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“...Sam?”
“Yeah?” Sam asks, untying his running shoes and throwing them in the corner.
“Our stuff is gone.”
“What do you mean?” Sam says, looking around their apartment. Everything looks there to him - couch, TV, kitchen table -
“Come here.”
Sam ducks into their bedroom to see Steve staring into the closet, which is completely empty. Sam tugs open their drawers, too, and there’s nothing there, either.
“What the hell?”
Steve is already pulling out his phone, and Sam knows he’s calling Natasha. Sam takes the time to check out the rest of the place. The bathroom is barren; no toothbrushes, shampoo, or even towels. There’s a note taped to the mirror.
Perhaps you may have noticed that some of your belongings no longer reside in your current domicile. You may be wondering why, my good sirs. Well, they are under my control in my domicile. Which is now your domicile, too. Let us skip the perfunctory protests - I've got a car picking you up at 1600 (that's 4:00 for you military folk, right?) Attendance is not optional, as Sam mysteriously has two weeks of vacation time. Starting now.
Move move, chop chop.
“For the record, I'd like to note that nothing like this would ever happen to me before you ran my way into my life,” Sam says, hearing Steve step into the bathroom.
“What a shame,” Steve says dryly. He waves his phone. “Stark, although I don't think it needs to be said.”
"Tony Stark?”
"Yep. I saw him a few months ago - he came by to ream out Natasha and me after the whole SHIELD thing. Well, sort of. Mainly he ate my food and made us watch Star Trek."
"He wants me to come, too? He doesn't even know me."
"Like I'd go anywhere without you, and he probably knows that," Steve says. He makes a face. "That sounded a lot less corny in my head."
"Aww," Sam teases, but he leans back and kisses Steve anyway. "How the hell did he manage to get in here and get our stuff back to his tower? We were only gone a few hours.”
“Doubt he actually came,” Steve says. “Probably sent a bunch of henchmen. In any case, he’s done it to the others, too. Natasha, Clint, and Thor. Bruce was already living there. I haven't talked to Thor at all, though - and Bruce only a few times since Manhattan. 'Course, I worked with Nat and Clint at SHIELD all the time.”
“The others are staying?”
Steve shrugs. “Natasha’s still pushing it. Clint and Thor moved in, though. I suspect the free food was a factor.”
"Free food?"
Steve sighs.
*
In the end, Steve agrees to come, which Sam suspects is because of him. Sam feels a little guilty, remembering Steve's fourth session at the VA when he admitted he left New York because it was too hard to be so close to a Brooklyn he didn't recognize. We don't have to go, Sam offers, but Steve shakes his head, straightening his shoulders, which is his way of bristling.
Tony has actually sent them a private plane. Sam chats with the driver taking them to the airport, a dry-witted man named Alexander who plays coy whenever they try to ask him a question.
“Following orders, sirs,” he says repeatedly. “As ridiculous as they are.”
“Can you at least tell us if he has henchmen?”
“What do you think I am, sir?”
“No, I mean people who wear all black and ski masks with -”
“Sir, I cannot say whose company Mr. Stark chooses to keep.”
Give up, Steve mouths, and Sam leans against the window, not realizing he’s actually pouting until he sees himself in the rearview mirror.
A strawberry blonde woman greets them in the plane, introducing herself as Pepper Potts, Tony's girlfriend. She smiles, holding out a hand to shake theirs.
"You didn't have to come, Ms. Potts," Steve insists.
Pepper shakes her head. "It's my pleasure, Captain. Call me Pepper."
"Ma'am," Sam says, tipping an imaginary hat.
Pepper laughs this time. "Just Pepper is fine. Champagne? Mr. Stark -" her smile turns crooked - "lives to serve. We also have some bourbon, if you prefer. Crown Royal."
Sam gives her a surprised look; that's his favorite. She answers his look with a knowing shrug.
"Mr. Stark does extensive research in his interests."
"Might be a little early for the bourbon, but I'll take some champagne." He sits down next to Pepper and pats the seat, still not processing at how he’s become one of Stark’s interests. "Come, Steve." He doesn't give the option, anyway, just wraps his arms around him and sits him down, kissing the spot between his eyes.
Pepper’s eyes soften. “You’re too cute.”
“Adorable,” Sam says with a nod, and Steve pats his head, rolling his eyes.
“Can you tell us what’s going on?”
“Tony said, and I quote, it’s time to get the gang back together. Bring the lovers. Mind you, I only heard of the pickup being today a few hours ago, but here we are.”
“So this was a spur of the moment thing?”
Pepper gives them a mysterious look. “You’ll see.”
*
When Sam was a kid, his family once drove through New York City on their way to vacation in Massachusetts; it was the middle of the night and he was half-asleep, but he was disappointed they didn’t stop. Now, he spends his time looking out the window as they drive to the tower, taking in sights that he wants to visit later.
