him to cover Castiel like an undeterrable barrier of flesh. He rubs against Castiel shamelessly, mouth less and less sticky but more swollen from the increasingly rough kisses.

“I want you,” Castiel whispers, and Dean pulls back, grinning down at the disheveled mess of dark hair and puffy lips at his mercy.

“I won’t tell Sam if you don’t,” Dean says in Castiel’s ear, nibbling his earlobe.

Castiel sits up in bed, panting, covered in a sickeningly cold sheen of sweat. But of course his dick doesn’t understand that having weird sex dreams about your boyfriend’s brother isn’t the best time to be standing at attention.

He reaches over on his nightstand and, without worrying about the time, sends a text message to Sam.

I miss spending time with you.

When can we have some quality time?

-Castiel

---

Sam invites Castiel over on a Saturday, hoping that Dean will go out to a bar and pick up a chick, so Sam can - indeed - have some quality time with his boyfriend. It turns out Dean is covering someone else’s shift during the evening, so Sam takes it as a sign to go ahead with his plan.

Castiel arrives in his usual attire: beige coat, crooked tie, white dress shirt and dark slacks. The only thing that even remotely tells Sam it’s a weekend is that Castiel is wearing black running shoes rather than dress shoes.

Sam helps Castiel out of his coat, and tells him to take off his shoes and to wait upstairs. Sam hangs the coat up near the front door and puts the shoes below it. He pulls off his t-shirt and throws it in the laundry bin on his way to his room. Sam doesn’t like to toot his own horn, but enough girls have melted when he’s taken off his shirt that – maybe – it could send the message across to Castiel, too.

And maybe moving things along with Castiel can remind Sam why exactly he’s dating the genius, blue-eyed man instead of Jess.

Castiel is flipping through a law book when Sam closes the bedroom door behind him quietly. He stalks toward Castiel, hoping he’ll figure out everything there is to understand in the few seconds it takes Sam to cross the room.

Castiel’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t look away. He puts the book back in its place and stands. Sam cups Castiel’s face with both hands, running his thumb over the sharp cheekbones that have made him harder than plywood. Castiel’s eyes fall shut and his lips part, so Sam lifts him and wraps Castiel’s arms around his neck. They land on the bed a bit more bumpily than Sam intended, but the effect is good enough, knocking the breath out of Castiel – or maybe that’s just Sam’s weight.

Sam presses down against Castiel, hands fisted in the dark locks to keep Castiel’s mouth exactly how it is and right where he wants it. Castiel’s whimper is muffled, but it does something twisty to Sam’s gut and his hips buck, making the bed springs squeak dangerously.

So Sam’s definitely still attracted to Castiel at least.

And maybe Sam’s bed isn’t made for two men their size, but he could always buy a new one if they break it.

Castiel gets with the program and unbuttons his dress shirt, Sam tugging it out from where it’s tucked between their hips. They don’t even bother moving it from underneath Castiel’s weight before continuing to rub skin against skin, reconnecting their lips like it will physically harm them if they aren’t kissing again.

Sam rolls his hips roughly, their clothed erections bumping and throbbing. Castiel’s chest tightens at the thought of how far they’re going, how much further they could be going. They’ve never done more than kiss up until now, and it’s frightening how quickly things are moving. Sam can feel Castiel’s heart banging like it wants to puncture Castiel’s chest, so he moves away slightly.

“Am I going too fast? Is this okay?” Sam says, voice a stark contrast to the earlier thrusting. Please don’t tell me to stop, not yet. I can’t deal with my feelings if you don’t let this happen, Cas.

Castiel wishes for once in his saintly little life that Sam wouldn’t worry. If he didn’t care so much, could just let things follow their own path, Castiel wouldn’t be tempted to think, re-think, overthink and obsess over why his body is aching not with need but inexplicable doubt.

“I’m fine. This is fine. Let’s continue,” Castiel says firmly. There’s no way that mindless sex dream about Dean is going to ruin his chances of being happy with Sam for as long as they can be.

Sam is frozen, struck by how pathetic he is, how cowardly he must be if he can’t tell his best friend that he’s falling for someone else. That he’d rather just manhandle Castiel and pray that things fix themselves, when he knows they will only worsen, makes no sense - none whatsoever. And Sam can’t do that, not to Castiel. He means so much, and is such a big part of Sam’s life. He can’t do this. He can’t—

When Sam makes no move to resume their making out, Castiel helps him along by unbuckling his belt, sidling a hand in to cup him through his briefs. Sam gasps, his head tipping forward until his lips are back where they were—pressed against Castiel’s. Castiel grips tighter, distracting Sam from questioning, distracting himself from the doubt breeding at the back of his mind.

Castiel is pushing Sam’s jeans over his ass when the door swings open. Dean’s eyes could not be any wider, even if he were in the Asian cartoon porn he loves so much.

No one is sure of what happens next, except perhaps Dean, but even he seems to be working on auto-pilot.

“Goddammit Sammy! You couldn’t lock your door or something!” Dean shouts, his gaze almost burning them up with its intensity. “You know it’s only seven at night, right? You couldn’t do this when I was asleep? And why not go to your fucking boyfriend’s house while you’re at it!” Dean’s nostrils flare, and he slams the door as he leaves, all but barrelling down the stairs and back out the front door—which he also slams.

Sam sucks in a shaky breath, turning back to Castiel. They’re definitely alone now, but who could enjoy their first time together after getting scolded like that? (Not that he’s really enjoying it.) Castiel’s hand was still awkwardly down Sam’s pants the entire time Dean ranted, and he removes it now, shifting until he can crawl out from below Sam’s frame.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says quietly. I’m sorry I’m trying to make things work when I know what I’m meant to do. But I can’t hurt you; I don’t want to lose my best friend.

Castiel tries to smile reassuringly, but he can’t help but fail, not when he’s relieved they were interrupted. He buttons up his shirt and smoothes out the creases before turning back to kiss Sam on the cheek.

“Perhaps we’ll have better luck next time,” Castiel replies. If there is a next time.

And with that Castiel is out the door as well, leaving Sam with enough confusion to sift through for years.

---

Dean is back before midnight, but won’t make eye contact, won’t acknowledge Sam’s presence, won’t discuss with Sam what just happened, and definitely won’t admit that he overreacted. It’s a long, infuriating, silent night for the both of them after Sam gives up trying to be civil with Dean.

Sam can feel something is going on, though, and he will get to the bottom of it. Eventually. After he deals with his own problems, that is.

Sometimes your body decides for you

Dean wakes to multiple problems. The first, and most obvious, being a headache from his consumption of alcohol the night before. The next is, well, also obvious: he feels like a complete asshole for cockblocking Sam like that. And the third, which he is hoping will go away on its own, is the raging boner in his boxer shorts.

If he wants to be able to deal with Sam properly, his morning wood is going to have to jump to the top of his mental list.

Dean sneaks out of his room and into the bathroom. It’s certainly not as comfortable, and Dean isn’t shallow enough to want to see his own reflection when he comes, but it’s easier to hide and clean up the mess if he’s jacking off over the toilet bowl.

So he starts.

Then he stops.

This kind of thing works better with visuals, but Dean was too tired to think of that when he left his room, so now all he has to use is his imagination. It’ll have to be enough; there are other items he needs to get to on his list.

Dean looks down at his cock; it’s red at the tip, droplets of pre-come falling into the water of the toilet. He closes his eyes and strokes languidly, imagining a mouth—anyone’s will do—around the head, sucking and licking, slurping even, coaxing more of the opaque liquid from the slit. Dean moans when the person slides more of the length down their throat, practically trying to choke on it, gagging with each thrust that Dean provides through their parted lips. Dean knows distantly that he’s thrusting into the circle of his palm, but the images are working so well it feels like the wet heat of a mouth.

Dean’s eyes clench tight, and he visualizes pushing the person’s hair out of the way, grabbing a handful of it and thrusting deeper down their throat. The hair is soft and shiny, dark. It’s messy, and that only makes it better because Dean doesn’t have to worry about ruining the mood by being too enthusiastic. He groans with the thought of them pulling back, a trail of saliva hanging from their inviting lips. Those perfect, pink, swollen lips. Dean traces over them, the person looking up into his eyes, tongue darting out to touch the tip of Dean’s cock. Dean gasps; the blue is devastating. It wrenches something from deep inside Dean and he thrusts once more, watching those eyes flutter as he coats the pale skin with strings of white.

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel says, licking his soiled skin.

Dean’s eyes snap open. Holy fuck, what did he just do? Did he just jerk off to the thought of blowing his load on Castiel’s face? While Dean’s still awake? It must be the end of the world soon.

Dean closes the toilet lid when he sees all the remnants landed safely within bounds, and hops in the shower, not bothering to touch the dial for hot water.

