captain-roger-that

[captain-roger-that]

Steve let himself sink into it—the warmth of Bucky’s touch, the quiet weight of his words. For all the years they’d known each other, for all the fights, the scraped knuckles, the shared dreams pressed between Brooklyn tenements, nothing had ever felt quite like this. Bucky had always been the steady one, the one who could laugh in the face of a bad hand and make it look like he’d been dealt pocket aces. But here, now, there was no bluff. Just truth, raw and unguarded between them.

His fingers twitched against the small of Bucky’s back, barely there, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to hold on too tight. But he did—God, he did.

“That’s the thing, Buck,” he murmured against his lips, the words a quiet confession. “You always could.”

Protect and be here. Do good and still have something for himself. Maybe neither of them had believed it before—not really—but Steve could see it clear as day now. They didn’t have to let the war take everything.

Steve pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes, to let Bucky see the truth of it reflected back at him. His lips curled, just slightly, just enough. “And for the record, I’d probably handle a roller coaster just fine now,” he added, voice touched with something lighter. “Might have to test that theory when this is all over.”

If it was ever over. If they got that far.

His hand found Bucky’s, threading their fingers together against the quiet of the room. A promise, unspoken but understood. They were in this together. No matter what came next.

Steve let out a breath, slow and measured, like he was tasting the weight of the question before he answered. Bucky’s touch was steady against his ribs, a tether to something familiar, something real. He leaned into it without thinking, eyes slipping shut for a beat as if he could will away the cold, the war, the way the world kept demanding more from them than it had any right to.

“Dunno,” he admitted, voice just above a whisper. “Maybe… maybe just walk down the block without getting winded.” A huff of something that might’ve been a laugh, low and self-deprecating. “Take the stairs two at a time without feeling like I’m gonna keel over.”

It was a simple answer, maybe even a small one, but Bucky knew better. Knew how much Steve had fought against the weight of his own body, how he never let the ache in his chest or the weakness in his limbs stop him, even when it should have.

Steve swallowed, shifting just enough that their foreheads almost brushed, close enough to feel the warmth of Bucky’s breath. “What about you?” His voice softened, quieter now. “What’s the first thing you’re gonna do?”

Because Bucky had changed too. Maybe not in the same way, but it was there in the way his hands had steadied, in the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his presence felt even heavier than before, like he was carrying something Steve couldn’t quite name yet.

Maybe they both were.

[captain-roger-that]

@tinamericansoldier

Idk Peggy and Bucky could 100% share steve

[captain-roger-that]

@tinamericansoldier

Captain America: The First Avenger (2011)

[captain-roger-that]

Roger that.

@tinamericansoldier

Ok but can we talk about the tension in this scene??

Bucky already knew how Peggy and Steve felt about each other after getting back from Azzano, with the way they were looking at eachother with puppy dog eyes. But Steve was his friend? Why would he try to “swoop in and steal Peggy?” Bucky could get pretty much any girl he wanted. Why did he need to go and try to get with the one girl that Steve wanted?

He’d already set Steve up on dates before the war, but this is the first time a girl has actually shown interest in Steve. And Bucky doesn’t fucking like it.

He tried so fucking hard to peal her away from him, but every time she ignored him he seemed to get angrier and angrier. It was never about Peggy.

Look at how he’s looking at Steve. Steve is looking at Peggy with those hungry eyes and Bucky is so fucking jealous because he wants Steve to look at him like that.

But he’s looking at Peggy, and it’s not fucking fair. That was supposed to be him.

So he says he feels invisible. Because for the first time in his life Steve’s center of attention is on some other girl, not on him. And it feels like shit and he’s scared as hell.

and then after this scene Bucky gave him the most mouth watering toe curling back shots known to man. that’ll fuckin teach you how to dance, Rogers.

[captain-roger-that]

Steve let out a breath, slow and measured, like he was tasting the weight of the question before he answered. Bucky’s touch was steady against his ribs, a tether to something familiar, something real. He leaned into it without thinking, eyes slipping shut for a beat as if he could will away the cold, the war, the way the world kept demanding more from them than it had any right to.

“Dunno,” he admitted, voice just above a whisper. “Maybe… maybe just walk down the block without getting winded.” A huff of something that might’ve been a laugh, low and self-deprecating. “Take the stairs two at a time without feeling like I’m gonna keel over.”

It was a simple answer, maybe even a small one, but Bucky knew better. Knew how much Steve had fought against the weight of his own body, how he never let the ache in his chest or the weakness in his limbs stop him, even when it should have.

Steve swallowed, shifting just enough that their foreheads almost brushed, close enough to feel the warmth of Bucky’s breath. “What about you?” His voice softened, quieter now. “What’s the first thing you’re gonna do?”

Because Bucky had changed too. Maybe not in the same way, but it was there in the way his hands had steadied, in the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his presence felt even heavier than before, like he was carrying something Steve couldn’t quite name yet.

