#im supposed to yell at him and hide in my room and be grumpy

[piracyandpumpturns]

why do i fucking say yes to everything

[ethvn-torchio]

Walls Could Talk | Chapter One

a/n: aaaaah!!! guys im just 🥺🥺🥺 i really love this fic so far and i hope yall do too skdjfkjg

Summary:  The year is 1949. Peggy Carter and Steve Rogers are on the trail of HYDRA and Bucky Barnes - and end up unraveling a dark conspiracy along the way...

Warnings: Violence, sexual references

Wordcount: 2.8k (unedited)

AO3 | next chapter

ᴏᴄᴛ 𝟸𝟾, 𝟷𝟿𝟺𝟿

ᴏxғᴏʀᴅ, ᴇɴɢʟᴀɴᴅ

Music blared loudly as people danced drunkenly. 

Events like this were perfect, nonetheless, when people were intoxicated and loose tongues during such an event were rampant. 

This just so happened to be the reason why Steve and Peggy were at this particular party - in pursuit of leads on Hydra and the whereabouts of Bucky Barnes.

They arrived a bit late to the party, as it had gotten going. They were able to slip in virtually unnoticed; the outfits they wore made them relatively anonymous, easily blending in with everyone else as they threaded their way through the crowds.

“I’m going to get a cocktail,” Peggy announces. She leans in to whisper in Steve’s ear. “I think I've spotted our target. Keep an eye on that man over at that table on the far left corner. He may be the one we’re looking for. Don’t let him leave.” she leans away, her voice returning to its normal volume. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“A rum and coke, if they have it. Don’t worry about me if they don’t,” Steve responds, his eyes trained on what could potentially be their only lead in weeks.

Converse to the jovial attitude of the room, their target seems to be a bit on edge, glancing around the room anxiously every once and a while. Thankfully, it seems he hasn’t noticed (or simply didn’t know who they were) Steve or Peggy yet.

That was good. As far as anybody was concerned, Peggy and Steve were merely a couple enjoying the party like everyone else.

Steve sighs, deciding to make his way to the dance floor to look a bit less inconspicuous. He gets bumped by dancing people quite a bit on his way there, and he muses to himself, wondering if Peggy would even make it with the drinks still full.

Finally finding a spot that’s less crowded while still having the benefit of seeing their target, Peggy makes her way back over to Steve, drinks in hand.

"Did I miss anything?" She asks, handing him his drink.

"No," he replies, downing the entire rum and coke in one gulp.

They continue to stand there, observing the room and everything that’s going on. As they'd been observing everyone to see if any of them were Hydra agents who were wanted were attending. To their knowledge, they noticed no one that stood out, no one who exhibited suspicious behavior, apart from the fact that some were taking pictures, as any normal bystander would do at a social event such as this.

“He’s still here,” Steve says.

“Good,” she responds. “We’ll have to make our move on him as he's leaving. No reason to cause a scene in here...there could be other enemies here."

Steve puts his arm around her, pulling her closer to him. “It’s been a long week. I'll be glad if we even manage to catch him,"

“Agreed. I just hope we get a bit of a break during the holidays. It’ll be our first Christmas as a married couple, you know.” she points out, gingerly sipping at her drink.

“Hey, yeah, you’re right.” He grins. “I’ll have to get you something nice,”

“Well, you have a little less than two months to find something, so I expect something nice.” She chuckles. “...I’m only teasing, of course. I don’t need anything special.”

Steve laughs right along with her; despite knowing that if she asked for the entire world, he’d figure a way to give it to her.

-----

“We’ve been here…” Peggy pauses, glancing at her watch. “...Four hours now. Has that wallop even moved from his table?”

The crowds had drastically thinned; at this point, Steve and Peggy had been doing a lazy sort of slow dancing, waiting for their target to leave so they could follow him.

“I’m half-convinced he knows something’s up,” Steve mutters. “Maybe he’s trying to wait until everyone but him and his goons are left.”

Peggy hums, leaning her head on his shoulder. “If that’s the case, then we’d be outgunned. If those so-called ‘goons’ at his table are working with him, that’s a five to two match.”

“What are you suggesting? It’s too late to get back up now.”

Peggy doesn’t have an answer for that.

The song ends, and the band then announces they’ll be playing their last song of the evening.

“Evening? More like morning. It’s past midnight,” Peggy grumbles.

“You’re only grumpy because I woke you up early this morning.”

“Yes, but only because waking up someone at five in the morning for a very unfair run against a super soldier is an absolutely valid reason to be grumpy.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Hey, now. You said just a few days that I was allowed to wake you up early,”

Peggy rolls her eyes. “I only said that because I happened to wake up with a certain someone between my legs, Darling. I never said you could drag me out of bed for a jog.” She steps away from him, pulling her purse strap higher on her shoulder. “Stay here for a second, I’m going to the powder room. If the target leaves, go after him without me.”

Steve nods, watching her disappear to where the lady’s room is.

The song ends, and with that, everyone seems eager to leave abruptly - which, in Steve’s experience, people leaving like that usually doesn’t end well.

-----

When Peggy gets into the restroom, she nearly bumps into a woman standing right by the door.

Peggy offers her a tight-lipped smile, muttering an apology and brushing past her awkwardly.

“You must be the famous Agent Carter, I presume?” she hears the woman blocking the door ask, a slight German accent accompanying her words.

Peggy freezes for a second, turning around.

“That depends on who’s asking,” Peggy replies, keeping her gaze trained on the woman. Her hand is on her gun in her purse - but she decides to let the woman say her piece.

In response, the woman sneers, laughing humorlessly. “Funny. My employer happens to be asking, in fact.”

While it wasn’t surprising to Peggy, as a lot of people and/or their employers were out to kill her, she did make a mental note of that anyway.

“And who might that be?” Peggy tilts her head, offering the woman a condescending smile.

The woman cracks her knuckles, a cruel smirk on her lips. “It doesn’t quite matter, does it?”

Peggy draws her gun in reply. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.”

The woman reached to swat the gun out of Peggy's hands, but Peggy grabs her outstretched wrist and used her momentum to yank her to her side.

The woman yells wordlessly, knocking Peggy into the marble sink, making her back protest in pain.

With Peggy stunned for the briefest moment, the woman grabbed at her hair and tried to rip her head down for a stranglehold, the awkward angle making Peggy get trapped in it. Thinking fast considering her finite amount of oxygen, she uses whatever momentum she has left and uses all her strength to make the woman stumble and bump against the wall with a thud.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Peggy takes the heel of her shoe and steps on the woman’s foot as hard as she can, making her lose her grip on Peggy.

Peggy slips out of her grasp, grabbing her gun and forcing the pistol to her throat.

“Hands where I can see them,” Peggy growls, cocking the gun just to scare her into doing it faster.

The woman grunts, gritting her teeth. She grits her teeth until there’s a small, but distinctive cracking noise and the woman begins to foam at the mouth.

“Heil Hydra,” she gasps, slumping over.

Peggy sighs inwardly.

All that work and a potential back issue for another Hydra cyanide tooth.

-----

"The target?" Peggy asks, smoothing out her dress.

"He’s getting ready to leave," Steve replies, jaw set. "I heard something about him having a car ready."

Peggy nods, gun in hand hidden by her purse. "Okay, I'll go see if I can stop him from leaving. Take down his men if you have to. We don't want them following us."

"Got it."

Once Peggy gives a nod of assent, she's off after the target. The man is in the process of gathering his belongings, most likely aiming to leave.