"How long did it take to repair the tower?" Steve asks Pepper.
"Tony prefers to call it 'upgrading'," she answers. "There are a few...differences."
Pepper's tone has another you'll see to it, so neither Sam nor Steve ask about it. They share a glance, a sense of foreboding, before Pepper announces that they’re here.
Sam goes back to staring out the window, his jaw dropping when he sees the building. Pictures of it really don't do it justice.
Steve laughs as they pull into the garage. "Please tell me the 'A' stands for what I think it does."
Pepper winks at him. "That part we never really got around to fixing."
She leads them to the elevator, where she selects the 35th floor. Out of 93. 93 floors. 93 floors.
"Everyone is up there but Natasha," she says. She turns to Sam. "I hope you're prepared for them."
"Don't worry, I'll protect you," Steve says. Sam makes a face at him.
As they step out of the elevator, they hear: "Thor. My dear, dear Thor. You couldn't be more wrong."
"You're not giving this a fair chance. I believe if you look at it from another perspective, you will realize -"
"No no, I won't. See -"
"Gentlemen," Pepper interrupts. "You have guests."
"Don't think this ends here," Tony says, pointing at Thor as he jumps up from the couch. He holds out a hand for Sam to shake, giving him a careful scrutinizing glance. "Welcome, sir. I'm guessing you had to convince Cap to come?"
"Yes," Sam says, just as Steve says, "I needed my toothbrush."
"Tony Stark," Tony says, like he needs an introduction. He gestures to the men sitting around the living room. "Clint Barton, Bruce Banner, and Thor. I would first like to applaud your work in DC. The twenty million people you saved, including myself, are quite grateful. Although Steve, we really need to talk about this self-sacrificing thing you have. It's kind of a problem."
Steve's smile wavers slightly, and Tony must pick up on it, but Sam interrupts before he can continue.
"Sam Wilson," he says, "and it was our pleasure."
Thor claps a hand on Sam’s shoulder so hard that he nearly crumbles under the weight. “Welcome!” he says with an infectious grin. “Are you to join our team?”
“Well,” Sam stammers, but Steve takes over.
“He's one of us," Steve says with a look that dares them to question otherwise. It makes Sam all tingly. "Call sign Falcon.”
"So this means you're moving in?" Clint says.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sam sees Pepper slipping out, and she gives him a wink.
Thor ignores Clint, patting Sam’s shoulder again (albeit softer this time. Sam's shoulder thanks him.) “Excellent. So you can fly as well? In the same manner as Iron Man?”
“Better,” Sam replies with a smirk.
“Excuse me,” Tony says. “You want to take this outside?”
“I’d rather eat, actually.”
“Ask Tony's invisible friend," Thor says, a teasing look in his eyes. Sam gets the impression that this is a familiar argument.
Tony groans. “JARVIS, okay, his name is JARVIS. Aren't you offended by such talk, JARVIS?”
“I could actually be labeled as such, sir.”
"Traitor," Tony mutters.
Sam perks up. “Is that actually an A.I.?”
Tony beams. “Finally, someone who appreciates my genius. And JARVIS, I demand for you to be offended. I insist. Be offended while you order some food. Thai, maybe. You ever had Thai, Cap?”
Sam swallows down a snicker while Steve wrinkles his nose at Sam. Judging by Tony’s lack of response to their interaction, he must somehow know about Steve’s experiences with Thai food. He logs that away as how the hell does he know that for later. It’ll probably end up being an extensive list.
Having taken care of what Tony viewed to be the first order of business, he gestures to Sam. “Sit down, Sammy boy. You like it here so far?”
“Well," Sam says, throwing himself on the couch and stretching his legs out. "The first forty-five seconds have been fine, so I suppose so."
Tony claps his hands once. “Terrific. It’s settled.”
“I haven’t -" Steve starts.
“You’ll have your own floor, so you can get up to whatever nefarious activities you choose and you will not be disturbed. JARVIS can keep us out during such activities if you want. He is a perverted little A.I., though, so be careful.”
“I only perform the surveillance you desire, sir.”
Steve gives a side-eye at Tony. “This does not surprise me.”
“Hey, I’ll only ask JARVIS to spy on you and tell me if one of you has passed out in the shower and require immediate medical assistance. I scare because I care. Otherwise, you can call on him whenever you want.”
"This sounds great and all, but I have a job," Sam says.
"That can be taken care of here, if you like," Tony says. “There are several offices in the area; I've already contacted them and they're prepared to meet with you. It goes without saying that you can work at whichever one you choose. Your VA also is aware that there is a possibility you'll move, if you find this satisfactory. Give it a try here for a few weeks and see what you think; like I said in the note, you do have some time off. If it's not for you, no problem. You can go back home, no questions asked.”
Sam raises an eyebrow, a little taken aback. “Trying to buy me off, Stark?”
“Is it working?”
“You're selling the idea of a vacation, I guess.”