Maybe they both were.

Steve let out a slow breath, his chest rising and falling against Bucky’s hold. He didn’t try to pull away. Didn’t even tense further, though the words cut just as deep as he expected they would.

“I know,” he said, voice rough, quieter than Bucky’s but no less steady.

The cold gnawed at his fingers, at the sharp angles of his frame that no longer felt like his own, but Bucky’s warmth pressed in, grounding him. He could feel the anger simmering beneath it, the resentment curled in the space between them. It was deserved.

“I wasn’t gonna let you do it alone,” Steve admitted after a beat, his jaw tightening. “Didn’t mean I had the right to decide for you.”

That was the thing about Bucky—he had always known how to shoulder weight that wasn’t his. Had done it for Steve more times than either of them cared to count. But this? This was different. This wasn’t a schoolyard fight or a battlefield brawl. This was changing who they were, down to the marrow.

He exhaled again, slower this time. Let his fingers curl just slightly at Bucky’s sides, an unspoken truce, an apology he wasn’t sure how to voice yet.

“But I don’t regret it.” His voice was steady now, firm in a way that left no room for doubt. His chin lifted just enough for his forehead to brush Bucky’s. “Not if it means we go through this together.”

[captain-roger-that]

Steve let out a slow breath, his chest rising and falling against Bucky’s hold. He didn’t try to pull away. Didn’t even tense further, though the words cut just as deep as he expected they would.

“I know,” he said, voice rough, quieter than Bucky’s but no less steady.

The cold gnawed at his fingers, at the sharp angles of his frame that no longer felt like his own, but Bucky’s warmth pressed in, grounding him. He could feel the anger simmering beneath it, the resentment curled in the space between them. It was deserved.

“I wasn’t gonna let you do it alone,” Steve admitted after a beat, his jaw tightening. “Didn’t mean I had the right to decide for you.”

That was the thing about Bucky—he had always known how to shoulder weight that wasn’t his. Had done it for Steve more times than either of them cared to count. But this? This was different. This wasn’t a schoolyard fight or a battlefield brawl. This was changing who they were, down to the marrow.

He exhaled again, slower this time. Let his fingers curl just slightly at Bucky’s sides, an unspoken truce, an apology he wasn’t sure how to voice yet.

“But I don’t regret it.” His voice was steady now, firm in a way that left no room for doubt. His chin lifted just enough for his forehead to brush Bucky’s. “Not if it means we go through this together.”

@captain-roger-that

The room was cold, but not nearly as cold as the anger still simmering in his chest. He knew Steve too well—knew the way his jaw tightened, the slight tremor in his fingers when the chill crept in. The army base walls did little to keep out the bite of winter, but that wasn’t what made Bucky pull him close.

The candlelight flicker of courage—that rare, fleeting thing—burned hot enough in his ribs that he let himself do it. One strong arm, then the other, wrapping around Steve’s lean frame, his grip firm, possessive, drawing him in until their bodies shared what little heat there was. His breath ghosted against Steve’s temple, warm despite the weight in his voice.

"I’m still mad at you."

His tone was quiet, but there was no mistaking the steel beneath it. His broad shoulders stayed squared, tense, even as his fingers flexed slightly against the fabric of Steve’s uniform. The heat between them wasn’t just body warmth—it was something unspoken, something heavier than the serum in their veins.

Bucky had followed him. Of course he had. Through the same grueling tests, the same burning needles, the same long nights where their bodies ached with the weight of becoming something more. He was a candidate, just like Steve. Apparently, fate had deemed him just as worthy.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t angry. It didn’t mean he was ready to let go of the way his gut had twisted when Steve made the choice for both of them.

[captain-roger-that]

Steve didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

For a moment, the world narrowed to the weight of Howard’s hand against his chest, to the words still echoing in his ears. Someone’s bringing Barnes back to America.

Bucky. Home.

His pulse slammed against his ribs, sharp and insistent, but his body remained locked in place—stuck somewhere between hope and the kind of fear that stole the air right out of his lungs.

Because what if—

Steve swallowed hard. His throat was dry despite the heat, despite the water streaming over both of them. Slowly, carefully, like he wasn’t sure the ground beneath him was real, he lifted his gaze to Howard’s.

“You—” His voice cracked, just a little. He tried again. Stronger this time. “You sent for him?”

Howard didn’t look away. No smirk, no glib remark. Just a steady, unwavering nod.

And that was it. That was all Steve needed.

His breath left him in a sharp exhale, something between a laugh and a broken prayer, and before he could stop himself, his hands were gripping Howard’s shoulders, fingers pressing deep into muscle. Holding on like he might fall if he didn’t.

He wasn’t sure if he was about to shake him or—

He didn’t finish the thought. Didn’t need to. Because the next thing he knew, he was moving—closing that last inch between them, crashing his mouth against Howard’s in something desperate, something raw.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was everything.