And if he manages to get to his car, they'll have lost their chance at catching him.

She shadows the man, following him out of the building.

He's still with his bodyguard, and Peggy can only make her move with him alone.

Once they hit the parking lot, the man waits around for a moment as one of his bodyguards unlocks his car. Peggy takes the opportunity to make her move, kicking the guard in the back of the head and knocking him unconscious.

The man turns towards Peggy.

"Tsk, tsk, Agent Carter," he muses. "I didn't think you were so eager to get a word in with me."

Peggy smirks, gun trained on the man. "I figured I'd settle things quickly."

“I'm sure you did, Agent. I wasn't quite expecting a run in with you so soon." The man puts his hands out. "But, of course, I'm sure you're used to running up against my men."

Peggy cocks her gun, keeping one eye on their surroundings to make sure neither of them gets killed. "I'd just prefer the chance to talk. You can come quietly or you can-"

"You're right," the man interrupts. "But you're not going to get it. I have to say, Agent Carter, you seem to have some special interest in me."

A warning chill goes up Peggy's spine. "You're hiding vital information."

The man doesn't look surprised. "How astute of you to notice, Agent. And yet...why are you and Captain Rogers so doggedly pursuing me? Is it something...personal, perhaps?"

"It's my job to notice," Peggy replies, ignoring his question. Her finger tightens on the trigger. "I'd prefer to talk, but if you make me, I'll shoot."

The man looks over his shoulder, and she can see the gears in his head turning. He's stalling for time.

"Oh, Agent Carter," the man sighs in an exasperated tone, "You know you won't. And you shouldn't. I'm not a common criminal, you know." and with that, he knocks the gun out of Peggy’s hand, making a run for it.

Peggy curses, picking up her gun and chasing after him, raw adrenaline coursing through her veins.

The man weaves through the streets and alleyways, making some scrapes and slightly obstructed spots.

He slips into an alleyway, but she's not far behind him.

She stumbles down the alleyway, pulse racing, gun still in hand.

Peggy spares a look over her shoulder, and she spots her target at the end of the alleyway.

The man is leaning against the wall, as if in relief, and she knows that as soon as she gets to him, he'll be gone.

She takes off after him, taking off at a sprint.

The man runs once again and she's able to track him. Peggy follows the trail made by the man, especially when he cuts down a different alleyway.

She picks up her pace, and just catches up to the man when he darts into a neighborhood.

She nearly bumps into Steve, who saw him and also began chasing him.

Their target turns the corner, nearly tripping down the stairs in his haste, before opening a door and locking it behind him just as Peggy nearly has him.

A frustrated groan escapes Peggy, throwing her head back in annoyance. She sidesteps, gesturing to the door as Steve is down the steps. “If you’d be so kind?”

Steve sighs, wishing he had left his shield somewhere convenient at the party instead of at the hotel room. He braces his shoulder, taking a step back and ramming his body into the wooden door.

The lock breaks, thankfully.

They cautiously walk in the hallway, lit only by noisily buzzing overhead lights. The floor and walls were concrete and the room smelled faintly of rotting wood.

“So,” Peggy says in a low voice, her gun at the ready. "What are the odds that this is a trap?"

"I think we just stumbled into someone’s storage area or something," Steve replies, examining the room. There was nothing but a few empty crates and miscellaneous junk. “Still, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was.”

"It'd be nice if it wasn't. I'd like to get out of these heels sometime today." Peggy says, reaching a doorway. This door, however, was left unlocked. “Though, I think Hydra would keep their doors locked,”

The door leads to an empty hallway, and at the end of it was a staircase, and with any luck, it would lead to their target.

They both pause at the set of steps. “Tripwire,” Steve points out.

“It would probably make the steps fall out from under us,” Peggy says, stepping over it. “Or something else quite-day ruining,”

“Something like that,” Steve replies, followed by muttering something about an ‘Indiana Jones’.

They traverse the winding staircase, making their way up to an open door leading to outside.

Approaching the entryway with caution, they find their target with his hands on his knees, panting and gasping for breath.

He sees Steve and Peggy, and he begins to back away, yelling something in German before rounding a corner.

And before they can catch up to the man, two Hydra agents from the party earlier appear.

The agents were armed and ready to fire, making Steve and Peggy throw themselves to the ground. Bullets fly over their heads, hitting the brick wall behind them.

Both of them scramble to their feet, Steve taking cover by crates, and Peggy using the staircase to her advantage.

Both of the agents advance on their targets, getting closer.

Peggy aims for the one's legs, hoping to interrupt their shots.

Steve leaps out from cover, tackling down and knocking out the one. "Peggy, we gotta go!"

“I can handle him, go! I’ll catch up with you!” she yells.

Steve doesn't hesitate, chasing after the man in the last direction he saw him going.

He soon finds the man in an alley, trying to climb a wire fence. The man spots Steve and he tries to weave around him.

The man's back foot collides into a wet puddle and he stumbles. Steve tries to grab his coat, but he quickly uncaught himself.

The man tries to walk another step, but a gasping sound comes out as he's forced to his knees.

Steve knees him in the back of the head and he drops to the ground in a heap.

Steve grabs him by the collar. "Alright, I'm only going to say this once. Tell me where the Winter Soldier is," he growls.

The man says nothing, glaring at Steve.

He takes something out of his pocket, and Steve realizes all too late that it was a smoke bomb.

He coughs, the acrid smoke invading his airways and making his eyes burn.

It takes a few moments, but the smoke finally clears, and the target is long gone.

Something on the ground grabs Steve's attention.

The target may be gone, but he did leave something behind.

-----

"Well?" Peggy asks expectantly.

Steve sighs. "He got away. Good news is, I'm pretty sure I've gotten a name for him, or at least a pseudonym." He holds up the man's dropped wallet triumphantly.

Peggy smiles lightly. "Well, at least we can say tonight wasn't a total waste. We got some sort of information and we got to go dancing. All in all, I think tonight could've gone worse," Peggy says.

Steve wraps his hand around hers as they begin to walk back to the hotel hand-in-hand. "I don't know, I'd think a night out with you, in general, is a win anyways,"

"So cheesy," Peggy taunts, unable to hide a tiny smile nonetheless.

"You love it,"

"Mmm, sometimes."

Steve makes a dramatic, exasperated noise. "Man down, Peg. I'm deeply hurt now."

Peggy snorts. "Tragic,"

"Nope. I'll never recover from this. You've wounded me. I hope you're happy, Peggy."

Peggy laughs, playfully punching him on the shoulder. "You're so dramatic," she says with a chuckle.

Steve tilts his head. "Well, maybe, but it was worth it to make you laugh anyway,"

"I- you're-..." She trails off with a soft laugh, shaking her head. "I love you."

"I love you too," Steve replies.

--------------

everything taglist: @return-of-the-simp @thereblogcrusader @stillmourningtonystark​

walls could talk taglist: @deedepee​

end a/n: gawd i was looking for gifs of these two and i was like getting unreasonably 🥺🥺 pls i just love them sm your honor-

anyway 😌 so if you enjoyed feel free to rb/comment! <3

and as always, if you’d like to be tagged, let me know 👀

[bruciewayne]

no regrets

Tony face-fucks Steve in a closet in the 70s

for @im-ironman​ @tonysbubblebutt​ @starksnack​ @lifetime-oflaughter​ and @ishipallthings​ for continually convincing me to drop revision for stevetony porn (i did do my hw in the end, z)

read on ao3

“You got everything?” Steve murmurs into Tony’s ear as they turn into yet another corridor.