---

Sam is eating breakfast when Dean comes down to join him. Sam puts the newspaper down, hoping Dean is in a better mood today, so they can fix whatever it is that broke yesterday. Dean smiles tightly, swinging the fridge open for some orange juice.

“M’sorry,” Dean mumbles mostly to the juice container. Sorry I just shot my load on your boyfriend’s face in my head, too.

“What was that?” Sam smirks, keeping his eyes on the tensing of Dean’s shoulders.

Dean shakes his head and sighs, throwing the door closed. “I’m sorry, bitch. Okay? I didn’t mean to cramp your style.”

“I forgive you, jerk.” Sam keeps smirking, pushing the plate of muffins closer to Dean as a peace offering.

“So, we’re cool?” Dean says, biting into a chocolate chip muffin. And god damn is it ever orgasmic. “Where did you get these, Sammy? They’re freakin’ awesome.”

“Cas made them for us—well—for you. As an apology.” Sam picks up his newspaper, smiling to himself. “And yeah, we’re cool, so you should enjoy them.” Sam’s glad he doesn’t have to feel bad about not eating this time since it’s for Dean.

Dean grumbles, but doesn’t stop chewing, not wanting the bliss to ever go away. What couldn’t Castiel make? Hopefully, he won’t dream about Castiel feeding him muffins later.

“Let ‘im know I forgive his dumb ass,” Dean says, already on his second muffin.

---

“He said he was sorry, and he forgives us. Oh, and that he loved the muffins,” Sam says, smiling against the receiver.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Castiel says flatly. “How are things?”

“Busy. Actually, pretty hectic to be honest. I’ve still got a few dozen pages to write, and I have no idea how to tackle them.” Sam sighs, rolling onto his back in bed. “You? I never hear anything about your classes.” Or about whether or not we’re still doing okay.

“I switched from sociology to theology, so I’ve nothing to report for now,” Castiel replies matter-of-factly.

“S’that so? That’s cool. Well-” Sam clears his throat and sits up. “-I have to continue my paper. Text me?”

“I will,” Castiel says, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. It’s become harder to speak to Sam lately. “Good luck, Sam.”

“Thanks,” Sam answers, “bye, Cas.”

Something about the conversation feels too final. It doesn’t sit well with Castiel.

---

Castiel and Sam begin their texting frenzy. When one is busy, that’s when the other sends or answers a message. Each time Castiel finishes class or lunch, the reply he gets from Sam is ‘sorry, I have to stay in the library’. With Jess is the part Sam never writes out, but they both know she’s stuck to him like glue. On the other hand, when Sam finally has time to see Castiel, it’s late in the evening, and Castiel doesn’t have the energy to drive over or to receive company.

They can’t get the timing right for some reason.

Sam loves Castiel, really, but he knows now – absolutely – that they’re drifting apart. And it hurts, not because of their romantic liaison, but because Castiel is his best friend, and he’s never had one of those until now. He just wishes he could figure out a time when they could see each other, and try to mend the rift.

Castiel takes matters into his own hands, missing Sam just as much as Sam misses him. It doesn’t matter how exhausted he is from studying five different religions, he is going to invite Sam to his place so they can be comfortable and have privacy for once. They’re going to try again – one last time.

---

Things progress seemingly in snapshots.

Sam was at the door. Then he was being led to Castiel’s bedroom. Castiel was stripping off his very casual clothes, and helping Sam to take off his own. Then Castiel was on his knees, unbuckling Sam’s belt.

And now Sam is standing in Castiel’s room, dazed, disconnected from what’s happening, and trying to understand why this feels so…wrong. It’s not like how he imagined it months ago, not how it should still be. There’s just no passion behind Castiel’s movements, and Sam’s not even completely in the moment, so what the hell are they doing? Can’t they just go back to being friends?

Sam helps Castiel stand up, and picks up his shirt on the floor. “I can’t do this, Cas.”

Castiel’s mouth opens in protest, but Sam just pets his cheek and adds, “I’m gonna go, you look exhausted. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

Sam puts his clothes on and doesn’t turn back, not wanting to see the expression on Castiel’s face. He won’t be able to leave if he does.

---

Sam texts as soon as he gets home, explaining how things were moving too fast and it startled him. But Castiel doesn’t answer that one. Sam sends another the next day, asking how things are, and Castiel ignores that one as well. It’s days later and Sam has sent apologies in at least ten formats, and even in different languages, but Castiel still hasn’t replied to any of them.

Sam feels like a royal piece of shit. They should have been talking about their estrangement a long time ago.

---

“Where’s your lover-boy been? He doesn’t still think I’m mad, does he?” Dean says, grabbing a cold beer from the fridge.

Sam taps the edge of his textbook with a pencil and, without glancing up, answers, “I think we’re going through a rough patch.” Sam sighs, and Dean twists the top of his beer open, taking a swig.

“You want a beer?” Dean says, back against the fridge.

“Nah. I think I’m gonna go see Jess. I’m having problems with my paper again,” Sam says, snapping his book shut and stuffing it into his bag. “Be back later.”

“Okay,” Dean replies, peering at Sam as he crosses the room and goes through the front door. “Huh.”

If Dean was dating someone—which he wouldn’t because that’s a sure fire way to end up in headacheville—he wouldn’t go hang out with other people if they were in a rough patch. He’d try his best to resolve the issues first. Dean gets that Sam needs to work on his graduation paper, but doesn’t Castiel’s feelings matter? The guy hasn’t been around for at least a week, and that should definitely bother Sam more than it currently is.

Without thinking, Dean invites Castiel over for supper. Maybe the gesture would let Castiel know he’s welcome in the Winchester household again—in case Sam wasn’t clear about that.

Castiel is at the door before Dean even has time to finish ordering the pizza, and he lets Castiel in pointing to the couch. Castiel looks around, for Sam obviously, but sits down when he doesn’t see him around. Dean puts his cellphone down on the coffee table and sits next to Castiel.

“Yeah, he’s not here.” Dean rubs at the nape of his neck. “I just wanted to let you know everything was cool between us. And that, you know, you can hang out here whenever you want.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel smiles, handing Dean a DVD. “I thought it might be something that would interest you. You can watch it whenever you like.”

Dean stares at the cover for a moment then chuckles. “Zack and Miri make a porno? I remember wanting to see this when it came out, but Sammy wouldn’t go with me.” He glances over at Castiel. “So it’s good?”

“I thought it was very entertaining.” Castiel wrings his fingers together. “But you should know there is no actual porn in the movie.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean scoffs, putting it down and standing. “You want a beer while we wait for the pizza?”

“I’d love one.” Castiel leans back in the sofa, trying to calm his nerves. Alcohol should do the trick.

---

When the pizza arrives, they’ve finished their beers and they’re beyond starving. Dean pays for it and shoves Castiel aside when he tries to give Dean money for his half.

“Put your money away, Cas,” Dean says, handing Castiel the pizza box. “You made a freakin’ pie for us.” Dean’s mouth waters just thinking about it. “And those muffins were-” Orgasmic. “-anyway, you don’t owe me anything. We’re even now.”

---

The whole pizza is gone before they finish their third beers. Dean pops in the DVD Castiel brought, and sits back, nursing a new beer. There’s another six-pack in the fridge just waiting for them if this movie turns out to be shitty. Not that Dean doubts Castiel’s taste in movies…okay, maybe a little.

After thirty minutes, it turns out Castiel was right—it is entertaining. It’s so crass and so unlike Castiel that it’s almost shocking to Dean at first. He offers Castiel another beer, as a sign of gratitude, and he accepts. Sure enough, they go through the six-pack, and Dean has become relaxed and inquisitive.

“You really don’t remember meeting me and Sam when we were neighbours?” Dean slurs, laughing at another of Seth Rogen’s one-liners in the movie.

“I sincerely do not,” Castiel answers, sounding way too sober to be fair. But he nearly tips over when he tries to touch Dean’s shoulder, so all is well. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. It was a long time ago.”

Dean takes another gulp of beer, using it to force his mind to forget that very explicit, very wrong morning wood mishap. He keeps his eyes focused on the screen to avoid asking Castiel about more personal things.

Castiel’s eyes drift from the screen to Dean so easily he can’t keep track of it himself. One second Castiel’s enjoying another nonsensical scene, and the next he’s noticing how Dean’s lips wrap around the neck of the bottle, and how Dean’s freckles seem brighter the drunker he gets.

Dean gets up to make some popcorn, and asks something, but Castiel’s vision is starting to blur, so he just nods. Dean un-pauses the movie and puts the popcorn on his lap. He catches Castiel frowning from the corner of his eye, and sighs while eventually moving closer.