Every ounce of gratitude he didn’t know how to say. Every sleepless night spent picturing Bucky lost behind enemy lines. Every damn prayer he’d whispered into the dark, hoping someone—anyone—was listening.

Howard had listened.

And Steve—

Steve kissed him like he could pour every ounce of himself into it, like he could rewrite history with the sheer force of it

—like he could take back every moment of helplessness, every second spent wondering if Bucky was still breathing, still fighting, still himself.

Like he could turn back time to the alleyways of Brooklyn, to scraped knuckles and shared laughter, to a world where war hadn’t taken everything from them.

His hands were firm, gripping Howard like an anchor, like he was afraid to let go, like if he did, the weight of it all might pull him under. The heat between them was suffocating, but Steve leaned into it, let it consume him. He kissed with the kind of desperation that came from knowing what it was to lose, from knowing how fragile hope could be.

And Howard—Howard took it. Matched it. Met Steve’s fire with something just as intense, just as undeniable. He didn’t pull away, didn’t soften it, didn’t try to slow him down. He let Steve have this, let him pour out everything tangled in his chest—fear, relief, longing, frustration, need.

When Steve finally broke away, his breath came hard and fast, chest heaving, lips kiss-bruised and flushed. His forehead rested against Howard’s, eyes shut tight as he tried to process the whirlwind of emotions clawing at his ribs.

"You really—" He exhaled sharply, voice rough with something dangerously close to hope. "You really think we can bring him back?"

Steve stilled.

Not all at once, not like a man struck down, but in increments—his fingers halting their slow drag over Howard’s ribs, his breath catching just enough to betray him. The warmth of the shower, the slick press of their bodies, the lazy indulgence of the moment—it all faded, washed away by the weight of that name.

Barnes.

He swallowed, throat tight, and for a second, the steam curling around them felt suffocating.

Of course, he’d known. The war had already taken so much, and men like Bucky—strong, loyal, disposable in the eyes of those playing god with syringes and formulas—were exactly the kind they’d go sniffing after. The kind they’d mold into something unrecognizable, consequences be damned.

His jaw clenched, tension creeping back into the broad lines of his shoulders. “And did you tell him?” His voice came quieter, rougher now, something barely restrained curling beneath the words. “Did you tell him he was on a damn list? So maybe he'd be here, get a chance? Like I did? Instead of...”

The weight of it settled between them, thick as the humidity in the air.

Steve wasn’t naïve. He knew how things worked. He knew the government wasn’t done with the serum, that there would always be another name, another candidate, another body to shape into a weapon.

But Bucky? It had to be a sick joke. Even after being sent away, they were wishing...to put him through it again, just like him.

His fingers flexed against Howard’s sides before he forced himself to loosen his grip. The heat from before had shifted, twisted into something else entirely—a different kind of fire, one that had nothing to do with the hands ghosting over his skin or the teasing smirk lingering on Howard’s lips.

His gaze locked onto Howard’s, unflinching. “You don’t get to joke about this,” he said, quiet but firm, steel threaded through every syllable. “Not with me.”

[captain-roger-that]

Steve stilled.

Not all at once, not like a man struck down, but in increments—his fingers halting their slow drag over Howard’s ribs, his breath catching just enough to betray him. The warmth of the shower, the slick press of their bodies, the lazy indulgence of the moment—it all faded, washed away by the weight of that name.

Barnes.

He swallowed, throat tight, and for a second, the steam curling around them felt suffocating.

Of course, he’d known. The war had already taken so much, and men like Bucky—strong, loyal, disposable in the eyes of those playing god with syringes and formulas—were exactly the kind they’d go sniffing after. The kind they’d mold into something unrecognizable, consequences be damned.

His jaw clenched, tension creeping back into the broad lines of his shoulders. “And did you tell him?” His voice came quieter, rougher now, something barely restrained curling beneath the words. “Did you tell him he was on a damn list? So maybe he'd be here, get a chance? Like I did? Instead of...”

The weight of it settled between them, thick as the humidity in the air.

Steve wasn’t naïve. He knew how things worked. He knew the government wasn’t done with the serum, that there would always be another name, another candidate, another body to shape into a weapon.

But Bucky? It had to be a sick joke. Even after being sent away, they were wishing...to put him through it again, just like him.

His fingers flexed against Howard’s sides before he forced himself to loosen his grip. The heat from before had shifted, twisted into something else entirely—a different kind of fire, one that had nothing to do with the hands ghosting over his skin or the teasing smirk lingering on Howard’s lips.

His gaze locked onto Howard’s, unflinching. “You don’t get to joke about this,” he said, quiet but firm, steel threaded through every syllable. “Not with me.”

Steve huffed a laugh, something quiet and breathless, shaking his head as if he could somehow clear the heat curling low in his stomach. Howard Stark and his damn mouth—always running, always teasing, always knowing just how to get under his skin.

And yet, Steve didn’t pull away.