“Yep, you?” Tony asks, just as quietly, keeping his eyes straight ahead. Steve looks far too good in military get-up for someone he’s meant to not be in love with.

Truth be told, he doubts that he ever really fell out of love with him, even when they fought, all through the Accords, Siberia, when he was never meant to know where he was, but he couldn’t stop himself from calling, because damnit he loves him so much it hurts.

He’s many things, but he’s not a cheater. Pepper had to have known that he was still in love with Steve when they were married, it was probably part of the reason why they, ultimately, hadn’t worked out. Despite everything and everyone, including Steve, being in favour of them.

He’s still in love with Steve, he never stopped, he knows that Steve still loves him - he’d never stopped looking at him the same way, he’d said as much, years ago, in a motel room lifetimes ago, when Tony’d been determined to never see Steve again You have to know, Tony, I’ll love you if I see you everyday and I’ll love you if I never see you again. I’ll love you to the day I die.

That Tony, bitter and resentful, had called Steve a liar, because he’d wanted, so, so badly, for him to be a villain, a liar, because how could someone who’d betrayed him like that, love him as much as he claimed.

Tony’s become less ‘emotionally constipated’, as Nat would say, over the years, and he’s mostly gotten over it, and Steve Rogers never breaks a promise.

“Got it,” Steve confirms, with a tiny twist to his lips.

Tony can’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but he’ll bet that they’re hard, greyer than the usual sky-blue. He always gets into the ‘Cap’ mindset on missions, gritted teeth, hard eyes, tiny smirk, razor-sharp tunnel vision on completing what’s at hand, God, it does incredible things to his libido. It’s a good thing he’s wearing the glasses, and the cap. The stupid little swoop of his hair makes contradicts everything he’d just thought, it makes him feel all the soft, gentle, emotions, that he swore he’d never associate with Steve Rogers ever again. But he’d never been the best at keeping resolutions.

It reminds him of tentatively learning about each other’s bodies and minds - information Tony’s never forgot, information that made Tony worry, all those years after Siberia, about what he was doing, how he was doing, even when he should hate every single atom in his lab-crafted body. (Even though he always was, is, more than just a laboratory experiment, and he couldn’t hate him, Lord knows he’s tried.)

Stupid little swoopy blond hair.

Steve suddenly stills and flies a hand out to stop Tony as well, circling his long fingers around his wrist. He tilts his head to the side and bites his lip - listening.

Tony waits for a beat, watching him. He knows that his eyes are closed, behind those damn sunglasses.

“People are coming, five to seven, security,” he says, quietly, “they’re gonna search the building, we have to hide.”

Tony sweeps his eyes up and down the corridor - it’s completely plain and featureless, aside from a supply closet, a couple yards from them. He meets Steve’s eyes - or, well, looks at his sunglasses, although, they’re close enough that he can see through them, into his eyes.

Steve flicks his eyes down to the same corridor and then back to Tony. I guess we’re doing that.

They jog lightly down, and, to their luck, the closet’s unlocked. Steve opens the door and makes a little gesture to Tony, letting him go through first. He looks up and down the corridor one last time and then slips in, shutting the door behind him, unaware that a cloth had fallen from a shelf and is now lying in the corridor.

The supply closet is a lot smaller than they’d initially thought - about a meter in both directions, maybe a little more - and it’s crammed with mostly cleaning supplies, all on shelves. They end up pretty much chest-to-chest, breathing in tandem, staring into each other’s eyes. Almost. Steve’s baby blues are still hidden by those damn glasses. A crying shame, if you were to ask Tony.

They stay like that, breathing shallowly and looking at each other, barely millimetres apart, until Steve opens his mouth to say something, but he’s interrupted by someone outside.

“...damn Jim, always leaving the closets open, idiot boy.”

The voice of, what seems, a grumpy janitor carries in from the corridor, muttering about a ‘Jim’, nearing closer and closer until they can hear the jangle of his keys. They both hold their breath, hearts beating out of their chest, as the janitor moves the handle about, opens the door, thankfully, thankfully, barely a couple inches, and kicks in a dirty red cloth.

Then the janitor locks the door.

“Are we…” Tony trails off, after they hear the janitor walk away, still curing Jim under his breath, looking forlornly at the lock.

“Seems like it,” Steve sighs. He takes off the sunglasses and his cap, puts them on a shelf, and runs his hands through his hair, messing up the dumb little swoop.

He looks at Tony for a beat, chest rising and falling fast, and bites his lip, God, he’s irresistible, “What do we do now?”

They’re stuck in a closet together, the irony isn’t lost on Steve, for an indeterminate amount of time, and, for not the first time, Steve realises that he never really fell out of love with Tony.

He’s beautiful. He’d always thought that he was attractive - even when they despised each other down to the quark, but he’d realised that he was, is, beautiful when he’d fallen in love with him. Only that he’d thought he was beautiful long before he’d ever realised that he’s entirely and utterly head-over-heels for him.

He’d known he was attractive when they were too busy yelling and screaming at each other for them to see past their own noses, hell, he’d been told that Tony’d been People’s ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ three years in a row by more than one person, and he got why. He could see how he was conventionally attractive.

He had the slicked-back hair and symmetrical face of a model, and he was pretty fit, a result the whole superhero-Iron-Man thing. He’d been attractive, pretty.

But that was completely different from finding him gorgeous, beautiful. He remembers one day, in the morning, a couple months after he’d moved into the Tower, Tony had stumbled into the kitchen, a, for lack of any other words, mess.

He’d come back up from a 3-day bender in his workshop, a good quarter of his clothes - and eyebrows - singed off, his hair curling with grease with from motor oil and simply just not showering, his eyes were half-shut with sleepiness, but when he’d seen Steve he’d smiled blearing and stuck his hands out for coffee.

And Steve’d realised that he’s beautiful.

After that, he couldn’t, can’t, stop realising. Every morning, every movie night, long before he’d known that his pining wasn’t very subtle, he’d been entranced by Tony, how he talked, moved, looked - under lights, in his workshop, fighting. He’d never stopped, not after they’d gotten together, he’d never stopped loving him.

Not even when he’d made the biggest mistake of his life.

Tony must have stopped at some point, and maybe it came back, but after all the things he’d done, he can’t expect it to be full-force, to be what they were. Tony’d told him as much, back before his engagement and his marriage, that he’d never be able to love him as he did before Siberia, that all he was good for was a good fuck.

He’s apologised for what he said - it wasn’t a good night for either of them, but the words stuck in Steve’s mind, it’s unfair of him to expect even a quarter of what they once had, and he’d take Tony in his life whatever way he could. Including no-strings-friends-with-benefits.

He loves him, undoubtedly, and he’s certain that he’s never going to stop loving him this much, he’ll give and give and give until he has nothing left and even then he’ll find something, anything. For Tony, he always could.

“Can you still come untouched just by giving head?” Tony asks, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip and leaning impossibly closer to Steve. Tony looks up at him through his eyelashes. God, he’s breathtaking.

“We’re stuck in a closet in Camp Leigh in 1970, and you want to know if I can still come on just your cock?” Steve asks, he supposes that it was meant to be sarcastic, but it comes out far too fond for him to pretend that it was anything anywhere near that bitter.

Steve’s okay with that, and, by the way Tony’s eyes darken infinitesimally, he’s fairly certain that he is, as well.