Castiel’s head is lolling with the amount of alcohol coursing through him, the popcorn doing nothing to suppress the effects. He ends up falling asleep before the end of the film. Dean figures there’s no point waking him until the morning, so he gets a blanket from the cupboard and throws it over him. Castiel hums and shifts closer to Dean, leaning his head on Dean’s shoulder again.

If anyone asks why he does what he does, Dean will blame it on pizza and beer and the movie.

He presses his lips to Castiel’s forehead and brushes stray strands away softly. More gentle with Castiel than he’s ever been with a woman. Castiel whimpers, pressing closer, tilting his head up with his eyes still closed. And Dean is holding Castiel’s chin, bringing him closer, taking in the warmth of Castiel’s breath against his mouth and it’s making him…hungry. Castiel’s lips part, and Dean licks his own in response, just about ready to kiss Castiel—

“I’m back, Dean,” Sam says, pushing his keys in his pocket. “Cas?”

Castiel rubs his eyes, but is still more or less asleep. They agree to let him stay the night.

(And Dean doesn’t have a ‘happy ending’ because all he can see when he closes his eyes is the way Castiel’s face looks when he sleeps.)

My once upon a time is different

Castiel is running towards his backyard, sliding the glass door open, and scurrying over to the fence. There’s a family that lives next door. They haven’t been there long, but Castiel has seen them driving their children to a nearby school. Whether they’re boys or girls, Castiel wants to meet them. There hasn’t been anyone his age in the neighbourhood in what feels like forever.

When Castiel sees them, both definitely boys, his eyes widen. One of them is young, too young for Castiel to play with, but the other boy looks just the right age. The older of them has sandy blond hair and can already ride a bike without needing training wheels; he looks so cool. Castiel wants to befriend him before school starts again so he can show off to his classmates.

The next day, Castiel returns to the fence, and the boy is there again, watching his brother intently. Castiel waves, and gets his attention almost immediately, but the boy pretends not to see Castiel. Castiel huffs and leans over further, trying to climb the stupid wooden fence, but he’s too short. He pushes onto the tips of his feet, but only manages to get his arm stuck between the wood panels. He pulls, and ends up scraping off the skin of his forearm, letting out a small yelp of pain.

The boy looks at that sound. He drops his bike quickly and rushes over to the fence, peering into Castiel’s eyes.

“Are you okay?” The boy asks, sounding more worried than Castiel’s mother ever would.

“I’m okay,” Castiel replies, feeling pathetic that his future-best-friend has to see him looking so lame.

“Let me see,” the boy says, stretching out his hand over the fence. He seems so tall up-close like this.

“I’m fine,” Castiel says, defensive. “I just scratched the skin off my elbow.”

“Show me,” the boy demands, “you’re making me break my promise to my mom right now.”

Castiel narrows his eyes, but the neighbour does the same. “Fine!” Castiel tries to bend his arm over the fence, but the boy just climbs it instead to get a closer look.

“You’re bleeding,” the neighbour says accusingly, “that’s not fine!”

“It doesn’t hurt!” Castiel retorts. “I’ve been through worse than this!”

The boy sighs, and his eyes soften. He takes a step down from the fence. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault, isn’t it?” His green eyes look away guiltily, and it makes Castiel’s stomach hurt.

“No,” Castiel says firmly. “It’s my fault because I’m too short.”

“You’re not short,” the boy says, “you just aren’t as tall as me.”

“Honey, why aren’t you watching Sam? And don’t climb the fence, you’ll hurt yourself,” a pretty blonde woman says from inside the boy’s home. Their mother seems nice, caring. He must have learned it from her.

Castiel flees from the fence, and rushes inside his home.

The next day, things are different. The boy is serious, interested only in keeping his eyes on his brother and nothing else. It makes Castiel feel lonelier than he has in a long time; he thought he finally had someone to talk to at least. The neighbour won’t even answer anymore.

Is it something he did? Did the boy get in trouble for talking to Castiel?

The boy continues to ignore him, but Castiel doesn’t give up.

---

One day, Castiel’s mother comes home to find him spying on the neighbour kids –again –and she is absolutely furious. She drags Castiel back inside by the collar and tells him that the Winchester family is vile, and to never associate with them. He doesn’t know what any of that means, but he knows it can’t be true. They are good people. They have to be. Their mother looks like an angel. Castiel promises not to go to the fence again because he doesn’t want his mother to be angry anymore. She says that if he does, there will be serious consequences.

A week passes, and Castiel keeps his promise, but he watches them from his bedroom window instead. This way he can see for himself if they are bad people, even though deep down Castiel already knows the answer.

Then, his mother returns early from her job one day. Castiel is so busy staring at the neighbour’s bright smile – murmuring to himself that he wants to impress him if he can – that he doesn’t hear his mother sneak into his bedroom.

“Castiel!” She says, her voice startling him from that dream world. “I’ve been calling you for five minutes.”

Castiel watches her come closer, her makeup running down her cheeks, her shoulders hunched. Something is wrong. She walks so quickly over to Castiel that he flinches, expecting to be hit, but she brings him in for a tight hug instead. Castiel leans into the warmth, giving some of his own.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, stroking fingers through his dark hair. “Mommy’s been so mean to you, hasn’t she?”

“No,” Castiel says, trying to make her feel better.

“So you trust mommy? You think she’s right about the neighbours?” She says, and her hands are clutching at Castiel so tightly he’s afraid of what will happen if he tells her what he really thinks. Maybe she would crumble apart. Maybe she would hit Castiel. Maybe she would start crying.

“Yes,” Castiel whispers in reply. And it hurts more than he thought it would, almost more than what she says next.

“You need to keep away from them, Castiel,” his mother says softly. Castiel pulls back a bit, but she drags him closer, nuzzling into his hair. “Please tell me you understand.”

“I understand, mommy,” Castiel whispers, craving this warmth and fearing it all at once. What has happened to her? She’s not acting like her usual self, and it’s worrying Castiel.

“Daddy is going to take you to a better school. A private school,” she says, still petting his hair. “You’ll be able to be with children almost as smart as you, honey.”

Castiel’s eyes are bulging. “We’re moving away?”

His mother shushes him, rocking him slowly. “Yes.” Her voice cracks. “But mommy—mommy is going to stay behind. Daddy is going to take good care of you, don’t worry.”

“Why? I don’t understand—”

“You said you trust me,” she says, her words muffled in Castiel’s hair, her body shaking around him.

Castiel knows she’s crying even though he’s never seen it before. “I trust you, mommy.”

“You’re such a good boy, Castiel. Promise me you’ll stay a good boy for your father,” she says, brushing hair away from Castiel’s forehead, placing a kiss so soft he barely feels it.

“I promise,” Castiel mutters, squeezing her as tightly to him as he can.

---

On moving day, Castiel’s mother accompanies him on the ride to the new city. Dad is driving the moving truck, and she is driving her car, holding his hand as soon as they begin to drive away. Castiel hears a boy shouting, and he knows exactly who it is without looking. But promises are things Castiel keeps no matter what, so he ignores him.

Dean! My name’s Dean! And my brother’s name is Sam!

They could have been good friends, probably.

Castiel doesn’t see his mother again once she leaves him at the new home. The next time he does is at her funeral, five years later. His father explains that she had cancer, and if he wasn’t already crying, the image in his mind of her devastation that day would have been enough to break his spirit.

She really must have loved Castiel more than she showed him if she insisted on dying alone rather than making her youngest watch her suffer. The Winchesters were just an excuse, a cover, an outlet for her anger. She may have even liked them deep down. But greedily wanted all of Castiel’s attention to herself before she had to send her youngest away. The last of the Novak children.

All those years later

It’s the anniversary of his mother’s death, and Castiel’s father leaves him a message asking if he can do a bit of cleaning in his childhood home. It’s not exactly what Castiel had planned for today, but he accepts, not wanting to upset his father.

While going through his old room, Castiel finds a dusty box in the back of the closet in his old room. ‘To my boy’ is written across the cover of it, and something about that makes his chest burn. It hadn’t been there the previous years he’d visited this house. He removes the lid carefully, and nearly falls over when he sees what’s inside.

There’s a letter from his mother with pictures of her hidden underneath.

Dear Castiel,

I’m writing this from our home while you and your father sleep.

I’m sorry if I seem really mean, but I’ve only tried to protect you.

I know how sensitive you are, but don’t think that I do these things to purposely hurt you.

I love you so very much, Castiel.

And I know how alone you must have felt once your siblings left for college.

I just didn’t want you to get attached to anyone else, because I knew eventually I’d have to let you go.

The Winchester family is wonderful and would definitely be the right people for you to be close to.

I only wanted to spare you the pain when you’d eventually move. That is the truth.

If I could, I would tell them to find you and watch over you once I’m gone because I can tell that they would.

I know how your father can be sometimes, but he does love you. Please listen to him and become the rocket scientist that you are.

I’m sorry if I made the wrong decision, darling. Please forgive me.