Tony sits on the couch next to Sam. “So, please share as to how you and dear Cap fell madly in love.”
“Well,” Sam begins with a coy look in Steve's direction. “It all began one crisp Wednesday morning, with Steve wearing a very tight shirt that clung to him quite nicely.”
“Expected. What about his ass? Perkiest thing I've ever seen.”
“It’s even better when his cock is in it,” Steve says.
Tony nearly chokes, coughing. “Holy shit, Steve.”
Sam wants to kiss the pleased little grin off of Steve’s mouth.
“That is absolutely true,” Sam adds.
“It is certainly pleasurable,” Thor says with a faraway look in his eyes.
“Anyway,” Tony says loudly, turning to Steve. He points a finger. “It’s your job to get Natasha to move in, too.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re besties, clearly. You’re probably the only person she’ll listen to; add in puppy dog eyes and she’ll move in tomorrow.”
“I haven’t even decided if I’m moving in yet.”
“Sam?” Tony sings.
Sam looks around at the huge TV, the mammoth couch, and the kitchen stocked with food. Steve is giving an exasperated look at Tony, but Sam doesn’t miss his relaxed shoulders, the smile he’s trying to suppress. These people are the only ones who have a sort of shared life experience with Steve, as he likes to say, and Sam wants to get to know these guys, even just a little. “It’ll be a nice vacation,” he says.
"Sam moving in and you not following would put a significant stall on your sex life, Cap," Tony adds. "Which, looking from the two of you, probably requires odes and hymns."
"It really does," Steve answers. "It really, really does."
"Tell me more," Clint says, leaning forward.
Tony slaps the back of his head. "Let's stay on target, Barton. What do you think?"
Steve looks at Sam, who shrugs at him. "It's two weeks, man."
"Peer pressure isn't nice," Steve says, but he's grinning as he does so. "Fine."
Tony fist pumps.
*
After dinner, Tony shows them to their floor, and it's bigger than Sam's first apartment. He expects to walk in and see splashes of red, white, and blue everywhere, but it's not the case. The colors are warm and inviting, with a dark red couch (that Sam immediately wants to dive on), a brick fireplace in the far corner, a mahogany bookshelf full of perfectly stacked books. The floor is a darkened oak, almost the same type from his childhood home, and he stares dumbly at it for a moment. He almost doesn't want to move in fear that he'll mess something up.
"Whoa," Steve agrees.
Sam slips out of his shoes and leaves them at the entrance, hearing his mama's voice telling him not to scuff up the floor.
"This is unreal," he says, running his fingers along the end table, marveling at how smooth it is. It has to be new, it has to, but it's missing the new smell.
Steve wanders over to the other side of the floor, and Sam can see why; Steve's eyes are glued to a canvas surrounded by paints, brushes, and graphite pencils.
“I've never even used watercolors," Steve says, running his fingers along the package as if he's too scared to open it. "Always wanted to, though."
“You were born color blind, right?” Sam asks, wondering what it would be like for an artist to suddenly see the world in full color.
“Yeah," Steve says, now looking at the charcoal holders. "That was one of the biggest things to get used to, but I stuck with graphite, even after. Not like I had alternatives during the war."
Sam watches fondly as Steve seats himself at the table, his eyes darting around as if he doesn't know what to try first. He doesn't look interested in investigating the rest of the floor yet, so Sam does it for him.
The kitchen is just as perfect, with a long, marble table with eight chairs sitting around it. Peering in the refrigerator, he sees plenty of orange juice and skim milk, with yogurt, broccoli, spinach - ah, there’s bacon hidden under the cauliflower. Sliced turkey, a full fucking ham, good grief. He sees more pots and pans than he even knows what to do with, wine glasses, a brandy snifter, even steel tumblers. A blender is tucked in the corner next to a bowl of fresh fruit, which had to have just been delivered there today.
Sam takes off down the hall, finding the bathroom full of their stuff from home, even Sam’s favorite towel (which is freshly laundered). A few feet further is the bedroom, with what must be a California king, two dressers, an HD TV, and -
A mirror on the ceiling. Sam tells himself to check for a hidden camera later.
He makes his way back to the living room, smiling at Steve, who hasn’t even started drawing yet. “This is ridiculous,” he says, taking his first seat on the couch and staring at another 50 inch HD TV. “Holy shit, this is comfortable.”
Steve nods, slipping off his chair and crawling over to the bookcase. “This is weird, right? I’m pretty sure this is weird, but I can’t really tell anymore.”
“I think we crossed ‘weird’ a long, long time ago.”
Steve hums in agreement, his fingers tapping the spine of each book until he stops at one, his shoulders shaking.
“What?”
Steve scrunches up his nose, which he does when he’s trying not to laugh, so Sam joins him on the floor and looks.
It’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. Sam doesn't get the joke, yet he can't help but laugh along anyway.