Tony hums in agreement, reaching out a hand to trail his fingers down Steve’s chest, he lingers for a beat just above his belly button, and then carries on down and across his hip.

And then surprises Steve by taking his hand and winding their fingers together.

Tony recognises Steve’s surprise and chuckles softly, “I wanna do some of this right, for once,” he murmurs, leaning up, on his tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

“We’re in a closet. In 1970,” Steve reiterates, a little dumbfounded, okay, a lot dumbfounded, because after all he’s done, he barely deserves anything done right for him. He’d thought the same thing when, before Tony’d gotten engaged to Pepper, they’d started their friends-with-benefits Thing, meeting up in random hotels long after the sun went down and leaving long before it came up. So had Tony.

He tightens his hold a little and brings Tony’s hand to his lips and kisses his fingers, “Let’s do it right.”

Tony smiles, bashfully, and ducks his head, “Yeah, okay, we have all the time in the world.”

“When we go back, when everything’s back to normal, we’re going to go on a proper date,” Steve proposes, smiling and hushed.

“Dancing,” Tony says, eyes sparkling, reminding him of the night they danced on top of the Tower, one dark, cold night in December, when they were younger, different people.

Steve nods and winds his other hand through Tony’s hair and gently tilts his face up so he can kiss him. He tastes like the soda he had, just before they carried out the whole time-heist, but under that, something sweet, so, so Tony that if he imagined hard enough, they could pretend that they were a decade back.

He could, very easily, but he doesn’t want to, he so, so done with living in the past, old hangup and the like - he’d been telling people to move on for the last four years, whilst completely ignoring the advice himself. It’s time to move forward, move on, they’re not in Tony’s workshop in Avengers’ Tower, and they’ll never really be there again.

He’s okay with that, more than he thought he’d be.

He gently pushes his tongue in and sucks and bites on his bottom lip, and before long Tony’s making those tiny whimpering sounds. He breaks their hands apart and slides it around his waist, tugging him even closer.

They break apart, panting slightly, Steve’s lips are sinfully red, distractingly so. So much that Tony just has to kiss him again, slow and lingering, full of promise. When they pull apart this time, they’re pressed flush against each other.

“What do we do now?” Tony murmurs against Steve’s lips, leaning further into him so he can feel the line of Steve’s half-hard cock through his army-regulation trousers, he’s still so, so sensitive.

The combination of kissing Tony for the first time in years, him touching his dick, even through the damn khakis, makes him buffer a little, mentally.

Tony’s far prouder of that than he really should be, but he’s mostly gotten over calling what makes him happy ‘guilty pleasures’ a while ago. Steve’s dazed, his pupils are blown wide and it takes him a second to respond.

“You had a hypothesis, Doctor?” He says, finally, still a little breathless, hoping that it’d been somewhat smooth at least. He slides a hand back around to the front of Tony’s pants and presses down slightly with his palm.

Tony’s eyes darken ever so slightly and he gasps, “Yeah, we gotta, for science. Commander.”

He’s barely aware of what he’s saying, because Steve’s taken to pressing and biting kisses down his neck, and God, it feels good.

Steve’s tongue flicks out against his pulse point and Tony hands fly up to grip his hair gently, not tugging, gasping again. He then bites down again and licks the mark to sooth it, making Tony groan.

Steve still knows all of his sensitive spots, Tony realises, with laser point accuracy to boot, every single thing that makes him absolutely crazy, every sensitive point, all his preferences, Steve still knows it. Whether it’s muscle memory or eidetic memory, Tony’s not sure, but he’s definitely not complaining.

Not when Steve gently bites his earlobe and then presses feather-light kisses behind his ear and down the column of his neck.

He can feel Steve smirking against his skin when he makes a tiny whine in the back of his throat, that he, for the record, had absolutely no control over, and then tugs his hair in retaliation. He smiles triumphantly when Steve groans, low and somewhat muffled.

He’s still smiling when Steve kisses back up and then presses their lips together, tongue taking and taking. I really love him, he thinks faintly, pushing impossibly further into Steve’s chest.

He pulls away, nipping Tony’s bottom lip when he whines and tries to chase his mouth, and looks him in the eye, searching, asking a silent question, asking a million, asking for permission. They’re both breathing heavily, in sync, cheeks flushed and pupils wide.

He’s beautiful.

Tony leans up on his tiptoes to kiss Steve on his cheek and strokes back his hair, giving him the answers he wants, because he drops to his knees, there and then. The sight is almost enough to make him groan, loudly, but in a stroke of genius, he remembers, oh shit, we’re in a supply closet in the 70s, on a damn army base. And attempts to tamp it down, he mostly succeeds, if only but shoving his fist into his mouth.

“When we get back I want to make love to you, properly, in a bed, if you’ll have me,” Steve says, in a rush, his breath fanning over the from of Tony’s slacks, because he’s well aware that Tony could regret all of this, letting him back into his life in this way.

“Yeah, yes please,” Tony says, slightly muffled by his fist, mind spinning with memories and ideas, all of Steve.

In this moment, with Steve, on his knees, looking up at him like he hung his stars and moon in the night sky, Tony knows, deep inside, at his very core, that he’s not going to regret this.

Steve’s smile turns into a grin, and Tony knows, instinctively, that he’s so, so gone for him. Steve then proceeds to tug down his zipper with teeth, mumbling promises of how he’ll be good to him.

Steve gets his pants halfway down his thighs and then mouths the head of his cock through his boxers, hot, wet tongue teasing him, drawing out tiny gasps.

“Don’t tease,” Tony breaths out, dropping his hand from his mouth and carding both of his hands through Steve’s hair, resting, not tugging.

Steve chuckles and nuzzles the crease between his crotch and his thigh and peppers kisses to it, “Can’t help it, Doctor,” he says, hushed, looking up at him through his lashes. A small smile, purposefully bashful and innocent, plays across his lips.

Tony knows exactly what he’s doing - before, early in their relationship, Tony had been so convinced that Steve was the blushing virgin everyone thought he was, when it turned out that hey, he was actually pretty experienced (to say the least), to say that Tony hadn’t lasted long would be an overstatement.

“Commander,” Tony says, lowly, in the sternest voice he could manage, and with Steve barely seconds away from sucking him and looking up at him like that. He supposes he was attempting ‘authoritative’, but Steve isn’t taking any of it, they were never anything even close to that.

Steve even gives him a little smirk, entirely throwing away Tony’s attempt at control, playing it exactly as they did way back, the way they’ve always done it.

Steve inches down his boxers, letting Tony’s cock spring free, bright red and leaking. He curls his fingers around the base and licks the top, Tony whines, deep in his throat, and tries to thrust into Steve’s mouth, but he doesn’t let him, by pressing an arm across his hips, effectively pinning him against the door.

“You, Doctor, are going to come from this, quietly, because we’re on a army base in the 70s, and based on that SHIELD briefing, they didn’t take kindly to soldiers who liked to suck dick,” Steve says, low and rough.

Tony tightens his grip in Steve’s hair, enough to make him groan, trying to take back some of the control, “And you’re going to come untouched, for science,” he adds, tearing his eyes away from Steve for a moment to glance around the closest, searching for, and finding, a spare janitor’s overalls - if memory serves him right, and it always does with Steve and all matters concerning him, he’s not going to be able to wear those khakis after they’re done.

“For science,” Steve mumbles, before taking a deep breath and swallowing Tony down to the root, tongue working on the underside. He pulls out every single trick he can remember, everything that made Tony come hard and fast.