And if you find the Winchesters again, don’t let them go.

Especially Dean. He seemed so broken up when he heard we were moving.

I’ll always love you with all my heart, even when I’m in Heaven.

With love,

your mommy.

Castiel can’t stop the tears from streaming down his cheeks. His mother was such a strong woman, so serious and hard-working. He can barely reconcile this intimate letter, these soft words with that person he knew. Why couldn’t she have just let him take care of her? Why couldn’t she have let him stay with her and cherish those final moments?

After reading it for the third time, seated on the floor with his legs crossed, Castiel smiles. He always had a feeling deep down that she’d liked the neighbours. And whether it’s because she nudged him from Heaven or because he felt the pull of connection, familiarity, he’s found the Winchesters again. But for his mother to approve of his friendship with them means more than anything.

Sam couldn’t have remembered meeting Castiel, but Dean can. He does. And, that it’s taken this letter for Castiel to remember someone so significant is embarrassing. Castiel had wanted so badly to be liked by the boy he admired next door. Dean. He wanted Dean to like him. And, all the way past the bullshit, and the insecurity, and anything else, he can still sense that longing is there. Even after all those years, now more than ever, he wants Dean to like him, to have him.

But what happens when you’re dating your soul-mate’s brother?

Nothing.

Castiel will say nothing because Sam is perfect in his own way, and he’s the one who walked into Castiel’s life first—not Dean. That Dean may have been his first love is of no importance anymore, not when over a decade has passed since that time. Not when Sam is Castiel’s best friend, and he seems to be hanging on to him by a thread.

--Part 3 this way

DeanCas BB 2012 - Part 1/3

2012-10-21T22:01:45Z

Title: Drop Your Expectations (And Your Pants)
This is part 1 of 3
DCBB Masterpost HERE

This is the story of how Dean fell in love, for the first time, with his brother's boyfriend. (And how Sam didn’t mind giving Dean this one thing he would never ask for.)

It was three firsts for Dean, actually.

Dean had never wanted, nor meant, to take anything away from Sam. He’d always given Sam all he wished for, more than he needed, and insured that Sam was beyond comfortable.

Dean had never wanted to be with a man before – at least not one that wasn’t famous, badass, and kind of slutty – in his life.

And, most importantly, Dean had never believed in love at first sight. Not that he’d admit to that being the case; he’s still in utter denial of the entire situation, even after weeks of having Sam’s blessing.

----------

How it all began

At first, Sam was afraid he wouldn’t be able to make friends. He and Dean knew how little Sam had been able to make in high school, and Dean just didn’t care enough to try. Sam was this geeky kid with a smart-ass brother to everyone, and neither of them fit into normal society despite how much they’d often wanted to.

Then Sam grew, and grew, and he was still a geeky kid, but people seemed to like the longer limbs. Dean had stopped going to school - their parents unfortunately having passed away – long before Sam received his acceptance letter to Stanford. Dean was proud enough for the both of them, though.

And that was enough for Sam to head into another stage of life with Dean trailing close behind, working at a body shop for their father’s friend, Bobby. Luckily, Dean wouldn’t need to spend a cent of the money he saved for Sam – what with the nifty scholarship Sam’s “geekiness” provided him.

---

It goes a lot smoother than it did back when Sam struggled to blend in during high school. He’s constantly praised for his knowledge of—well—everything; he’s picked up a lot of useless facts over the years he’d spent in solitary confinement as a youth.

There is one man, however unlikely, who seems to know just as much about all the topics Sam dips into (when he’s feeling particularly boastful). And that someone quickly becomes Sam’s rival, his target.

Jessica, a friend he’d made within the first week of class, tells Sam he shouldn’t try to out-smart the reserved guy, but befriend him instead. They could be much more productive as a team than as separate entities. (She makes it seem like they’re superheroes or something. It’s kind of flattering.)

Sam mulls the suggestion over while eating supper that night with Dean. If Dean notices Sam’s mind drifting far away from the dinner table, he doesn’t say anything. Dean takes the half-eaten steak from Sam’s plate, and scoops more salad, dropping it onto Sam’s plate. Sam smiles at the gesture, but Dean pretends like he’s done nothing.

---

As Sam is considering walking up to his rival and offering a peace treaty, the blue-eyed man does it first.

“Hello, Sam,” he says in a deep, resounding tone. “I am Castiel.”

“Nice to meet you, Castiel.” Sam puts out a hand. Castiel’s lips curl slightly, and he takes the hold; his palm a welcomed warmth.

Both men are thinking the ‘glad to be your friend’ that’s left unsaid. And things get much easier, better, for Sam after that. He promises to bring Jess out for supper later as a thank-you.

---

Weeks pass and Sam and Castiel are deemed the Einstein Twins by Jess (and the rest of their peers who know their freakishly sponge-like minds). Eventually, Sam discovers Castiel isn’t even a law major, but took the classes Sam was in because he’d developed an interest in the younger man’s intelligence. If that isn’t a compliment, Sam isn’t sure what is.

Sam invites Castiel over to study and to show Dean that he’s capable of making proper friends just by being himself. Dean isn’t very friendly – not usually good at meeting new people – but he’s nice enough to offer them beer, which they take upstairs to Sam’s room so Dean can relax in the living room on his own.

The next times Castiel comes over, Dean doesn’t do much more than nod in his direction and jerk a thumb at the fridge in silent approval of their stealing some of his stash. It’s a bit weird that Dean is already so comfortable with Castiel’s visits but, if anything, Sam is glad for the strange outcome.

When they finish their beers, reminiscing over their two years of friendship already gone by, Castiel is batting his eyes – perhaps because he’s a lightweight, but Sam would have noticed sooner if he was—and he presses closer, his book falling off his lap as he kisses Sam’s cheek.

If Sam’s mouth hadn’t gone dry he would’ve asked ‘what was that for?’, but Castiel takes the silence as rejection and packs his books in his bag, standing to leave. Sam catches his wrist as he’s swinging the bedroom door open, and Sam stands, following Castiel’s lead and pressing a chaste kiss to the smaller man’s cheek.

Just as their friendship was sealed with a soft touch of skin, their shift in relationship is, too.

---

It’s getting closer to graduation, and Sam has been dating Castiel long enough that he feels compelled to re-introduce him to Dean. This time Castiel isn’t Sam’s equally geeky friend, he’s Sam’s best friend and boyfriend. Dean needs to understand the importance of getting along with Castiel.

Sam is tugging nervously at the cuffs of his plaid shirt with Castiel right behind him as he unlocks the front door. Dean is lounging on the living room sofa, and doesn’t even look up when he says ‘Hey Sammy’ followed closely by ‘Cas’.

Castiel pushes Sam forward when it seems like he’s stuck to his spot on the ground. Sam’s too afraid to admit he’s started dating his best friend who’s been coming over and sneaking up to his room for over a year. That just makes it seem as though they’d been keeping it from Dean all along. Sam knows how Dean’s mind works, and it’s not pretty.

Dean looks over at them when Sam is still not moving, not speaking, fiddling with his shirt sleeves. Castiel huffs from behind him and pushes him forward, again, to convince him to spit it out.

“Um,” Sam stammers, looking at Castiel for courage. He mouths I can’t do this and Castiel nods, looking disappointed but understanding.

“Just say it,” Dean snaps, twisting off the cap of his beer. The bottle’s just about at Dean’s mouth when Sam finally finds his voice.

“I wanted you to meet someone,” Sam says, still skirting around the subject.

“I already know Cas,” Dean says, unimpressed, pressing the bottle to his lips and taking a sip.

“My boyfriend,” Sam blurts out. Dean sputters, the beer dripping down his chin.

“Boyfriend?!” Dean shouts, wiping the beer away with the back of his hand. “You’re kidding, right? This guy? Since when do you even swing that way?”

Castiel frowns, pushing past Sam to stomp up every single one of their stairs until he reaches Sam’s door, and (logically for him) slams it shut behind him. Dean grunts, and Sam shoots him a patented bitch-face that would make strangers wither and die. Dean puts his hands up in defeat and mutters a ‘sorry’ before taking another gulp of beer.

It’s a clear sign of things to come, but Sam refuses to acknowledge that.

Once upon a time

It’s summer, or close to it at least, and Dean spends most of it riding his bike while watching Sam play with a soccer ball in the grass of their backyard. Their mother is never far away; inside the house behind clear, glass doors fixing her boys some iced tea to cool them off, or turning on the radio loud enough for them to enjoy from outside.

Dean’s barely eight years old, but he enjoys his task of keeping innocent Sam safe—or operation K.I.S.S. as their mother calls it—from the outside world and from pesky bees. However, there’s a kid next door who always manages to interfere with this important duty.