After getting their fill in the living room, Sam drags Steve to the bedroom, jumping on the bed. He doesn't even want to begin to guess the thread count of the sheets as he closes his eyes. It's not too soft, either; he feels stable, secure.
"Okay, we're pretty picky on beds, but this is perfect."
"There's a mirror on the ceiling," Steve says, having the same thought process as Sam. "A mirror. JARVIS, is there a camera?"
"No, sir. Mr. Stark said that it may provide extra delight to your bedroom activities. It is entirely for your use."
"Hmm," Sam says, flipping over to lay on his front. "Wanna give it a try? You'd see what you look like when I'm fucking you, and I heavily recommend it."
Steve gives him a wolfish grin.
*
“Tony got you, too?” Natasha’s tinny voice comes from the speakerphone. "Wait. I can hear your heavy breathing. Did you really just call me after having sex?"
"We would never," Sam says, exaggerating his breathing, and Natasha grumbles.
“It's a vacation, really," Steve says, his eyes lingering on Sam's sweaty collarbone. "Where exactly are you, anyway?”
“Around,” Natasha says, and Sam imagines her examining her nails.
“We already know you’re in the city,” Steve says. “You might as well come suffer with us.”
“Suffer,” Sam scoffs. “If you mean two weeks of delicious food, a perfect bed, any movie you could possibly watch, any album you could listen to -”
“All right, Wilson, good grief. I get it. Stark Tower is nice.”
“It’s Avengers Tower now, actually.”
“Apologies,” Natasha says.
“So it means you have to come, too.”
“Can’t have Thursday movie nights without you,” Steve says, and Sam gives him a thumbs up.
“Damn it, Rogers!”
They’re good to go.
*
Sam isn't sure when he drifted off, exactly, but he wakes up feeling better than he has in years. He hears an intake of breath that doesn't belong to Steve, feels weight near his feet, so he pries an eye open to see red hair. He lets them drift closed again, the threat investigated and disregarded. Steve rolls over and tugs Natasha between them.
"So you'll stop staring at us," Steve mumbles.
"Could get used to this," Sam says.
She flicks his nose, but snuggles against them.
"Time is it?" Sam asks.
"Six," she says. "Wanna go for a run?"
"Have you looked around yet?" Steve says instead, now rolling on his back. Sam reaches out and runs his fingers through Steve's hair.
"Yes," she says. "How long do you think it took Tony to custom design all of our floors?"
"Creepy, isn't it?"
Natasha raises an eyebrow in agreement, then tugs at their blanket. "Run?" she repeats.
"Five minutes," Sam says, flopping his arm across her.
Natasha clicks her tongue, but she settles in, too.
She gives them thirty.
*
Sam decides that his favorite part of the apartment is now their shower. The water pressure is so amazing that he nearly sinks to the floor, and even a wet, naked Steve isn't enough to distract him for a moment.
"I'm moving in here," he says, gesturing around the shower.
"Sure," Steve answers, putting his hands on Sam's shoulders and kneading them with his thumbs. Sam groans.
"You have to move in here too. And keep doing that. Forever."
"I live to serve you, sir," Steve nearly purrs in a deep voice. Sam's cock twitches.
"I changed my mind, I need your hands somewhere else."
“Where, sir?” Steve whispers, breathing on the back of Sam’s neck. “Tell me where.”
“You know full well where,” Sam says, biting his lip.
“Oh,” Steve says, his hands sliding down to Sam’s hips. “Here?”
“No,” Sam manages to spit out.
“Hmm,” Steve murmurs, fingertips lightly tracing Sam’s stomach. “Here, sir?”
“Steve,” Sam whines, grinding his teeth.
Steve exhales slowly, pressing his lips to Sam’s shoulder. “Sir?” Finally, finally, his fingers loosely wrap around Sam’s cock. “Here?”
“Yes, yes, God, please, don’t you fucking move -”
“May I use my fingers?”
“Yes, those you can move, yes -”
Steve hums to himself, wrapping one arm around Sam’s waist and the other slightly stroking Sam’s cock. He’s silent, pressing kisses to Sam’s shoulders, one at a time, the soft movements of his lips contradicting his fingers as they start to curl into a fist, stroking faster, and Sam isn’t sure which sensation to focus on, his vision is blurring, his ears ringing -
“Shh, sir. Let me take care of you. I have you.”
“You can’t talk to me like that,” Sam grits out, his hand clenching so tightly around Steve’s wrist that he hopes he leaves bruises. “You’re mine. You belong to me.”
“Sir,” Steve acknowledges, his voice quiet. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, just keep doing what you’re doing.”
“Yes, sir,” Steve says, so quiet it’s just a breath, and that’s enough, that’s it, he comes with a gasp, his knees going weak. Steve is the only thing keeping him standing as he rides it out, Steve mouthing lazily on his shoulder.
“Shit,” Sam finally says. “That was...embarrassing. I don’t think I’ve come so quickly since I was thirteen.”