Tony cries out above him, just cut off when he tears a hand away from Steve’s hair to shove in his mouth. He tugs Steve’s hair with his other hand, mind spinning with pleasure when Steve groans around his cock.

Steve lets go of Tony’s hips to wrap his arms around his waist and sinks his fingers into Tony’s ass, moaning, and urges him to fuck his mouth, bobbing his head up and down.

Tony finally gets with the programme and stutters his hips forward hesitantly - he know, logically, that it’s going to take a lot more than a blowjob to hurt Steve, but he can’t help but think, what if?

Steve, sensing his hesitancy, even more enthusiastically bobs his head and massages his cock with his throat, swallowing and humming, he traces the vein on the underside with his tongue, slow and teasing, trying to rile him up. He completely ignores his own throbbing erection in favour of trying to get Tony to lose all control.

It works, because Tony lets go, really lets go, and fucks Steve’s pretty-pink mouth in ernest, guiding his head as he watches, transfixed, his cock disappearing into Steve’s mouth.

He’s not going to last long, not after all of today - Steve looks unfairly good in anything, but the commander get-up combined with him on his knees, it’s been too much since they entered the damn closet.

He wants to keep his eyes open, he can’t bear to miss this, but at the same time, it’s almost too much. His eyes fall shut as he loses himself in the wet heat of Steve’s mouth, still attempting to keep his moans muffled.

Steve loves making Tony come apart like this, he always seems so put together, even when he’s not, and to know that Tony trusts him enough to be like this - eyes screwed shut in pleasure, hair a mess, three seconds away from coming - when he’d thought before that he’d never get to see him like this again, it pulls up so, so many feeling he can barely process them.

Tony told him once that people only give blowjobs as a favour, but Steve didn’t - still doesn’t get that, he loves sucking cock, specifically Tony’s, he loves making him fall apart like this. The tugging on his hair and the heavy weight of a cock in his mouth, all the way down his throat, and the gorgeous sight above him, it’s pretty much enough to make him come.

He lets one hand drop off Tony’s ass and presses the heel of his palm to his erection, he’s so hard it’s just this side of painful. He can feel Tony tense up, about to come, speeding up his thrusts, and he holds still as he does, helping him ride it out and swallowing every drop. Steve follows not long after, wrapped up in white-hot pleasure.

When Tony comes to, when the bright spots fade, he realises that he’s slid down to floor and he’s leaning into Steve.

“Good?” Steve asks, voice raspy, and a little smug. How he looks this good after what he’s just done, Tony has no idea, his lips are puffy and bright red - a very specific and unmistakable red - he’s flushed and his hair is an absolute mess, all because of Tony. That thought makes his dick twitch a little, but he’s middle-aged now, and not a super-soldier, so that’s all it does.

Still, Tony laughs a little, “Fishing for compliments is beneath you, sweetheart,” the nickname slips out without meaning to, but Tony’s okay with it. He feels Steve tense up next to him, for a split-second, unnoticeable if it were anyone but Steve, but he relaxes when he realises that Tony doesn't try to take it back.

“Did you…” he’s about to finish his question but Steve takes his hand and guides it to the front of his trousers.

“Hypothesis confirmed,” he murmurs, leaning up to kiss him soundly on the lips, moaning a little when he can taste himself on Steve’s tongue.

“Repetition--” Steve’s about to say but he cuts himself off and tilts his head and flutters his eyes shut, listening.

“We have to get out of here,” he says, on the brink falling back into the ‘Cap’ mindset.

“Wait,” Tony says, before he loses all confidence, “I meant it, when I said that I wanted to do it right, if you don’t, tell me now, because I can’t- I can’t do all of that all over again, Steve.”

Steve takes Tony’s face in his hands and kisses him, short, sweet and full of promise, “I want to do right by you,” he whispers, and it’s the best, most romantic thing anyone’s ever told him, even if they’re on the floor of a dirty supply closet, and by every rule in existence, he should despise Steve Rogers.

He nods and lets his head fall on Steve’s shoulder and just breathes deeply for a beat, surrounded by Steve, his smell, his arms. They have so much more work to do, all of this, it’s a tiny side-quest of sorts, a small piece of a bigger puzzle, but it’s nice to take a break.

They stay like that for what probably was only a couple minutes, but felt like lifetimes, before Tony raises his head and something passes between them, and they get to work.

Steve changes while Tony fiddles around with the lock and they wait until they can sneak out again.

“Any regrets, Doctor?” Steve asks, just to be sure, right before they go back to the future, he’s not sure when he’ll get another chance.

“None at all,” Tony says, smiling up at him, letting im believe, for the first time in a while, that they’re going to be okay.

[a sad coda]

[themagiciian]

Floral Fluster - Ch. 2

Title: Floral Fluster Warnings: Contains mentions of gambling and vague alcohol abuse Chapters: 1/2/? Word count: 4,543 Relationship: Mugman/Cagney Carnation (relationship) Other characters: Cuphead, Elder Kettle, Rumor Honeybottoms (briefly mentioned), Hilda Berg (briefly mentioned).

Summary: Inkwell Festival is in a few weeks time, and Rumor insists that Cagney goes to it. Perhaps insisting he goes with Mugman might be the encouragement he needs to come out of his shell?

Author’s notes: I’m so so sorry this took a while. I really am. University sucks, life sucks, everything sucks. However... I am rather proud of this part. I sifted through and edited out all my mistakes this time. 

As mentioned in the first part, if you are new here, Cuphead and Mugman are both, in fact, older. They are at least 17. I suppose this can be read as a one-shot, like the first part, perhaps...? Also, has the name for this ship changed? I’ve seen the tag “tea leaf” being thrown around here and there. I’ll use both, regardless, but ah well.

Also, I do apologise if Cuphead or Elder Kettle seem a little out of character. I wasn’t exactly sure how to write them. I’m so sorry.

But, without further ado... once again, please enjoy! 

Mugman gave a heavy sigh as he practically burst through the door, panting a little as he had ran home. “I'm so sorry I'm late, pops!” He exclaimed, Cuphead and Elder Kettle looking up as he walked in. His cheeks were deep blue after having sped home, hurriedly removing his coat and hanging it up. “Sorry, sorry - hope I didn't miss nothin’…”

Cuphead rested his head in the palm of his hand as Mugman sat down opposite from him at the table. “Mugs, you almost missed dinner!” Elder Kettle exclaimed, clearly worried as he turned to the two brothers.

“Well- th’ keyword there is almost, gramps,” Mugman gave a little chuckle. Elder Kettle only tutted and rolled his eyes as his innocent playfulness, giving him a look that said ‘what am I gonna do with you?’. Mugman only smiled back before he glanced at Cuphead who seemed rather bored, playing with his fork idly. He didn't seem in the best of moods. The three went quiet, the only sound between the three were sounds of vegetables boiling, and the little thud of the fork hitting the table.

Mugman cleared his throat quietly to gently break the silence, before he piped up. “Slow day at work, Cups? You don't look too happy.”

“Oh, was it ever,” He began with a groan, shaking his head, “never been so bored in my fuckin’ life.” Cuphead quickly followed that up with a quiet 'sorry’ for the use of vulgar language. Kettle hated it when he swore. “We was jus’ movin’ around a buncha stuff today. Reorganising…” There was a pause for a shrug. “Total bore but, eh, it works. I get money outta it anyway.”

The final statement was followed up by brief smirk on his face, looking away for a split second. In a flash, it was gone. Mugman frowned a bit, suspicions roused, but didn't question. He wouldn’t touch on it at the dinner table- least of all in front of their grandfather.