The kid is about Dean’s height with dark, messy hair and eyes that seem like a reflection of the sky. He peeks over the fence one day to greet his neighbours.

“Whatchu doing?” he says, his chin resting on the wooden fence.

“None of your business,” Dean says, riding in a circle around Sam who is staring intently at an ant hill.

“Okay,” the boy disappears back behind the fence.

Dean struggles with keeping his eyes fixed on Sam and not going over there to see where the boy has gone. But it’s not fair. The kid is gone. And Dean—Dean just has to know where he went.

Dean drops his bike next to Sam and shuffles over to the fence, leaning on his toes to get a better view. He can’t see that dark hair or those blue eyes anywhere.

When Dean turns back to look at Sam, Sam is trying to ride Dean’s bike, falling flat on his face when he can’t reach the pedals properly. Their mother rushes out quickly, glancing over at Dean, but too busy trying to calm Sam to actually scold Dean. She carries Sam inside and asks if Dean can help with cleaning up Sam’s knee. He nods, looking serious beyond his years; that’s the least he can do for already failing his mission.

That night Dean is resolute about not letting a single distraction get in between him and Sam’s safety ever again. Their mother may have forgiven his careless behaviour, but he doesn’t want his baby brother to end up crying and bloody every time something (or someone) else catches his eye.

---

The boy returns to the fence the next day, but Dean is busy helping Sam dig a hole in their yard—which Mary strictly said not to. Dean couldn’t refuse when Sam made puppy eyes and his lip trembled.

“Whatchu doing?” The boy asks again, leaning both arms on the fence under his head.

Dean ignores him this time.

“What’s your name?”

Dean digs faster, throwing dirt on Sam’s clean shorts by accident. They won’t be clean for long anyway.

“Is that your brother?”

Dean calls for his mom in an attempt to intimidate the meddlesome boy next door. He hears the boy jump down from his side of the fence and scurry away. That could be used again in the future.

---

It’s another sunny day and Mary is inside doing dishes. Dean is riding his bike again, circling Sam like a hawk to make sure Sam doesn’t eat worms or get attacked by a bumblebee. One of those yellow suckers could probably do some damage to his baby brother.

Dean hears the familiar shuffling of the neighbour kid climbing the fence to get a better look.

“Hey!” the boy calls from his yard.

Dean is not going to let that guy distract him anymore. Sammy’s well-being is way more important.

“Why won’t you talk to me?”

Dean stops riding his bike for a second, turns, and glares at the boy. Afterwards, he resumes prowling around his baby brother with the relentless sun beating down on their skin. Mary steps outside with a tray of iced tea, and catches sight of a bob of black hair at the fence.

“Would you like some?”

“No thank you,” the boy replies solemnly. He jumps down and goes back in his home.

Mary frowns at Dean as if she knows he’s the cause for that kid’s premature depression.

“I didn’t do anything, mom.” Dean hops off his bike and grabs the two cups from her. She smiles but she doesn’t seem convinced.

---

The next day, the kid doesn’t show up. And Dean is about to go looking for him until he remembers how scared he was last time he’d let Sam out of his sight. That wasn’t going to happen again under his watch.

Dean doesn’t see the kid for the rest of the summer, and he feels kind of bad about making him disappear altogether like that. A month later, right before the start of the school year, Dean sees the family next door packing boxes into a truck that their father is driving.

This time Dean can let his eyes stray from Sam, but the neighbour doesn’t even look over when Dean waves goodbye. He just climbs into his parents’ car, in the front seat with his mother, keeping a steely gaze on the road ahead, not turning back as Dean shouts out his name to the boy.

Dean! My name’s Dean! And my brother’s name is Sam!

Years pass, and Dean mentions it once or twice to Sam. Sam says he doesn’t remember anything about that summer, so Dean just assumes he was too young (and too interested in becoming a biologist) at the time. Dean doesn’t forget those eyes though, no matter who he meets, even if it was only one summer a long time ago.

No time like the present

Dean feels bad for making Sam’s boyfriend storm off like that, but not bad enough to actually apologize. Instead, and Sam recognizes it distinctly, he tries to treat Castiel like he does Sam – like someone with many intricate feelings, someone very fragile. At least Dean is sort of trying.

Castiel comes over once per week, hiding behind the wall that is Sam’s torso just in case Dean still hasn’t accepted him. Dean mutters a quick ‘hey’ to Castiel when Sam escapes to the washroom upstairs, leaving Castiel standing awkwardly next to the front entrance. Dean rolls his eyes when Castiel stares at him, really stares, as if he might be able to extinguish Dean’s life-force if he concentrates on it hard enough.

When it gets so awkward that Dean wishes Castiel could actually do that, Sam rushes down the stairs and grabs Castiel’s fingers in passing.

“Bye, Dean,” Sam says quickly. “Don’t wait up.”

“Oh, ew,” Dean says, taking a long swig of his beer. Much alcohol is needed to erase the images of whatever Sam intends to do.

Sam rolls his eyes, lacing his fingers with Castiel’s before locking the door behind them.

Dean shakes his head, discouraged; he thought Sam had better taste than that—whatever that is. He’s seen Castiel quite a few times now, and he never seems to loosen up. He’s always wearing that beige detective coat, a crooked, thin tie, dark pants that hide his already small frame, and a white dress shirt that seems to have had better days. The thing is, Castiel’s hair is constantly mussed up like he’s actually spent time trying to make it look naturally messy when—surely—he’s spent as little time on it as he has his outfit.

And, sure, it’s not only about the physical in a relationship, but it’s Sam he’s dating—little Sammy who scraped his knee when he was four because Dean was too busy trying to search out the irritating neighbour kid—

Dean spits his beer out across the living room table. Well, fuck.

Dean should have known there was a reason for his immediate annoyance when Sam first announced they were dating. Castiel is that kid. He’s the one who wouldn’t stop staring and asking questions with wild, dark hair and eyes that brought you up to the clouds. And, although Dean had only really looked at Castiel a handful of times, he would never forget those eyes.

Castiel is one person Dean thought he’d never see again. And from the way they parted, Castiel most likely would have preferred never seeing Dean again. Did he even remember Dean or was this just some supremely freaky coincidence? Castiel couldn’t have remembered and decided to get back at Dean by dating his baby brother, could he? That’s lower than low.

At least now Dean has various, valid reasons for disliking Castiel (and secretly hoping their relationship collapses in the near future). Sammy deserves better than a weird dude with no fashion sense and poor people skills. He should be with a hot, blonde chick with brains and sex appeal dripping out of her pores, someone who compliments Sam, not someone who mirrors him.

---

Since Sam isn’t one for confrontation and wants Castiel to be the happiest when he’s around him, he always drags Castiel up to his bedroom. That way Castiel can feel comfortable, and Dean won’t have a chance to make off-handed comments about attire or their sexual relations (or lack thereof since they’ve only kissed so far).

Oftentimes the nerdy couple, as Dean secretly calls them, stay up in Sam’s room until Dean needs to prepare for bed. On those occasions, Dean knocks and says ‘goodnight geeks’, but usually doesn’t get any reply until much later or the following morning. But, once in a while, Dean waits to see if Sam will shout something through the door, pressing his ear on the wood for a better listen.

Usually there is only silence or murmuring, but—to Dean’s great misfortune because of how active his imagination is—sometimes he hears moaning and panting. The kind of sounds you never want to hear your baby brother making. And then a second voice chimes in, louder and deeper, and Dean knows it has to be Castiel—which is definitely less revolting, but not any more comfortable. Dean’s mind offers a myriad of options for him to choose from in regards to what Sam could be doing for his boyfriend to sound like he’s barely hanging on to his sanity.

Dean doesn’t get much sleep on those nights.

---

Castiel decides to surprise Sam by dropping in unplanned. Once he knocks and Dean is the one to answer the door, he starts losing bits and pieces of his previous joy. Dean narrows his eyes, but reluctantly lets the blue eyed (devil) man inside.

“Sam won’t be back for a while,” Dean offers, plopping down on the couch to resume the extreme sport of channel surfing.

“Oh.” Castiel looks down, deciding whether he should stay and go up to Sam’s room to wait or leave and come back another time.

For someone who was so aggressive and outgoing as a child, he’s ridiculously timid and unsociable now. If it wasn’t for Castiel’s eyes and hair being the same, Dean would wonder if his memory wasn’t lying to him. He’d never found out that kid’s name, so there’s still a possibility that Castiel is not that same kid.

Dean sighs and turns to Castiel to say, “You can wait here if you want, dude. I’m not going to attack you.”

Castiel looks up at Dean, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He’s like Mona Lisa, this one. And those eyes – goddamn them – sparkling with shades of blue. There’s no denying that Castiel was the boy from behind the fence.

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel crosses the room and sits in an armchair next to the sofa.