Steve laughs. “I’m flattered.”
They stand in silence for a moment, Steve tracing patterns over Sam’s hip.
“So...sir, huh?”
“Yeah,” Sam pants, “that was news to me, too.” Just - the thought of commanding officer SpecOps Steve, who disobeyed orders so easily, submitting to him? He turns around and sinks his teeth into Steve’s neck. He loves marking, biting, seeing proof of himself on Steve’s body. He pulls back slightly, tracing the mark with his tongue, before moving down to his collarbone. “You want me to -”
“Nah,” Steve says, standing stock still while Sam marks him. The trust and submission in his pose is almost overwhelming. “That gave me an idea, and I’d like to have plenty of time to use it.”
“You’re going to kill me, you know that?”
“Best way to go,” Steve says, shutting off the water when Sam pulls back. Steve strokes the marks with his fingers, his lips curling upward slightly.
Sam groans as he steps out of the bathroom, dragging his shaking legs to the closet to slip into some clothes.
"Hungry," Steve says as he pulls on a shirt, not bothering to hide the bite marks.
Sam stretches, then sighs. "Want to go downstairs and see if anyone else is up?"
"Sure." He gives Sam a cheeky grin. "If you think you can walk that far."
"Jerk," Sam says, giving Steve a shove as they walk to the elevator.
Clint and Tony are sitting at the table; Clint's eating a bagel, but Tony's simply drinking coffee.
"You've been busy," Clint says, reaching out to poke at a bruise on Steve's collarbone.
"You have no idea how hard I have to bite for that to stay for a while," Sam says as he pulls out some eggs and a skillet.
Tony pokes too. "Enjoyed the shower, did we?"
Steve pushes him away, pretending to nip at his finger. "Tickles."
"What kind of omelet do you want?" Sam asks Tony.
"Whatever you're having is fine," Tony says. "Thanks."
Sam nods, adding in extra ham and peppers to the skillet.
"So," Tony begins, nearly vibrating in excitement in his chair. "Your wings."
"Here we go," Steve says, but he smiles as he sips his orange juice.
"Your uniform is next, hot stuff."
"What more could you do with mine?"
"Do me a favor and never ask me that again.”
Steve grins and salutes. "Sir, yes sir."
Sam shivers; he swears Steve did that on purpose, but Steve avoids eye contact.
"Great. So, the wings. I got the blueprints and have already drawn up some redesigns."
"Seriously?" Sam says, his voice shaking. He clears his throat, glares at Steve, and slides a plate Tony’s way. "Uh, that'd be awesome, thanks."
Tony eyes him, then waves a hand. "It's nothing."
"Can I see?"
"Nope," Tony says. "I prefer to show finished genius as opposed to in progress genius."
As they eat, Tony asks them if they've found their gym on the thirtieth floor.
"We have our own gym?" Steve says, pushing his empty plate away.
"I saw the pathetic gym you had at SHIELD and was so offended that I had to build my own to make up for it."
Judging by their apartment, Sam can't even begin to imagine what it must look like, so he puts his plate in the sink and drags Steve to the thirtieth floor. His eyes automatically zoom in on two pieces of equipment.
"He did not design life-sized Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots."
"What?" Steve says, but Sam has already pulled them up on Google images on his phone. Steve looks back at them, reaches out, and gives one a poke. It twitches, then comes to life. "Awesome."
"We have to play with them."
Steve faces the red one and gives it a light jab; it responds by punching him in the face so hard he flies across the room. Sam feels slightly bad that the first thing that comes out of his mouth is a laugh. "Damn, are you okay?"
Steve wipes his bloody cheek and grins. "Awesome."
"Puny weakling!" the robot says, sounding suspiciously like the Hulk.
Sam peers at the blue one. "I'm hoping these have been personally customized for each of us."
"Aww, do you need me to test it for you first?"
"Shut up," Sam grumbles. He gears up for a punch, but Steve reaches out and grabs his wrist.
"I recommend taping your hands first. And gloves. Strongly recommend gloves."
"Shit, yeah. Good plan."
Luckily, Sam's is more tame, but it still puts up a hell of a fight.
They end up needing another shower, but somehow, it's not exactly a hardship.
*
On the evening of day five, they end up sprawling out in the living room. Tony works on a tablet, which Sam suspects are blueprints of his wings, but he keeps shielding it away whenever Sam tries to peek.
"Go away and pick a movie or something."
He drifts over to the shelf with DVDs and looks through them curiously. His eyes widen.
"Is this legit?"
"Eh? Is what legit?"
Sam pulls down a copy of The Great American Cowboy. "I'm confident this never even came out on DVD...how do you have it?"
"Because I have everything," Tony says, tapping away. Steve stands over Sam's shoulder, looking at the cover.
"What is it?" Thor asks.