“...Right,” was Mugman's only response, seeming a little hesitant, but his frown eased a little.

Before another silence could settle in, Cuphead sat up in his seat, looking up at his brother with a smirk. “So, where've you been? Y’ don’t normally go out, Mugs. Nearly fainted when I was told y’ were meetin’ up with somebody,” Cuphead joked, the smirk turning into a grin, “so who’s the lovely lady, 'en? Don't tell me you pulled Cala- you wouldn't break the bro-code.”

“I wouldn’t even dream a’ breakin’ the bro-code. But it ain't a girl,” Mugman answered, instantly blushing when Cuphead let out a loud 'oooooh’, that grin on his face only growing and Mugman couldn't help but giggle a little. “It ain't romantic… He's just a friend.”

Both Elder Kettle and Cuphead raised their brows at that. “What? I'm serious!” Mugman stammered, face still flushed blue.

“Mhmmmm, o’ course,” Cuphead looked like a Cheshire cat with how wide his snarky smile was, “so, who's your 'friend’?”

Mugman smiled a little to himself, looking down at the floor, before meeting Cuphead’s expectant gaze. “...Cagney.”

“Cagney?!” Cuphead suddenly yelled out, causing the other two to jump up as the tone of conversation took a u-turn. “You're hanging around with- with Cagney?!”

“Oh, I remember when that flower was just a little sprout,” Kettle mused adoringly, beginning to plate up their dinners, “he was so sweet. Hilda used to carry 'im around in this little flower pot. It was always so cute to see her runnin’ around with that little flower.”

“Y’ gotta be joshin’ me! Cagney Carnation, of all people? He’s the rudest resident this side of Inkwell! He's horrible!” Cuphead grumbled, very clearly displeased, muttering a 'thanks’ as a plate of food was put infront of him. “I don't like 'im.”

Kettle sat down at the head of the table, hands folded infront of him. Mugman had only rolled his eyes at Cuphead's comment. “He's nice to me, Cups! He's actually kinda charming,” Mugman replied with a little shrug, “and I'm going to meet him tomorrow.”

“I think that's sweet,” Kettle spoke softly, patting Mugman on the shoulder, “don't y’ think, Cuphead? Cagney’s a nice fellow. You should give him a chance.”

“Yuck,” Cuphead scrunched up his nose, clearly he had a distaste for the said flower. He scooped up a mouthful of food, shuffling a bit in his seat. “There is no way that- that dandelion is gettin’ another chance outta me! He was so rude about the whole soul contract thing. That big old weed is just… he's just… grumpy! And he's mean. He hit me with a vine once.”

“Wh- he did?” Mugman instantly became concerned, taken aback, suddenly beginning to have second thoughts. Cagney wouldn't do that, would he? “Why?”

“Well, y’know I was jus' passin’ through,” Cuphead  started, “and this little flower kid is following me around so I tell it to buzz off, y’know? But it didn't… So I shot at it.”

“Well there's your answer,” Kettle interjected, shaking his head a little, “you shouldn't attack things like that.”

“It didn't leave me alone though!” Cuphead quickly came to defend himself, his expression turning sour. “I didn't wanna do it, it wasn't even that hurt... It was jus’ one dumb flower.”

“Those are his children, Cups!” Mugman argued, reaching out to poke at Cuphead's hand, to which the older brother grunted. “He's really protective of 'em, y’know? You'd be mad too if you had kids.”

Cuphead glared at that, teeth clenched a little. “Good thing that I don't,” Cuphead growled back, cutting the conversation off there. His now foul mood made the quiet air that fell upon them awkward. It wasn't like Cuphead to get in such a bitter state so quickly. Mugman's previous suspicions were roused again...

Kettle gave a look to Mugman, shaking his head a little, his expression one of concern. Kettle must've had the same thought he had. Thankfully Cuphead didn't notice them both roll their eyes.

Once dinner was over, Cuphead hastily got up with his own plate and cutlery. He dumped it into the sink, before stomping upstairs, his footsteps quickly becoming distant as he sulked off. Mugman flinched a little when he heard the bedroom door slam. He let out a soft sigh, picking up his own plate and Kettle’s, making his way over to the sink and began to clean up.

He paused from washing up when he heard Kettle stand up and begin to head up the stairs. “Wait, p-pops!” Mugman called, quickly running over, “I- I’ll talk to him. Don't worry about it.”

Kettle let out a frustrated huff, but he turned around and came back downstairs. Mugman smiled, relieved, reaching out and taking his grandfather's hand to guide him to his chair in the living room.

“I just don't know what's wrong with him, Mugs,” Kettle spoke softly, leaning back in his seat, “he's been so… grouchy recently…”

“I know, I know,” Mugman pat his shoulder gently, trying his best to be reassuring. Internally, his concern grew for his brother, recalling his earlier conversation with Cagney about Cuphead's gambling habit. He quickly decided not to mention it to Kettle. He didn't want him to worry, feeling guilt weigh down on his chest as he didn't like hiding things from his grandfather. But… He felt like he had a responsibility, to protect Cuphead from getting in trouble…

“It might jus’ be the change of seasons. He always gets grumpy in the cold,” Mugman reasoned, giving a shrug. Kettle seemed to be somewhat satisfied with that response.

Kettle’s arms folded across his chest, shaking his head a little. “I don't know, Mugs. Whatever it is… I'm sure he'll get over it,” He spoke softly, and before Mugman could turn away he caught his hand, “thank you…fer�� everything. You're so selfless and I… I can't thank you enough, Mugsy. Y’ better enjoy yourself out tomorrow with that Carnation. You deserve it.”

Mugman gave a little smile, gently squeezing his hand, his face becoming a bit blue at the mention of Cagney. “I’m sure I will. I’ll go see Cuphead after I clean up… Thanks, pops.”

“You're very welcome, son.”

With that, Mugman rushed back to the kitchen and turned away to finish washing up the dishes. He quietly hummed to himself as he cleaned up. Washing up was always therapeutic to him, and he found himself becoming lost in thought.

His mind slowly wandered back to Cagney as he scrubbed, leaning onto the counter a little as he looked out of the window just above the sink. It provided a view into the beginning of the forest where Cagney resided, though he couldn't really see it as it was so dark (neither did he have his glasses on, so it was difficult to see very far- he cursed himself a bit for forgetting to wear them when he really should).

‘Are we friends?’ Mugman found himself wondering, frowning a bit in thought as he began to scrub the dishes. He frowned a little in thought, staring out of the window at the dark forest right ahead. If he were a little younger, a little more naive, it would've been a definite yes, but now… He couldn't shake the feeling that Cagney might've just been tolerating him because he had to… especially after Cuphead's comments about the flower...

His lips curled down a bit. Cagney was always like that though, right? He just never really enjoyed people being around, and that was that.

Maybe it had just been too long. 'I probably should've been a better friend in the first place and kept in contact with him,’ he thought, 'then I wouldn't have this problem at all.’

'...It sure felt nice when I hugged him, though.’

Mugman's frown twitched into a smile, face flushing a little as he stifled a giggle. Then when he hugged back, even though his arms were really too long to hug properly... And when he put his hand on his shoulder to comfort him… It was sweet. He meant well. He shouldn't doubt Cagney so much.

'I guess it was kinda cute when I surprised him as well,’ Mugman pondered with a smile, 'was he sleeping? Hm… his petals felt nice to touch. I wonder if he liked it… What would that even feel like…?”