Dean glances at Castiel, wondering when they’d become close enough to actually ‘hang out’ together. The TV rumbles with a rowdy audience chanting ‘Jerry, Jerry’ and Dean considers staying put until he reads the subtitle.

I’m sleeping with my brother’s boyfriend and I don’t care!

No fuckin’ way is Dean watching this with mister prissy, deep moan man next to him—who also happens to be his brother’s boyfriend.

Dean switches the channel, and Castiel makes a weird, gargling noise. Is that a protest from the sir with an I.Q. of 140? That’s unexpected.

“Did you wanna watch that?” Dean says, still switching channels.

“No.” Castiel fidgets in his seat, leaning back so far it looks like the armchair is swallowing him whole.

“Even if you like Jerry Springer, I’m not watching that crap,” Dean replies, keeping his gaze on the blur of mindless shows. High school drop-out or not, Jerry Springer is below him.

Castiel grumbles, his eyes now fixed on Dean. “Then why did you pretend to offer?”

“It was a question, not an offer,” Dean quips. This is his living room in his home that he paid for with his money. Castiel should be glad Dean didn’t tell him to go wait upstairs for Sam like a good little nerd.

“You are like a child, were you aware of that?” Castiel scowls at Dean, gripping the arms of the chair tightly. How could Sam tolerate being under a roof with a man like this for so long?

Dean scoffs, his eyes darting over to Castiel who is starting to get red in the face. Well, if Castiel’s going to be a little bitch, then let’s see how much more it takes before he storms out or upstairs. “Dude, this is my house. You’re a guest, but not my guest. And your host isn’t here right now, dear.”

Castiel sits up abruptly, burning a hole through Dean’s skull with the death-glare he has pinned on him. “I don’t think Sam will appreciate the inhospitable way you’re treating me, Dean.”

“Sam’s got nothing to do with you trying to be all princess-like, and trying to make me the dumb chauffeur,” Dean answers, struggling to keep his tone at a steady level.

“How have I inconvenienced you, oh mighty king of the Winchester castle?” Castiel spits. His eyes would be shooting machetes—forget daggers—if they could.

Dean looks over then, and Castiel smiles a shit-eating grin. “Your presence alone is bad enough without you being in my personal space with your Martian eyes and lame excuse for a hairdo.” Castiel’s grin shifts back into a deadly scowl. Dean smiles, returning his attention to the television.

“Really? I’ve been so bothersome these past weeks by merely staying in Sam’s room and being polite? And wasn’t it you that said I could stay here? You never specified which areas of your home were forbidden to visitors. I’ll make a note of that for next time, Dean.” Castiel sits back, crossing his arms.

“Where do you get off being all uppity in someone else’s house? Just ‘cause you’re dating Sam doesn’t mean you can be a shit to me and he’ll allow it. Bros before—well, before boyfriends. And you know what, Cas? Just ‘cause you’ve managed to slip into our lives again after who knows how long, and Sam doesn’t remember you, doesn’t mean I forgot who you are.” Dean shuts the TV and stands to go to the kitchen for a snack. Castiel is ruining his lounging mood.

Castiel stands and follows Dean into the kitchen, his arms still crossed. “What are you talking about? I’ve never met either of you before. I would remember someone as unwelcoming as you. And Sam and I would have been dating much sooner if that were the case.”

“Gross.” Dean rummages through his cupboards and finds a bowl of cereal.

Froot Loops are good at any age, that’s just common sense. He takes out a bowl and starts filling it when he notices the silence. One look at Castiel tells Dean a few things; Castiel likes cereal, Castiel likes Froot Loops, more precisely, and Dean can use this to his advantage. The probing about that summer will have to wait. “Did you want some?”

Castiel’s tongue darts out quickly, but his eyes are piercing and angry when he meets Dean’s gaze.

Castiel doesn’t want to fall for this. He needs to wait for Sam to return; they’re supposed to dine together. “Is that just a question now or an actual offer?”

“If you’re going to be bitchy about it never—”

“I want some,” Castiel cuts in.

Dean tips his head, watching Castiel intently. “Aren’t you forgetting something?"

“Please?” Castiel says, pulling one of the kitchen chairs out.

“Since you asked so nicely.” Dean continues pouring the rings into his bowl. He’s completely and utterly aware that there’s only enough in the box for one portion; he was saving it for a day when he would be too lazy to drive around in search of pie.

The last colourful piece falls into his bowl and he shakes the box, feigning sadness. “Sorry, Cas, guess there’s not enough for two.”

Castiel rips the box out of Dean’s grasp and peers inside, looking unnecessarily horrified. “You knew.”

“Why would I do that?” Dean replies, bringing his bowl with him to the counter to fill it with milk. You can’t be too careful with Mr. bitchy, snippy, trench coat guy almost turning purple now.

“Because you’re a horrible person,” Castiel says matter-of-factly, then, “and nothing like Sam Winchester.”

That hurts, Dean has to admit. But well, that only makes the next part of his plan that much more appealing. “S’that right?”

We’ll see who’s a horrible person.

Dean grabs a seat across from Castiel, slowly scooping up a mouthful and purposely chewing it with indecent humming sounds and closed eyes. Castiel looks about ready to implode, but doesn’t tear his eyes away. Power to him – the masochist.

Castiel’s fists ball up on the table, and Dean purposely spills some milk so he has to wipe it with his fingers and suck those instead. Castiel opens his mouth to complain or whine – or maybe play a pre-recorded self-destruct message, who knows – but keys in the doorway distract him.

“Sam!” Castiel leaps from his seat, flipping Dean’s bowl onto his lap accidentally ~~on purpose~~ as he goes to greet his boyfriend.

Dean curses under his breath, but thankfully he didn’t have much cereal or milk left for it to be that big of a deal. Dean scoffs. He pushed Castiel’s buttons hard enough for him to retaliate in such a pre-school way; it makes him giddy for all the wrong reasons. It’s the little things in life you have to be grateful for, really.

“Hey Cas,” Sam says when he has to catch an armful of grown man with little warning.

The wind is knocked out of Sam when legs come up and wrap around him, Castiel kissing him like they haven’t seen each other in years. Sam can’t really complain about this welcome home ambush, what with the amount of grinding and whimpers Castiel is offering him.

“Missed you,” Castiel says, breathless.

Dean drops his bowl and spoon in the sink with a clang, not bothering to rat out Castiel like he could (because he’s better than that twerp), and just waves at Sam instead on his way upstairs.

Sam looks at Castiel, and Castiel shrugs a shoulder in response, unwinding himself from around his boyfriend. “Maybe he’s tired and wants to sleep early?”

“It’s only six, Cas,” Sam answers, huffing out a laugh.

Castiel bats his eyes, and Sam chuckles ruffling his hair. Dean sees all that from the top of the stairs and very nearly gags. How in the hell could Sam believe that fake angel act when Castiel is so obviously a demon with a crooked halo over his head? He’s either blinded by lust (which—yuck) or he’s not as smart as Dean thought he was.

---

Dean goes off on a tangent, that he does with no one else but Sam, about how awful Castiel is. Sam listens, silently, his arms crossed, but more amused than anything else.

“What do you see in that guy? Honestly, even if he is sorta good looking, he’s a tool. He’s rude, stubborn, smart, but in an annoying let-me-shove-it-in-your face kind of way, and he seems clingy. I saw how he practically strangled you when you got back the other day. And even if I forget all that, he’s a freakin’ dude! What happened to your obsession with blond chicks? That was the only thing we seemed to have in common, and now we don’t even have that anymore. Are you even my baby brother? Where’s geeky, predictable Sammy?”

Sam can’t help but shake his head and laugh it off; Dean is overreacting. It’s almost like he’s jealous of the attention Castiel is getting. And, rather than attempting to convince Dean in a lawyer-like fashion, which would require a lot of time anyhow since Castiel is such a great person, Sam just shrugs and goes into the kitchen for a snack.

Dean shouts across their home to Sam: “See! You can’t even think of any good things about him!”

---

Castiel isn’t much better than Dean, surprisingly.

Castiel’s head is leaning against Sam’s shoulder, his fingers toying with Sam’s longer ones when he asks him the same thing. “How can you support spending so much time with your impatient, rude, vulgar brother?”

It almost doesn’t sound like the Castiel Sam knows. It’s amusing. Castiel is always striving to take the high road, and keeping his cool no matter who pushes his buttons. But it seems Dean found a way to get past his unshakable patience. Castiel’s grip tightens around Sam’s fingers to get him to answer, but Sam just kisses Castiel’s temple.

No point in giving in to their childish gossip about each other. Sam loves them both, and they’ll have to find a way to reach some sort of understanding. As unlikely as that seems for the moment, Sam hopes it will be possible one day.

---

There’s the little boy again, but Sam is inside this time. Their mother is throwing him up in the air, playing with him to his heart’s content. That means Dean is off the hook when it comes to his supervising duties.