"This movie I used to watch all the time with my dad," Sam says, his voice cracking slightly at the end. Steve rubs his back. "We owned it on VHS, but my brother ended up breaking it, and we never got another one."
"Why didn't your dad buy a replacement?" Clint says.
Sam's mouth is dry. "Because soon after that, he was gone."
He had told Steve about this movie once, late at night with the lights off in their bed after he'd had a few beers. He had mentioned that he'd love to see this movie again, but at the same time, he didn't know if he could handle it. He looks over his shoulder at Steve, who is watching him carefully.
"Do you want to watch it?"
"Yeah," Sam hears himself say. "I think I do."
"What's it about?" Clint says, after a few moments go by.
"It's just a documentary about rodeo cowboys. We used to love them," Sam answers. He bites the inside of his cheek, suddenly feeling very exposed and stupid. "You guys don't have to watch or anything. I mean, it's -"
"I'm down for cowboys," Clint says.
"Yo," Tony adds, waving a hand without looking up from his tablet.
"Why are they called cowboys?" Thor says, settling in. "Don't they ride horses?"
"They'd ride horses in order to tend and herd cattle on ranches. The cowboys in this documentary ride for sport, though. They -"
"Don't spoil it," Steve chides him playfully. "Put the damn thing in."
Sam obeys, and Steve drags Sam between him and Natasha. She lays a hand on his arm, warm and comforting, while Steve presses up against him on the other side.
It's not the same, naturally, and he can hear his dad's laugh at certain points or further explaining things at others, but it works. Between Tony's sarcastic (but good-natured) interjections, Clint proclaiming that he'd own these cowboys, Thor saying he'd be better than Clint, Natasha rolling her eyes at both of them, and Steve holding his hand, he finds himself grinning.
When he finds the DVD on their bed with a note simply saying yours, he carefully tucks it in his top drawer.
*
Day seven starts off lazy; Tony's off at meetings for the day because Pepper is in Italy for a conference, Thor is visiting Jane, and Clint is...somewhere. Sam doesn't have a clue where he is.
He sleeps in, finally waking around ten, and automatically reaches out to feel Steve's side of the bed. It's cool, signaling he's been gone a while, so he stumbles out of bed and into the shower.
When he sees Steve is nowhere to be found on their floor, he traipses down to the main one, where he finds Steve and Natasha curled around each other, watching TV. He chuckles and heads into the kitchen to make some eggs. Bruce ends up following a few minutes later, and Sam makes him breakfast without even asking. Bruce nods in thanks when Sam gives him a plate.
"That's not a sight I expected to see," Bruce says tilting his head to the couch.
"Why not?" Sam asks, then starts at the heat in his tone.
"Whoa, I meant no offense," Bruce says, holding up his hands. "I just didn't expect it, is all."
Bruce is the Avenger that he is least familiar with, so he's embarrassed that he lashed out so easily. "Sorry, I don't know why I did that," he says. "I'm just kind of -"
"Protective?" Bruce says.
"Something like that," Sam says, giving him what he hopes is an apologetic expression.
"Good," Bruce says. "They need it. They're protective of you, too."
"Well, I guess when you take down an intelligence agency, it solidifies quite a bond."
Bruce inclines his head at that. "They look happy. I suppose that's why it was surprising."
"Happy is good."
"Happy is very good."
They sit in silence for a bit, enjoying their breakfast.
"What's life like in DC?" Bruce asks suddenly. "I know that you work at Veterans Affairs."
"Yeah," Sam says. "PTSD counseling."
"Must be hard," Bruce says, then winces at the platitude.
"It was at first," Sam replies. "It got easier once I figured out what to say and when to say it."
"That's great," Bruce says, giving him a genuine smile that says much, much more.
"I'm touring a VA facility tomorrow, then Steve and I are doing lunch. Want to come? To lunch, that is. I bet you know all the good spots."
"I don't want to intrude."
"I'm inviting you," Sam says. "You're not intruding."
Sam invites Natasha too, but she declines, giving a knowing look in Bruce's direction. He arranges to meet Bruce at Whitman's at 2, where Bruce insists he has to have a Juicy Lucy, and he and Steve take off in one of Tony's cars.
Overall, Sam's pleased about the visit. The employees and vets may be used to Steve's presence in DC, but obviously not here. At first, they endure curious and awestruck stares, but after Sam looks back at them with a slightly pleading look, they stop. After that, they're greeted with polite handshakes and hellos, some asking if they can give a tour. Steve reaches out and slips his fingers through Sam's as they walk through the building, and that's one of the first things that Sam has learned: Steve, really, really loves holding hands.
The employees are friendly and outgoing, but what Sam cares about most is how passionate they are. The manager he speaks with, Madison, is especially excited to see him - he wonders what she must have been told about him. She offers him a job almost on the spot, and he's stunned.
"I'll be honest, my concern is that I'm getting this job because I know the right people."