Didn’t flinch when Howard’s hands mapped him out like something worth memorizing. Didn’t step back when dark eyes dragged over him, drinking him in with that sharp, indulgent appreciation.

Instead, Steve let himself stay.

Let himself feel.

“You talk too much,” he muttered, voice rough, strained from something more than just the heat of the water. His fingers curled against Howard’s ribs, thumbs pressing into damp skin, grounding himself in the solid warmth beneath his hands.

His head dipped, lips brushing over the corner of Howard’s mouth—chaste for a heartbeat, a moment of restraint—before he shifted, pressing a firmer kiss against the sharp edge of his jaw, trailing lower, teeth grazing against stubble-rough skin.

Howard had a way of making things sound easy. Casual. Like what they were doing wasn’t something that could ruin them both if the wrong pair of eyes ever found out.

But Steve knew better.

Knew that the world outside this room, outside this moment, wouldn’t look kindly on them.

Knew that no matter how much Howard teased, how much he flirted, how much he tried to smooth things over with clever words and quick hands, there was a truth neither of them could escape.

“This,” Steve breathed against Howard’s throat, voice quieter now, something raw bleeding into the words. “You know this doesn’t last, right?” His grip tightened, fingers pressing firm against slick skin, like he could hold onto something that was already slipping between his fingers. “Not outside these walls.”

And yet, despite the weight of it, despite everything he knew—Steve still couldn’t let go. Steve needed this just as much as it was wrong. But then, why was he afraid to...love? Why would it be wrong if it felt...good?

[captain-roger-that]

Steve huffed a laugh, something quiet and breathless, shaking his head as if he could somehow clear the heat curling low in his stomach. Howard Stark and his damn mouth—always running, always teasing, always knowing just how to get under his skin.

And yet, Steve didn’t pull away.

Didn’t flinch when Howard’s hands mapped him out like something worth memorizing. Didn’t step back when dark eyes dragged over him, drinking him in with that sharp, indulgent appreciation.

Instead, Steve let himself stay.

Let himself feel.

“You talk too much,” he muttered, voice rough, strained from something more than just the heat of the water. His fingers curled against Howard’s ribs, thumbs pressing into damp skin, grounding himself in the solid warmth beneath his hands.

His head dipped, lips brushing over the corner of Howard’s mouth—chaste for a heartbeat, a moment of restraint—before he shifted, pressing a firmer kiss against the sharp edge of his jaw, trailing lower, teeth grazing against stubble-rough skin.

Howard had a way of making things sound easy. Casual. Like what they were doing wasn’t something that could ruin them both if the wrong pair of eyes ever found out.

But Steve knew better.

Knew that the world outside this room, outside this moment, wouldn’t look kindly on them.

Knew that no matter how much Howard teased, how much he flirted, how much he tried to smooth things over with clever words and quick hands, there was a truth neither of them could escape.

“This,” Steve breathed against Howard’s throat, voice quieter now, something raw bleeding into the words. “You know this doesn’t last, right?” His grip tightened, fingers pressing firm against slick skin, like he could hold onto something that was already slipping between his fingers. “Not outside these walls.”

And yet, despite the weight of it, despite everything he knew—Steve still couldn’t let go. Steve needed this just as much as it was wrong. But then, why was he afraid to...love? Why would it be wrong if it felt...good?

Steve didn’t flinch when Howard touched him—not this time. Maybe he should have. Maybe the part of him that still carried the weight of back alleys and whispered names should have recoiled, should have reminded him that nothing about this was safe.

But here, under the cover of steam and the roar of water, safety felt like a thing he could ignore.

His breath hitched as Howard tilted his chin, as sharp brown eyes pinned him in place, seeing too much. Steve had spent his whole life being overlooked, underestimated, treated like glass or trouble or both. But Howard—Howard saw him like he was something worth holding onto. Something worth keeping.

His jaw tensed, but he didn’t pull away. Not when calloused fingers mapped his back, not when they skimmed lower, not even when Howard’s body pressed into his, heat rolling between them like a fire neither of them had the sense to put out.

It was too much. It wasn’t enough.

Howard’s words scraped against something raw inside him, something Steve had spent too long trying to bury beneath duty, beneath expectation, beneath what the world told him he had to be. His hands clenched at his sides, like he wanted to push, to fight, to prove that he didn’t need this—didn’t need him.

But then Howard kissed him.

And Steve broke.

His grip snapped up, fingers fisting gentle, soft as ever, in damp curls, dragging Howard in harder, closer. There was nothing careful about it—no hesitation, no restraint, just want, free and reckless. His teeth scraped, his lips pressed firm, his body reacting before his mind could remind him of all the reasons this was a bad idea.

Because he did need someone.

And God help him, maybe it really was Howard Stark.

[captain-roger-that]

Steve didn’t flinch when Howard touched him—not this time. Maybe he should have. Maybe the part of him that still carried the weight of back alleys and whispered names should have recoiled, should have reminded him that nothing about this was safe.