Dean lets his eyes drift over to the boy silently watching him at the fence. His eyes are surreal, unnatural. And Dean’s always wanted a closer look but would never allow himself to be pulled from Sam’s side. But now—now—he can enjoy it. There is investigation and questioning to be done. If his neighbour is an alien from another planet, he needs to find out before anyone else.

Dean lets his bike fall on a patch of grass and walks slowly up to the fence. This is the closest he’s ever been to the neighbour, to those sparkling blue crystals. They’re almost too nice to look at.

The boy smiles and blinks slowly, with the sole purpose of drawing Dean closer and making him drop away his apprehension. Dean is thinking too hard. Castiel is making his mind run laps around everything. Why does he already know his name is Castiel? The boy hasn’t said a word. That in itself doesn’t make any sense.

“Hi, Dean.” Castiel beams, resting his arms on the fence below his chin. “Won’t you be my friend?”

“Okay,” Dean answers before he can even think about it.

This isn’t how it all went. This isn’t what happened between them, so what is all this?

Dean climbs up to the fence, peering at Castiel who is still happily barring his teeth. Castiel leans in, eyes wide and curious, pressing his pink lips to the corner of Dean’s mouth.

“Okay,” Castiel replies as well, moving away and bouncing off to his home. He turns before stepping inside and says, “See you tomorrow, Dean.”

Dean’s still up on the fence, confused and damp in the spot where Castiel’s lips touched skin, when his mother carries Sam out with him on her hip.

“Can you watch him for a while, Dean?” She asks softly, pointing to lemons and a pitcher of water on the counter she needs to tend to.

“Okay, mom,” Dean says, jumping down from the fence quickly. He picks up his bike and sits on it, looking over at Sam’s too-long hair, and his wide grin. This makes sense, this is normal. Castiel doesn’t belong in the picture.

Years have passed with Castiel in and out of Dean’s life, still smiling at him like he means the world, still stealing glances. And whenever Sam isn’t around, he holds Dean’s hand, pulls him into a dark corner and kisses him deeply. Dean doesn’t understand how at thirteen years old he already feels like he’s married, so he avoids thinking about it or asking.

And when Dean drops out of high school, Castiel is still by his side, petting his hair, consoling him, whispering into his ear when he can’t find peace of mind. Something isn’t right, something doesn’t fit. And then Castiel wraps the blanket around them and mutters ‘I love you’ as the lights go out, and Dean jerks upright in bed.

Dean looks around his bedroom; he can hear Sam snoring through the wall, but their home is otherwise empty. It was just a dream, nothing else, nothing more. He laughs softly before lying back down in bed for the rest of his sleep.

Figures he would have a dream like this about someone he can’t stand.

---

Something needs to be done if Sam ever wants to breathe easy when (if ever) Dean and Castiel have to be in the same place at the same time. Hopefully, they can find enough of their humanity not to rip each other’s throats out in public (that also includes the metaphorical way). That’s all Sam could ever wish for.

One day, when they are astonishingly in each other’s proximity, due to Sam of course, all they do is glare, and tsk at each other when they think Sam is at a safe distance. Maybe they could be civil after all. When Sam returns and Dean is rushing upstairs to his room, Castiel leans in and murmurs that Dean gives him paroxysmal attacks.

Sam laughs for so long Dean suspects it’s the end of the world and rushes back downstairs. Castiel grins, but doesn’t look at the older Winchester when he demands to partake of this amazing and, most likely, brainy joke.

It flows so smoothly between them that Sam wonders if he really needs to bother with his plan after all. Well, maybe as a precaution he should still try it out.

---

Sam spends the next few weeks staying longer at the library with Jess than he needs to. Dean and Castiel have to learn to get along, and if the only way for them to do that is by being forced together, then that’s what Sam will do.

Sam doesn’t want to have to sneak Castiel up to his room all the time, and he doesn’t want Castiel to feel like he has to tread carefully around Dean either. It should be comfortable; Sam intends to keep Castiel in his life for a long time – romantically linked or not.

The first time Sam comes back late, Castiel is grinning and Dean is storming up to his room and slamming the door. Sam spends an awful evening trying to coax Dean out of his room with burgers and fries, finally having to resort to apple pie to get him out.

The next time, Dean is the one grinning, and Castiel rushes into Sam’s arms for a desperate hug, as though he’s just been through WWII. Once Dean grumbles, Castiel pulls away and gives Sam a quick but messy kiss—including lip smacking sounds—and rushes out of the Winchester household smirking.

Somehow, Sam has a feeling things worsen once he gets back home because he always seems to arrive at the climax of their childish spats.

All of the following occasions don’t go much better than that, and Sam is fed up of playing the mediator to their quarrels. It’s almost like they’re fighting for Sam’s attention…No that couldn’t be right, they aren’t kids—

“Assbutt!” Castiel shouts as Sam is (once again) just arriving from the library.

—Okay, maybe they are.

Mission Make Dean and Castiel Get Along

Eventually, Sam can’t see them on separate days anymore because of schoolwork. If he intends to graduate this century, he has to see them (brace yourself) in the same place, at the same time. Just thinking about it is giving Sam a rash.

Small steps, Sam decides.

This leads them to supper together at a local restaurant, nothing fancy, but not a fast food chain either. They’re settled in with Castiel’s fingers laced with Sam’s underneath the table and Dean making a point of not having eye contact with Castiel. Everything seems to set them off lately.

Their food arrives—burger, steak, salad—and peace is still hanging on by a thread. Then Dean takes one of his huge, jaw-breaking bites into his burger and hums loudly (and a bit obnoxiously), and Castiel drops his fork on his plate with a clatter of metal on glass. He dabs the corner of his mouth with his napkin, and crosses his arms over his chest. He’s not looking at Dean, but not bothering to look at Sam either.

“I’m done,” Castiel says firmly, moving away when Sam tries to shift closer and grab Castiel’s hand.

“What do you mean? You only ate one bite,” Sam asks, brow furrowing.

Dean smirks, crunching on fries and looking far too pleased. “Maybe he’s on a diet.”

“I’ve lost my appetite,” Castiel says flatly, turning the words into a warning for both Winchesters to stop bothering him right this fucking instance.

“I thought you were starving. Isn’t that what you said—”

“How can I eat with an unabashed beast at our table, Sam?” Castiel interjects.

Sam’s eyes widen, and he looks away when Castiel’s face hardens to stone. Dean is still smiling, the prick, humming louder just to further infuriate Castiel. Castiel slaps a bill down on the table and announces ‘I will be outside’ without allowing Sam time to react.

---

Sam can’t remember the last time he’s been on a ride with Dean, and he doesn’t think Castiel has ever been on one—considering how his eyes glitter like diamonds when Sam hands him a map of the park. Dean’s first concern is to buy cotton candy, which Sam approves of, and Castiel seems to enjoy the sticky mess after careful deliberation, too.

They’re waiting in line with Dean in front of them—laughing at the screaming girls on the roller coaster—and when Dean turns to nudge Sam, he notices Sam’s fingers are laced with Castiel’s. Dean makes a weird grunting, rumbling sound and his smile fades instantly. Disgust is what it turns into, Sam is ashamed to admit, but it’s the same expression Castiel has whenever Dean eats like a monster.

Castiel smirks, leaning up to kiss Sam on the cheek and pet his hair softly. Dean pretends to gag and turns away, crossing his arms, much like Castiel had in the restaurant. Castiel presses another soft kiss to Sam’s cheek, and Dean reacts with another gagging sound, so Castiel does it again, provoking Dean’s same infantile reaction. Each time it’s the same; Castiel kisses Sam, Dean gags. Again. And again. It goes on until someone in line asks if Dean is actually sick, and Sam is glared at by parents who don’t approve of homosexual PDAs.

Can these two little boys not cooperate for Sam’s sake?

---

When all else fails—which it has—alcohol is surely the source to rely on for relationships that are in dire need of help. Dean likes drinking, and Castiel likes drinking (and dancing, oddly) so a club is the best of both worlds. And as an added bonus, Dean could hook up with a girl and be happy for the rest of the week (or longer if Dean grows the fuck up).

Sam is just beginning to enjoy the loose, extra-tactile Castiel rutting against him when he sees Jess from the corner of his eye. He hadn’t even known she’d be here or he would have introduced her to Dean and Castiel when they first arrived.

Then she’s covering her mouth, pushing through the club, and rushing towards the bathrooms in the back with no one chasing after her. Some friends she has. Sam tells Castiel that he has to go check on his friend, and Castiel just nods, continuing to sway along with the music. Dean can just ask Castiel if he wants to know where Sam has escaped to.