His train of thought was interrupted when he heard the door upstairs creak open, the floorboards groaning a little as someone stomped on them. His train of thought was promptly interrupted, hurrying to clean up the last of the dishes and cutlery before putting them aside to dry.

'Cuphead.’

In a hurry he just shook off his wet hands, flicking off the beads of water, before hastily making his way upstairs. As soon as Mugman saw him, Cuphead jolted, quickly shifting so his hands were behind his back. He couldn't look more guilty.

“Cups?” Mugman blinked, and Cuphead only stared back, shifting backwards to put more distance between them. “What are you hiding…?” Mugman quietly asked as he stepped up onto the landing, eyes slowly narrowing as Cuphead glanced about uncomfortably. He looked ready to run away- that was affirmed when Cuphead finally made eye contact and let out a nervous chuckle.

“Oh, nothin’, Mugs,” he answered, clearly trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, swaying playfully as if trying to look natural, “I dunno what yer on about.”

But it wasn't going to fool him. “What's in your hand?”

“I told ya. Nothin',” Cuphead chuckled again, “Dunno why yer even--”

“Prove it,” Mugman demanded, cutting him off. The faux look of innocence was quickly replaced by surprise, then irritation. “I wasn't born yesterday, Cups.”

There was silence, Cuphead glaring at him for a moment, before finally the elder brother spoke. “Fine,” he hissed, bitterness lacing his tone as he held out his hands. Mugman blinked, looking down at the item in his palm. It took him a moment to identify it, but it was undoubtedly a silver flask. Upon further inspection, that was undoubtedly King Dice’s brand etched onto the face of it...

Mugman’s own expression slipped into shock, before falling into disappointment. There was only one place he could've gotten it from... Why had he gone back to Inkwell Hell? What was he doing in that filthy casino again? Hadn't he learned from last time?

His mind swam with thoughts, but all he could utter was; “why?”

“...I… I dunno, Mugsy,” Came the quiet response, scowl fading into shame, “I- I’m sorry.”

“You've said that before, Cuphead,” Mugman exclaimed, “you said sorry but... you didn't do anything…” Much to his own dismay, Mugman’s eyes began to water, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. His throat and chest felt tight, but he forced himself to continue. “And- and you even went back t-there! What were you thinking? Do you even know what they put in that? They coulda’ spiked it, knowing that shady place--”

“I don't know why I went there, okay?! I jus’ wanted to- I thought it’d be fun! But I lost every single fuckin’ round against that stupid Dice anyway,” Cuphead gave a huff, pocketing the flask, “an’ he said he put bourbon in it. I had some, tasted fine. So I'm fine, okay? I'm fine.”

Mugman sniffled a bit, bottom lip quivering lightly. Without a word, Cuphead pulled him into an embrace, nuzzling softly against his shoulder as he heard Mugman begin to sob, clearly overwhelmed by emotion. The younger brother quickly returned the hug, gripping onto the back of Cuphead's t-shirt.

“Look, Mugsy… I'm sorry… I really am.” Cuphead said softly, one hand reaching up to stroke down his back gently. Mugman’s breath hitched, holding onto him tighter. “Please… You don't gotta be so worried 'bout me. I promise I'll be alright.”

“B-But- but what if you aren't, C-Cups…?” Came the meek response, followed by a gentle hiccup. “I j-just don't want to see you get h-hurt… I don't want anything b-bad to happen again…”

Cuphead moved away from the hug, reaching up to wipe away Mugman's tears. “I-Is that why you were so mad tonight? C-Cos’ you lost?” He asked quietly as his brother thumbed away the tears that spilled down his face. His question was answered when Cuphead looked away for a few seconds, before making eye contact again. “H-How much?”

“...All 'f it…” Cuphead hesitantly replied, “I didn't mean to take it out on ya…”

“No… I know,” Mugman gave a little smile, reaching up to brush away the last of the tears that leaked out of his eyes, “it’s… okay... It'll be okay,” he reassured himself, taking a deep breath, before exhaling. “I'm… sorry for gettin’ so upset…”

Cuphead smiled weakly in return, moving to wrap his arm around Mugman's shoulder with a light pat. “That's alright, lil’ brother,” he said, gently clinking his head against his brothers, “look... I'm so… so, so sorry… I wasn't thinkin’… I promise, I'll get better.”

Mugman gave a little nod. “Y-yeah…” He murmured, his own arm wrapping around Cuphead's waist. His crying had made him rather sleepy, leaning against the other a bit. “I… I'm tired. I better go to bed. I gotta get up early.”

He slipped away from his brother, turning to give him one last smile, before disappearing into his room with one last “goodnight”. Cuphead smiled back, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.

Once the door had clicked shut however, Cuphead let out a loud sigh.

'Might as well finish it whilst I can,’ he mused internally, reaching for the flask in his pocket and promptly chugging down the last of its contents.

“Um, sorry I didn't really bring you much, Mister Carnation…” Mugman scratched the side of his porcelain head, stopping just before him, “I don't really know what flowers… um… eat.”

Much to his relief, Cagney wasn't offended or disappointed by this. Instead, he merely shrugged. “We don't really eat, so to speak,” he answered, “it’s hard to explain. I mean, I could probably eat 'normal’ food, but… I've never tried it.”

Cagney quickly patted the ground beside him as an invitation for him to come over and sit beside him, and Mugman quickly obliged. He took extra care to step over any flowers, before quietly sitting down on the grass next to him. He pulled his messenger bag up onto his lap, pulling it open from its buckles. “Well, today's your lucky day,” Mugman chirruped, reaching into his bag. Cagney leant down a little curiously, blinking when he pulled out his lunchbox.

Inside, Mugman felt a little bit embarrassed... He'd had this lunchbox since he was very young. The face of it had tacky stickers plastered all over it, and his name was clumsily written in the corner. The writing, as well as the stickers, had gotten worn away over the years but… he still felt fond of them, which was why he never made the effort to remove them. A bit childish, he knew, and now he was regretting not switching his lunchbox with Cuphead's just this once. He dismissed the thought, however, as he quickly clinked the box open, feeling Cagney’s gaze fixed on him. The thought of Cagney staring at him made his cheeks flush a little… but he soon shook his head, clinking the box open.

Cagney leant in further once it was open, head turning a little to see what was inside. Mugman smiled at the interest he'd taken. “By the look on y’ face, I would've thought you've never seen food before,” he mused aloud, and the flower actually gave a nod in response.

“I have a handful of times, but that was back when I lived with Hilda,” Cagney answered, “it's… kinda weird seeing it up close, actually. I don't know what I expected.”

Mugman actually giggled at him in return, not expecting such a response. This earned him a bit of a frown, but he didn't mind, and instead, he reached out to pat one of his petals playfully. “Well… since it's your first time…” he smirked, “you get first pick.”

The other had only flinched a bit in response to the pat, having not expected the contact, but didn't move away (which Mugman assumed was a good thing, since Cagney seemed a bit weird about touching). There was a hum of thought from him, eyes darting around the box, before hooking a donut on the end of his finger.

“What the heck is this?” He asked bluntly, bringing it to his face to inspect it. He didn't seem to like the feeling of the sugar that fell off as he picked it up, scowling at the residue it left on his finger, before promptly brushing it off.

“That's a donut- well, it's a sugar donut,” he explained, “it's sweet. Really sweet. Try it- y’ might like it.”