But here, under the cover of steam and the roar of water, safety felt like a thing he could ignore.

His breath hitched as Howard tilted his chin, as sharp brown eyes pinned him in place, seeing too much. Steve had spent his whole life being overlooked, underestimated, treated like glass or trouble or both. But Howard—Howard saw him like he was something worth holding onto. Something worth keeping.

His jaw tensed, but he didn’t pull away. Not when calloused fingers mapped his back, not when they skimmed lower, not even when Howard’s body pressed into his, heat rolling between them like a fire neither of them had the sense to put out.

It was too much. It wasn’t enough.

Howard’s words scraped against something raw inside him, something Steve had spent too long trying to bury beneath duty, beneath expectation, beneath what the world told him he had to be. His hands clenched at his sides, like he wanted to push, to fight, to prove that he didn’t need this—didn’t need him.

But then Howard kissed him.

And Steve broke.

His grip snapped up, fingers fisting gentle, soft as ever, in damp curls, dragging Howard in harder, closer. There was nothing careful about it—no hesitation, no restraint, just want, free and reckless. His teeth scraped, his lips pressed firm, his body reacting before his mind could remind him of all the reasons this was a bad idea.

Because he did need someone.

And God help him, maybe it really was Howard Stark.

The exquisite heat of Steve’s body wrapped around him, a velvet vice that squeezed and trembled with every punishing thrust of his cock. It was intoxicating, divine—better than the finest bourbon slipping down his throat, richer than the smoothest jazz crooning through a smoke-filled lounge.

His breath was hot against Steve’s skin as he pressed his face to the broad expanse of his chest, nuzzling against muscle, inhaling the scent of sweat and want. He grinned—cocky, rakish, the kind of smile that could win wars and break hearts—before dragging his lips along Steve’s jaw, tracing the sharp cut of it with an affection that belied the brutal pace of his hips.

His free hand was wrapped around Steve’s cock, stroking him with the same ruthless efficiency, a practiced touch that had the blond arching, gasping, surrendering. By now, Rogers didn’t care for delicacy, didn’t need it—he just needed more.

Howard felt it, the way Steve’s balls tightened, the desperate clench of his body pulling him deeper. Then, all at once, the dam broke. A hot rush of release spilled between them, ropes of it painting Steve’s stomach as Howard drove himself home, burying his seed so deep inside, he might as well have stamped his name on the man.

With a satisfied hum, he let himself collapse onto the supersoldier, their sweat-slicked bodies fitting together like a blueprint finally brought to life. He chuckled, breathless but still self-assured, because he knew—no matter what happened next—Steve Rogers would never be able to take this out of him.

[captain-roger-that]

Steve stood beneath the spray, eyes half-lidded as the warm water sluiced over his skin, washing away the sweat, the tension—the evidence. His muscles still ached, a slow, dull throb settling into the places Howard’s hands had mapped out earlier. He should have been thinking about what this meant, about how dangerous it was, but it was hard to do anything but breathe.

His head tipped forward slightly as fingers worked through his hair, firm and deliberate, the slow pressure sending something unsteady curling low in his stomach. It wasn’t fair—how easy this was for Howard. How he moved through moments like these with the same cocksure ease he brought to war meetings and blueprints, like the world would never dare question him.

Steve, on the other hand, felt the weight of it like lead in his chest.

Still, he let himself lean into the touch, just for a second, before exhaling sharply, eyes flickering open. “You make it sound like you’re doing the world a favor,” he muttered, voice rough, the heat in the air doing nothing to steady him.

The water dripped from his lashes as he turned, facing Howard fully now, watching him with something unreadable, something torn between exhaustion and quiet defiance. “And maybe you are,” he allowed, jaw tightening as he searched for the words, as if they would make sense of the tangled mess in his head. “But let’s not pretend this isn’t just as much about keeping me under your roof as it is about keeping me on my feet.”

His voice was quieter now, edged with something he wasn’t sure he wanted to name. He knew how this worked. Knew the war effort needed faces, stories, symbols. Knew that keeping him here, polished and presentable, kept morale high. But that wasn’t what had him hesitating.

Because as much as he wanted to tell himself this was all about war bonds and strategy, he knew better.

Steve swallowed, tilting his chin slightly, watching the way the water beaded and rolled down Howard’s skin. His fingers twitched at his sides. Stupid. Reckless. But he didn’t pull back.

“I don’t need you looking out for me,” he said finally, but the words lacked bite. They sounded hollow even to his own ears.

And the worst part? He wasn’t sure he believed them.

The exquisite heat of Steve’s body wrapped around him, a velvet vice that squeezed and trembled with every punishing thrust of his cock. It was intoxicating, divine—better than the finest bourbon slipping down his throat, richer than the smoothest jazz crooning through a smoke-filled lounge.