Dean is leaning his back against the bar, a good foot or two away from Castiel who is still surrounded by sweaty, pulsing bodies. Dean’s never been apt at dancing, never liked it either (most likely because of his lack of skill), but when young men and women start crowding around an oblivious Castiel, Dean has no choice but to intervene and act as a bodyguard in Sam’s place. If Castiel weren’t Sam’s boyfriend though, Dean would definitely let the wolves have him.

Castiel mumbles or hums something, and Dean is not keen on leaning in to listen to his brother’s boyfriend’s drunken ramblings, so he quickly nods in acknowledgment and keeps Castiel steady with a hand on his shoulder.

Not listening proves to be the wrong idea.

Dean is on the receiving end of the new-and-improved touchy Castiel, clinging to his waist, his arms, his shoulders, and getting remarkably closer by the second. Girls that would have, otherwise, offered Dean their number slowly creep away when they see this.

Cockblocked by his brother’s douchebag boyfriend, fantastic.

Dean tries to gently pry the fingers away, and, when that doesn’t work, he tilts Castiel’s head up so their gazes meet and he glares hard enough to induce blindness. Castiel just needs to recognize that Dean isn’t that lumberjack Sam and then he’ll stop, right?

Castiel’s eyes have to – obviously – be closed. His fingers start to edge under Dean’s shirt, but Dean squirms away, pulling the hands out almost to the point of inflicting pain (ahem). Castiel lurches, holding his stomach, and it doesn’t look like he’s faking it. Not a good sign.

Dean squeezes through the piles of humid, writhing bodies, and practically drags Castiel by his wrist. If Castiel’s going to throw up, he’s not going to do it on the dance-floor where he can accidentally barf on someone’s shoe and end up having to pay them afterward. Not that Dean cares, but Sam would probably never let Dean hear the end of it if he let it happen.

They make it to the bathroom and Castiel pushes Dean aside and lunges for the bathroom stall. Castiel manages to shut the door securely in spite of his current state. It’s quiet in the men’s room until there’s an odd splashing sound that Dean assumes is the contents of Castiel’s stomach. It stops, and then there’s just silence again. Dean leans against the stall, listening hard for sound and still not picking up anything.

“You okay in there?” Dean asks, turning to hear the response better. No answer. “Do you need help?” Still nothing.

Dean bangs on the door, repeating his question, and suddenly (finally) Castiel appears. His eyes aren’t open enough to see, and he trips over his pants barely pulled all the way up his hips, catching himself on the door.

Dean is thankful for Castiel having tucked his junk away at least, preventing Dean from further scarring. Just have to appreciate the little things.

Castiel takes a shaky step forward and trips over the cuff of his pant leg, falling against Dean—who was trying to keep him from doing just that—and they both tumble to the ground in a pile of awkward limbs and pure agony.

Dean winces as he rubs the back of his head, Castiel leans forward at the same time, and their lips touch. It’s brief, chaste, but it goes on long enough that Dean is already feeling stomach curling, lung-puncturing guilt about it. Castiel rolls off of Dean and promptly falls asleep.

On the bright side, only one of them would have to remember this.

But why does it have to be Dean?

-- Part 2 this way

Woe is me!

2012-10-03T18:18:34Z

I'm so sad; my artist for deancasbigbang disappeared. So now I have to wait for another. ;_;

Some fics I've written/updated lately.

2012-08-07T18:18:38Z

Teen Wolf:
1- ~~(First ever TW fic)~~ Sterek, Scott - Chunky Monkey - PG13, humour/crack, slash. (Complete)
Summary: Stiles and Scott are children. And Derek needs to stop being a creeper.
Part 1 & Part 2

2- Drabbles (s2ep09) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.
See links for ratings/pairings/summaries.

3- Stiles/Jackson - Empty - PG13, angst, h/c, pre-slash, AU - canon - (WIP)
Summary: Jackson isn't as big of an asshole as everyone thinks. He's actually pretty considerate if you know where he's coming from. Maybe Stiles knows where he's coming from.
Part 1 and Part 2

4- Stiles/Jackson - Different Forms, Similar Minds - PG, pre-slash, h/c, AU - canon. (Complete)
Summary: Stiles is the one the Kanima first lays its eyes on, not Matt. The outcome is much more positive (for everyone).

Avengers:
1- Chris/Chris/Tom - Infatuation - R, slash, RPF (Complete)
Summary: Hiddleston walks in on something unexpected.

2- Pre-serum!Steve/Loki - Follow Me - PG13, angst, pre-slash, AU - canon, h/c. (WIP - 3/5)
Summary: Steve's never been saved by anyone but Bucky before.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.

:DDD Always productive with things I shouldn't be, lol.

My laptop is mean.

2012-08-04T14:05:20Z

The part where I connect the external monitor is loose, so I have to shove tape and stuff in it so that the monitor will stay in. It's really hard to be active fanfiction-wise with that happening..lol.
I have a lot to write though, so I need to suck it up or find an alternative solution, don't I?

yeah...

That's all the update for now - OH!

Actually, I saw Total Recall yesterday. It was all right. I mean, I like action films, but I like them to have some substance. This, after seeing things like Spider-man and Dark Knight rises, really didn't have substance. Or maybe I was just really tired.

Anyway, how are things for you guys?

Well. pre-serum!Steve/Loki part 2 of 5

2012-07-17T20:53:28Z

Title: Follow Me
Author: trickylady
Fandom & Pairing/Characters: Avengers (movie 'verse) -- Loki/Steve pre-slash, some OMC who doesn't matter
Rating: PG for now
Word Count/Type: ~1.5k for this part // chaptered
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing Marvel related, thanks.
Warnings: Pre-slash. Spoilers for the Captain America film, mostly.
Summary: Steve's never been saved by anyone but Bucky before.
Chapter summary: They go on their meal together, Steve finds out what Loki can do, but not where he’s from or who he is. He just knows Loki's not from Earth. And one of Steve's wishes is granted.
A/N: Prompt from an anon on tumblr who said; "Steve first meets Loki in 1940s (or late 1930s), when he is not yet a Super Soldier, but just a kid from Brooklyn. Loki is interested in him." Un-betad! Sorry..

Part 1 here

Part 2: "Without letting his doubts, his insecurities have a say, Steve agrees. Loki’s smile brightens, and it’s just about the most beautiful thing Steve’s seen in a long time. And it’s shocking, really, to be able to think that about someone who isn’t even of this world."

Comments appreciated. And x-posted.

Duuuude.

2012-07-17T14:33:37Z

Major writer’s block over here. ~~Plus pain, but whatever.~~

I have to find a way to get my shit together because my pod-together(lj) is due on the 28. Eek.

Also, I have to update my pre-serum!Steve fic, and I have to add 8k to my fic for the big-big-bang challenge (lj), and I have other challenges as well. Like the Sassy minibang (lj). OH GOD.

WHAT IS PRODUCTIVITY?! ~~I should probably be writing instead of making this post…yeah?~~

3 more Avengers drabbles/ficlets. : D

2012-06-30T23:40:25Z

I put the pairings/ratings under the cut to spare your page. I'm nice like that. :)
Author: trickylady
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing Marvel related, thanks.

Title: Collide
Fandom & Pairing/Characters: Avengers (movie 'verse) -- Steve/Thor
Rating: PG
Word Count/Type: ~360 // drabble
Warnings: Slash and minor angst. Perhaps spoilers for the Avengers film.
Summary: Steve is capable of more than he believes; no-one has ever doubted him. Thor least of all.
A/N: So, two of my precious friends (midorihaven & kimberlelly) read this, and we all came to the onclusion that it wasn't up to par, so it was cut down. And now it is half of what it was BUT BETTER! Quality over quantity, right?

Title: Call Me a Doctor
Fandom & Pairing/Characters: Avengers (movie 'verse) -- Loki/Bruce, mention of Loki/Steve friendship
Rating: R
Word Count/Type: ~2k // oneshot, sequel.
Warnings: Slash. Possible spoilers for the Avengers/Marvel films.
Summary: Now that Loki knows he's welcome, he bothers Bruce all the time.
A/N: My view of characters can be quite different, so excuse any OOC-ness. This was beta'd by my very close friend midorihaven. Read the first part here: I'm a Goddamn Marvel of Modern Science. But not necessary if you're lazy. :)

Title: Follow Me
Fandom & Pairing/Characters: Avengers (movie 'verse) -- Loki/Steve pre-slash
Word Count/Type: ~1k // ficlet
Warnings: Pre-slash. Spoilers for the Captain America film, mostly.
Summary: Steve's never been saved by anyone but Bucky before.
A/N: Prompt from an anon on tumblr who said; "Steve first meets Loki in 1940s (or late 1930s), when he is not yet a Super Soldier, but just a kid from Brooklyn. Loki is interested in him." Somewhat beta'd, and short. I'm considering whether to write another part or not.

:D Enjoy