There was still a hint of confusion on Cagney’s face, his head tilting a bit. “I just…” he gave a little sigh, pulling it off the end of his finger and into his palm, “it's looks weird. What if I don't like it?”

“Then you don't eat it,” Mugman answered simply, shrugging, “I'm not gonna be mad if y’ don't like 'em... Just a donut, y'know? It's not gourmet.”

There was a second of hesitation, and he looked a little uncertain. Mugman was going to say something, however Cagney had already quickly scoffed it down in one go, swallowing hard without chewing. He cringed a little at the sight, eyes widening a little at the sudden motion, before nervously chuckling. Cagney probably grew up without table manners, after all, so he supposed it made sense that he'd just hawk it down without thinking twice.

“Well, was it alright or not?” Mugman asked quietly after a moment.

“To be honest, Mugman... I didn't really taste anything,” The response was as blunt and as flat as anything, stroking his chin in thought. Mugman brought a hand up to his forehead, laughing at how ridiculous he was. It only brought confusion to Cagney, however. “Wh-what's so funny?”

“You! You’re supposed to chew it first- n-not just wolf it down,” Mugman continued to giggle, much to the others embarrassment, “I've never seen somebody eat wrong before but you’ve managed t’ pull it off…”

Cagney’s arms crossed, looking embarrassed now. “W-Well, I'm sorry that I don't know how to eat properly,” he grumbled, face going red which only prompted another laugh out of Mugman. “Hey… hey! Stop laughing! It's not funny!”

“It is! It’s funny- no, it's hilarious,” Mugman continued to laugh, slapping his leg, face flushed blue from laughter. Cagney let out a snort of frustration, which only made him giggle even harder. “Oh c’mon, lighten up! I'm just messin’ wit’ ya!”

Mugman’s teasing laughter began to fade when Cagney gave a glare, face reddened, before sharply turning and pulling down two of his petals hard in embarrassment. He could hear the frustrated huff that came from him. Mugman soon reached out to take a hold of his hand, trying to stop him from pulling at himself. “W-Wait! Cagney, don't do that- you'll hurt yourself!” He cried, voice gripped with urgency as he tried to pull his hands away.

Cagney tensed up visibly, and Mugman could hear him grumble a bit. His needle-like thorns began to emerge from his body. Obviously, he was very agitated. “Mister Carnation…” Mugman's voice was low now, hoping he hadn't upset him too much, now being careful of those thorns, “I'm sorry. I was kiddin’. I promise… I don't mean it.”

Despite Cagney’s strained form, his hand didn't move from Cagney’s, his thumb gently tracing over his knuckles. He could feel him begin to relax, before he slowly let go of himself. Mugman smiled as he turned his head back to him, hand slipping into his palm and gave a gentle squeeze. Cagney wore a bit of a sheepish look, face still dyed a little red, before clasping his larger hand around his.

“Why d’ya do that?” Mugman asked, voice laced with soft concern, allowing him to hold his hand. He smiled sweetly at him- Cagney seemed a little anxious, after all. He went quiet as his thorns slowly withdrew- that was good thing, at least. “It's okay, Mister Carnation. I'm sorry for makin’ fun of you.”

“Ah, really, Mugman, just Cagney is fine. Sorry for getting so… flustered,” He mumbled in response, “...I, er, um... it's a habit. I used to do it when I was little, when I got scared.”

Mugman frowned in worry. “Have y’ ever pulled out a petal on accident?”

“...Yeah,” he let out a little 'tch’ to himself, “a lot of times, actually, heh. It really hurts when it happens… they don't grow back so quick anymore, either.”

“Golly, what am I gonna do with you?” Mugman sighed, moving his lunchbox and bag aside so he could scoot closer to him. “What if they don't grow back one day, mister- I mean, Cagney? What will you do?”

“We... nothing. I’ll live with it. I mean, I'll have to,” the answer was flat, and unsatisfying, followed up by a shrug. Mugman frowned a bit, leaning onto his shoulder.

“I think you worry too much,” Cagney commented idly after a moment, “you should relax a little.”

Mugman let out a 'pfft'. “...You sound like my brother.”

“Oh God forbid,” Cagney groaned, the sarcasm in his voice exaggerated, which made Mugman chuckle. Cagney gave a small smile at his laughter. “Oh, hey, did you talk to Cuphead after? ...What's up with him?”

Mugman's face dropped a bit, shaking his head. “He wasted his earnings down Inkwell Hell yesterday…” he began, his unoccupied hand reaching to rub his neck out of nervousness, “and he had a flask with 'im. I- I dunno. He said he'd stop but- but I dunno, Cagney. I don't know if I should believe him… what do you think?”

There was a hum of thought, before Cagney gave a nod. “I think he will. You're worried sick about him. Anyone can see that,” he reassured, “he'd be stupid not to.”

“Well he's been making a lot of stupid decisions recently,” Mugman grunted, letting out a deep huff of frustration. He then shook his head. This wasn't a very good topic for conversation. “I shouldn't… I shouldn't think about it. I shouldn't put my problems on you. Sorry, Cagney…”

“Uh, hey, don't worry about it! It's okay, I promise,” He quickly chimed back. The light response was a pleasant surprise. Finally, Mugman felt himself relax, the tenseness in his shoulders leaving and he slacked a little.

“Thank you,” he breathed, head still resting on his shoulder. In fact, he was talking so much, that he'd forgotten their hands were linked. That brought colour to his face again. He could felt his heart beat a little quicker... Cagney seriously didn't mind this? His chest felt like little flowers were growing and blooming inside of him. 'Th-this is so nice…’

“Mugman? Um… we are friends,” Cagney piped up after a moment, before glancing down at Mugman, “right?”

There was a pause. Mugman was taken aback by the question. But soon, he nodded, smiled up at him, and shifted closer. “Yes- without a doubt, Cagney.”

Cagney had mumbled a 'thanks’, and looked away. He assumed it was to conceal that smile, but he'd caught sight of it before he turned. He really was shy, wasn't he? Mugman stifled a giggle, nuzzling against his arm. That was one thing Rumor was right about… he really was just a big dork...

The silence was peaceful. He felt like he could fall asleep right then and there. Resting against his stem wasn't particularly comfy, but the closeness… it was pleasant. Maybe a bit more than pleasant, actually. He'd never been so close to another like this before. It genuinely felt nice. He felt more at ease than he had in awhile. No gramps to worry about, no Cuphead to worry about, no errands to get to.

He felt his eyes begin to shut, drowsiness growing. Maybe five minutes wouldn't hurt...

He was jolted awake as Cagney’s hand withdrew from his before he slipped into slumber, letting out a mumble of protest as he was pulled away from sleep so suddenly. “Tired?” Cagney asked, and Mugman nodded back. He smirked, “it’s because you stress yourself out, like I said, see? You get tired easily… let me help you into a more comfortable position.”

Cagney summoned a vine with a large leaf attached to it, curling it on the ground beside him. He shooed away some of his brood, making some space for their guest. Gently, Mugman was lifted, his head resting on the leaf. It was a make-shift pillow; though it was much better to rest against rather than Cagney’s shoulder, he found himself missing being at his side. But he feeling too sleepy to argue.

“Th-thank you…” Mugman murmured, eyes fluttering closed again. Another couple of vines popped up, some with leaves and little buds on them, gently wrapping around his body to act as a blanket. Before he drifted to sleep, he felt Cagney’s finger gently stroke his cheek, before he leant down to nuzzle against the rim of his head.

“You're more than welcome, my little bluebell...”