His breath was hot against Steve’s skin as he pressed his face to the broad expanse of his chest, nuzzling against muscle, inhaling the scent of sweat and want. He grinned—cocky, rakish, the kind of smile that could win wars and break hearts—before dragging his lips along Steve’s jaw, tracing the sharp cut of it with an affection that belied the brutal pace of his hips.

His free hand was wrapped around Steve’s cock, stroking him with the same ruthless efficiency, a practiced touch that had the blond arching, gasping, surrendering. By now, Rogers didn’t care for delicacy, didn’t need it—he just needed more.

Howard felt it, the way Steve’s balls tightened, the desperate clench of his body pulling him deeper. Then, all at once, the dam broke. A hot rush of release spilled between them, ropes of it painting Steve’s stomach as Howard drove himself home, burying his seed so deep inside, he might as well have stamped his name on the man.

With a satisfied hum, he let himself collapse onto the supersoldier, their sweat-slicked bodies fitting together like a blueprint finally brought to life. He chuckled, breathless but still self-assured, because he knew—no matter what happened next—Steve Rogers would never be able to take this out of him.

[captain-roger-that]

Steve let out a sharp breath, somewhere between exasperation and reluctant amusement, his body still thrumming with the aftershocks of what they’d done. Howard was insufferable. And warm. And everywhere.

His face burned at the audacity of that smack—Howard Stark, goddamn menace—but he didn’t move away. He couldn’t. Not when the sheets still smelled like both of them, not when the world outside felt so damn far away, and this moment—this impossible, reckless, dangerous moment—felt real.

“You’re impossible,” Steve muttered, voice still rough, still wrecked. He didn’t need to look to know Howard was grinning like he’d won something. And maybe he had. Maybe they both had.

Steve dragged a hand over his face before turning his head, meeting that sharp, knowing gaze with something quieter, something careful. “You really think keeping me here fixes anything?” He didn’t ask it to be cruel. He just needed to hear the answer. Needed to know Howard wasn’t just saying things because he liked the sound of his own voice.

Because the world didn’t bend for men like them. It crushed them under its weight.

It would be easy to argue, to deflect, to tell Howard that wasn’t how this worked—that if either of them should be afraid of not being enough, it should be Steve, the guy who still felt like the world barely let him exist before the serum, before the war, before all of it.

But Steve didn’t say any of that. Instead, he shifted, stretching out beside him, letting his knuckles brush against Howard’s wrist. A small thing. An offering.

The exquisite heat of Steve’s body wrapped around him, a velvet vice that squeezed and trembled with every punishing thrust of his cock. It was intoxicating, divine—better than the finest bourbon slipping down his throat, richer than the smoothest jazz crooning through a smoke-filled lounge.

His breath was hot against Steve’s skin as he pressed his face to the broad expanse of his chest, nuzzling against muscle, inhaling the scent of sweat and want. He grinned—cocky, rakish, the kind of smile that could win wars and break hearts—before dragging his lips along Steve’s jaw, tracing the sharp cut of it with an affection that belied the brutal pace of his hips.

His free hand was wrapped around Steve’s cock, stroking him with the same ruthless efficiency, a practiced touch that had the blond arching, gasping, surrendering. By now, Rogers didn’t care for delicacy, didn’t need it—he just needed more.

Howard felt it, the way Steve’s balls tightened, the desperate clench of his body pulling him deeper. Then, all at once, the dam broke. A hot rush of release spilled between them, ropes of it painting Steve’s stomach as Howard drove himself home, burying his seed so deep inside, he might as well have stamped his name on the man.

With a satisfied hum, he let himself collapse onto the supersoldier, their sweat-slicked bodies fitting together like a blueprint finally brought to life. He chuckled, breathless but still self-assured, because he knew—no matter what happened next—Steve Rogers would never be able to take this out of him.

[captain-roger-that]

Steve pinkened, the heat simmering down. He let out a slow breath, the kind that felt stolen, like something sacred and dangerous all at once. The air in the room was thick with warmth, the remnants of what they’d just done clinging to the sheets, to their skin, to the quiet between them. His heart was still racing—not from exertion, not anymore, but from something deeper, something harder to name.

He stared up at the ceiling, willing his pulse to slow, willing himself to believe that this moment could be real, that it wasn’t just something he’d have to bury when the morning came. The truth sat heavy in his chest, just beneath the sweat and the lingering shiver where Howard’s hands had been. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to be allowed.

Steve swallowed, turning his head just slightly, just enough to catch the shape of Howard in the dim light. His dark curls were a mess, his lips still swollen with the ghost of a smirk, but his eyes—his eyes were softer now, holding something Steve couldn’t let himself name.

He let out a rough, breathless chuckle, shaking his head. “Once you go Stark, you never come back, huh?” His voice was hoarse, quieter than he meant it to be, like if he spoke too loud, the walls themselves might betray them.