Madison shakes her head fervently. "No, it's not that at all. I called your VA, and they gave such glowing reviews that I almost couldn't get off the phone."
Steve straightens his shoulders and gives Sam a proud look.
"You've got a great staff here," Sam says.
She gives him a sly look. "Good enough to see yourself among them?"
He laughs. "Maybe. I've got other things I need to decide, and once I do that, I'll get back to you."
She waves a hand. "Of course. I just wanted to make sure you know that you have a place here if you want it."
Steve doesn't let go of his hand as they walk outside.
"Of course you deserve the job," he says with a grin.
"You're supposed to say that," Sam says with a playful huff.
Steve makes a face. "I'm always honest." He squeezes Sam's hand.
Bruce is already at Whitman's, saving a table for them. He doesn't speak much about himself at first, content with asking them questions instead as they eat their burgers. Sam plays along, but tries to slip in some questions about Bruce. Like an expert, Bruce dances around them and somehow gets the conversation turned back on them.
"How was India?" Steve finally asks instead.
Bruce considers the question, as if he's wondering how personal it could be, but he starts to talk, opening up slightly as he does.
Bruce may be quiet, but he’s got a charm that Sam can’t quite name - and he has a lot of good stories. Soon, his burger is forgotten and he's even gesturing as he talks, a tiny grin on his face.
Sam gives Steve a subtle high five under the table.
*
Another thing that Sam has learned is that Steve really loves kissing. He's content to sit on Sam's lap on their bed, his fingers curled around Sam's shirt, mouth moving slow and lazy against Sam's.
"I can't wait to introduce you to some other things," Sam says, imagining ropes and blindfolds. Steve pulls back, grinning. He lays down, pulling Sam with him.
"So, how have you been doing with this?"
Steve lifts a shoulder. "It's fine. It's actually not as awkward as I thought it would be."
"We can go whenever you want."
"No, really, it's okay," Steve says, his hand stroking the back of Sam's head. "I've liked it here."
"Me too."
Steve smirks at him. "Anyway, we don't need to be talking about this now."
"What do we need to - oh," Sam hisses as Steve wraps his hand around Sam's cock, and with one smooth stroke, leaves Sam breathless. He will never get over how much Steve loves his dick, worships it, how much Steve can take as Sam thrusts into his mouth, down his throat; he doesn’t choke, just grabs Sam’s hips tighter as Sam writhes and bites his lip so hard he draws blood.
Steve kisses his way down Sam’s chest, then wraps his lips around Sam’s cock, running his tongue over the slit, once, twice, before pulling off, pressing a small kiss to the tip, to the side, content with breathing hot, soft air against Sam all the while. He takes his time, but he’s always been slow, sometimes painstakingly so, and Sam thinks he whimpers, grabbing Steve by the hair and tugging him back on track. Steve laughs at this, the vibration sending shivers down Sam’s spine, and takes Sam’s cock back in his mouth, humming lightly. His fingers are just dancing along Sam’s thighs when their door opens with a bang.
Steve pulls off Sam’s cock and Sam curses, long and filthy that would have his mama whipping his ass. Whips, shit, wrong time to think about that -
“Whoops,” he hears Clint say.
“You fucking sad sack of goat shit, you useless, sperm burping -”
“I’m very sorry,” Clint says, his voice void of any sincerity. “I got lost.”
“Go sit on a spear and twist, you -”
“Pervert,” Steve supplies, cutting Sam off. He hasn’t made any attempt to cover themselves up, giving Clint a good look. He matches Clint’s stare easily, daring him to do something.
“Hey,” Clint says, offended. “I am an artiste.”
“Yeah?” Steve says, lifting the covers. “You want in?”
Clint’s eyes widen. “Really?
“Get out!” Sam shouts.
Luckily, Steve makes it up to Sam, sucking his cock until he’s a writhing mess, then flipping him on his stomach and fucking him so hard his head hits the headboard.
God, he loves this man.
*
Steve is just getting out of the shower when Sam wakes up, and Sam can't help but fuck the clean off him, so he has to go shower again. Hungry, Sam stumbles down to the main kitchen - they have yet to use their own because it seems...wrong.
Thor is the only one up, eating eight pancakes in one sitting. He points at the stove. “There’s more if you like.”
“Thanks,” Sam says, helping himself to a few. Thor passes him some syrup.
“How are you enjoying your time here?”
“It’s good,” Sam says with a nod. “It’s - it’s good.”
Thor lifts a thoughtful brow at him, silently asking him to continue.
“Not quite what I was expecting,” Sam admits.
"Oh? What were you expecting?"
"I'm in a superhero bachelor pad. I guess I don't really know what I was expecting, but it wasn't watching documentaries or eating burgers. Not to mention that I haven't exactly been around people like you guys before."
“You’re with the Captain,” Thor says.
“No,” Sam says, “I’m with Steve.”
“Ah,” Thor says. “I appreciate you can distinguish the two.”