He shifted, rolling onto his side, careful, always careful. Even now, with Howard’s warmth still wrapped around him, with the imprint of him still pressed into Steve’s skin, there was that ever-present awareness—of the world outside, of the rules they’d broken just by being here like this, tangled up together in the dark.

Steve dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “You got a hell of a way of making a guy feel like he doesn’t have a choice,” he muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching up, though there was no real fight behind it. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Howard hadn’t moved much, but Steve could feel him watching, feel the weight of his gaze. It sent something hot curling in his stomach—pride, fear, longing. He didn’t know. Maybe all of it at once.

He let the silence stretch between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Outside, the city still moved, still hummed with life, oblivious to the quiet rebellion playing out behind these walls. The knowledge sat thick in Steve’s throat, a reminder that come morning, they’d have to be careful. They’d have to be smart.

He swallowed hard and sighed. “Maybe it’s not the worst thing,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost lost to the space between them. “Having someone who wants to stick around.”

It was the closest he’d get to saying the truth out loud.

For a long moment, he just laid there, watching the way the faint light caught the curve of Howard’s jaw, the lazy confidence in his posture. Steve should have moved, should have done something, should have said something safer, something practical.

But instead, he smirked faintly, letting himself have this, just for now. “Fine,” he muttered. “But if this is some Stark-brand trap, I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’ later.” He let the moment linger before adding, lower, teasing but not insincere, “Now, about that shower. I’ve had worse ideas.”

Because maybe, just maybe, if they stayed in the dark a little longer, they wouldn’t have to think about what waited outside it.

The exquisite heat of Steve’s body wrapped around him, a velvet vice that squeezed and trembled with every punishing thrust of his cock. It was intoxicating, divine—better than the finest bourbon slipping down his throat, richer than the smoothest jazz crooning through a smoke-filled lounge.

His breath was hot against Steve’s skin as he pressed his face to the broad expanse of his chest, nuzzling against muscle, inhaling the scent of sweat and want. He grinned—cocky, rakish, the kind of smile that could win wars and break hearts—before dragging his lips along Steve’s jaw, tracing the sharp cut of it with an affection that belied the brutal pace of his hips.

His free hand was wrapped around Steve’s cock, stroking him with the same ruthless efficiency, a practiced touch that had the blond arching, gasping, surrendering. By now, Rogers didn’t care for delicacy, didn’t need it—he just needed more.

Howard felt it, the way Steve’s balls tightened, the desperate clench of his body pulling him deeper. Then, all at once, the dam broke. A hot rush of release spilled between them, ropes of it painting Steve’s stomach as Howard drove himself home, burying his seed so deep inside, he might as well have stamped his name on the man.

With a satisfied hum, he let himself collapse onto the supersoldier, their sweat-slicked bodies fitting together like a blueprint finally brought to life. He chuckled, breathless but still self-assured, because he knew—no matter what happened next—Steve Rogers would never be able to take this out of him.

[captain-roger-that]

And still, the tension lingered, his lips parted and pulled by a force that wasn't even really there, his gaze lowered to Howard's lips, unable to ask for it, still, needy gasps leaving his mouth all the same, legs shivering violently as looked back at him with hazy eyes, and his head spinning, feeling his depth fill with his essence.

Please...

He croaked a whisper, his chest thrumming with his heart, driven like a cardiac acceleration.

He needed it, wanting to taste it. How would the lips, those that strayed with smoke, those that tasted the finest liquor, those that smooth-talked their way in and out of so many things...

And oh, how pathetic. He couldn't even ask for it.

He was moaning like a wench in her newest bed, his head thrown back in a casual lull, the heat in his gut writhing to snap the knot that keeps tightening with each thrust. Each touch was calculated, almost as if tailor made to make him find that little release when the thread snaps.

His skin rippling with each thrust, his lips parted where little whines followed into climaxing squeals. Steve was oh, how unaware he could make such sounds.

"fuck, fuck, fuck...oh, close...close..."

He pleaded in his ear in a drawled whisper, his fingers entwining Howard's to keep himself grounded. He couldn't feel himself below his thighs but that was another thing entirely.

"Please, Mister Stark, let your..hngh...golden boy...let go...please...he wants...your cum inside..."

He manages in a shaky voice, punctuated with slow, gasping breaths, head spinning from the heaviness, oh, he wanted. Wanted Howard's kiss again. Wanted Howard again.

There was a certain pull between, he could place his lips against Howard's. But he wasn't sure what they were. Wasn't sure what this was. Or if he was allowed to kiss.

So, he yearned through the threads of the space between, feeling his hips stutter in rhythm.

[captain-roger-that]

Steve was writhing, clenching around him like a vice, clawing at his back, feeling the inches of his sweat-slicked muscle under his nails, as he whined hoarsely, brows creased and eyes closed...

Yes, yes, yes...

He grunted, his tone breathy, chest heaving with his heart racing inside, as much as he'd thought that he wouldn't let it get to his head, he couldn't comprehend a word...

Permission to let go was only driving him, and oh, in this moment, he'd want to risk it...

Inside...inside...

He breathed, eyes opening to find his darkened ones, pleading, turned into doe ones that even Bucky, in their time together, couldn't refuse...

He was moaning like a wench in her newest bed, his head thrown back in a casual lull, the heat in his gut writhing to snap the knot that keeps tightening with each thrust. Each touch was calculated, almost as if tailor made to make him find that little release when the thread snaps.

His skin rippling with each thrust, his lips parted where little whines followed into climaxing squeals. Steve was oh, how unaware he could make such sounds.

"fuck, fuck, fuck...oh, close...close..."

He pleaded in his ear in a drawled whisper, his fingers entwining Howard's to keep himself grounded. He couldn't feel himself below his thighs but that was another thing entirely.

"Please, Mister Stark, let your..hngh...golden boy...let go...please...he wants...your cum inside..."

He manages in a shaky voice, punctuated with slow, gasping breaths, head spinning from the heaviness, oh, he wanted. Wanted Howard's kiss again. Wanted Howard again.

There was a certain pull between, he could place his lips against Howard's. But he wasn't sure what they were. Wasn't sure what this was. Or if he was allowed to kiss.

So, he yearned through the threads of the space between, feeling his hips stutter in rhythm.

[captain-roger-that]

He was moaning like a wench in her newest bed, his head thrown back in a casual lull, the heat in his gut writhing to snap the knot that keeps tightening with each thrust. Each touch was calculated, almost as if tailor made to make him find that little release when the thread snaps.

His skin rippling with each thrust, his lips parted where little whines followed into climaxing squeals. Steve was oh, how unaware he could make such sounds.

"fuck, fuck, fuck...oh, close...close..."

He pleaded in his ear in a drawled whisper, his fingers entwining Howard's to keep himself grounded. He couldn't feel himself below his thighs but that was another thing entirely.

"Please, Mister Stark, let your..hngh...golden boy...let go...please...he wants...your cum inside..."

He manages in a shaky voice, punctuated with slow, gasping breaths, head spinning from the heaviness, oh, he wanted. Wanted Howard's kiss again. Wanted Howard again.

There was a certain pull between, he could place his lips against Howard's. But he wasn't sure what they were. Wasn't sure what this was. Or if he was allowed to kiss.

So, he yearned through the threads of the space between, feeling his hips stutter in rhythm.

He was frenzied, loosing his senses all over again, as first his fingers, and then his tip slid in with a hard stretch stretch, pulling a creamy, trugged whine through his throat, eyes rolling back in the sheer feeling of the opening he's become.

"...Oh, please, please don't stop, please..."

He rasped, hitching with every thrust, the muscle of his toned rear rippling with each little movement.

"...Mister Stark..."

He said, alluring. Intentional. Drawing him in.

"Please...please, don't stop...please..."

He begged with a hazy, cockdrunk haze, as his oral-fixation made it hard to relax his facial muscle.

Crying out quiet whimpers with each thrust, his albeit bigger arm reached to pull Howard in to lean over himself, needing to feel his breath closer, chests heaving against each other's, foreheads resting against each other's, his eyes stayed open, holding Howard's gaze with that crinkle between his own brows that said he needed more. Steve needed this.

The new angle hit sent Steve's head lolling back, mouth parting to let out a string of curses, unusual for a man that watched his language at all times.

"Please...please, oh, please...more, a little more.."

[captain-roger-that]

He was frenzied, loosing his senses all over again, as first his fingers, and then his tip slid in with a hard stretch stretch, pulling a creamy, trugged whine through his throat, eyes rolling back in the sheer feeling of the opening he's become.

"...Oh, please, please don't stop, please..."

He rasped, hitching with every thrust, the muscle of his toned rear rippling with each little movement.

"...Mister Stark..."

He said, alluring. Intentional. Drawing him in.

"Please...please, don't stop...please..."

He begged with a hazy, cockdrunk haze, as his oral-fixation made it hard to relax his facial muscle.

Crying out quiet whimpers with each thrust, his albeit bigger arm reached to pull Howard in to lean over himself, needing to feel his breath closer, chests heaving against each other's, foreheads resting against each other's, his eyes stayed open, holding Howard's gaze with that crinkle between his own brows that said he needed more. Steve needed this.

The new angle hit sent Steve's head lolling back, mouth parting to let out a string of curses, unusual for a man that watched his language at all times.

"Please...please, oh, please...more, a little more.."

The slight warmth and stick of his fingers swirled around the rim, causing him to let out a shivering gasp...

Please, don't...delay me...please...

He breathed, opening his eyes to plead with them, lost into his darkened ones, breath hitching with every press and touch of his fingers...

He breathed out through parted lips...

You feel...good...Mister Stark...

He whispered, head lolling back from the loss of his fingers in a gentle whine...