Sam shrugs. “It’s Steve. Steve is Cap, too, but Cap isn’t Steve. I think. I’m not making any sense.”
“You’re making sense,” Thor says with a knowing look. He stabs at his pancake and takes a bite. “We understand.”
The words flow heavy into Sam’s ears; he manages a smile back at Thor. “I’m seeing that.”
They eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, and it’s strange that he should feel so relaxed around a demi god, for fuck’s sake, but Thor oozes affability. Sam finds his gaze drawn to the hammer, which lingers by Thor’s feet even at breakfast.
"You want to try to lift the hammer, don't you?"
“No!” Sam says. “Well. Maybe.”
"Most do," Thor laughs. "No one has managed it as of yet, but you all are worthy.”
“You just met me,” Sam says.
“We view time very differently, my friend,” Thor says simply, an old air about him. “Very differently, indeed.”
Sam's not quite sure what to say to that, but luckily Thor leans over and picks up his hammer. "Have you finished your breakfast?"
Sam nods and puts his dishes in the sink.
Thor twirls his hammer. "Shall we go outside so I may show you what I can do with this?"
"Um. Yes."
*
On day ten, Clint invites Sam out to a bar for the night. To his surprise, Clint only invites him, but Steve simply grins, waves, and settles in between Bruce and Thor on the couch. Sam leaves hearing Bruce recommending they watch The Shawshank Redemption, but Steve proudly proclaims he’s already seen that and read Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption, and that he has actually met Rita a few times. Which makes Sam want to stay a little, because that story he wants to hear, but Clint drags him out.
"What's up?" Sam asks as he slips into the car.
"Bonding experience," Clint says, putting the car in gear. “One that doesn’t include me accidentally walking in to see your boyfriend sucking your dick.”
“Accidentally,” Sam parrots. “Right. I haven't forgiven you for that.”
“Sorry,” Clint says, and he actually sounds slightly apologetic this time.
“Just - if you do it again, I might kill you.”
“Understandable,” Clint says. “I would, too.”
Clint takes him to a dive bar, which is what Sam is used to, and strangely grateful for.
"It's kind of nice to drink with someone again," Sam says. "Steve can't get drunk, and I'd never drink with people from the VA. I don't want them to get any ideas about using it as a coping mechanism."
"What about you?"
"I love a good beer at the end of the day, maybe some Crown on the weekends. I don't know about them, though. Not risking it."
"Do counselors usually hang out with their group?"
"Sometimes," Sam says. "Usually we go out for a meal, though. Sometimes they want to talk to me one-on-one."
"Rough gig," Clint says.
"Little bit." Sam takes a drink of his bourbon. "So, how goes the vetting process?"
"What?"
Sam gestures to himself. "Me. How am I measuring up?"
"Not too bad," Clint says. "I'll be honest with you, I was prepared to kick you to the curb if I had to. Some people don't know what's good for them because they don't think they deserve it. I dunno for sure if Cap's that guy, but I can see it in him. Nat vouched for you, which, in my book, is as good a compliment as you'll ever get. Still wanted to see for myself, though."
"No, that's good. I want you to."
Clint nods and orders them another round.
“So, why did you stick around? It seems to me you primarily have worked solo.”
“Damn, you are a therapist,” Clint laughs. He plays with the label on his beer bottle. “What else was I supposed to do, really? With SHIELD gone, I had nothing left. Nothing but these guys, I guess, and it’s kind of hard to find people who know you and are still willing to work with you. I mean, I had just been mentally fucked up and controlled to go on a murderous rampage, but Cap trusted me right after Nat broke the spell. He took my word that I was able to do the job. Nat agreed that I could, but he went with it without asking another question. Not many people take Natasha’s word for things, much less mine. Kind of hard to not go along with someone like that. Sad, isn’t it?"
“Why do you say that?”
Clint lifts a shoulder. “I dunno, besides getting to know Steve and Nat when we worked at SHIELD, I didn’t really know the others, but here I am, jumping at the chance to live with them.”
“I don’t think it's sad, no. You forge bonds when you can. Survival of the fittest. I hadn’t known Steve very long at all when I took him and Natasha into my house. Time itself isn’t always a proper measurement of knowledge, despite what most people say. I got Steve the moment I met him. Was like I knew him my whole life.”
“And you went on to bring down HYDRA,” Clint says. “Despite not knowing them for long.”
“I guess we have that in common.”
Clint grins. “Guess we do.”
They drink in silence for a minute.
"It's weird, being here as me and just drinking. I'm usually undercover tailing a guy. I could go play darts and actually play for the sake of playing."
"Want to?"
Clint gives a sly grin. "I could use some pocket change."
Because Clint can't do anything halfway, he finds the biggest guys in the place and challenges them to a game. With Clint being an archer, Sam figures their victory is guaranteed, but Clint's first throw is way off the mark. He grumbles to himself, but Sam just shakes his head, recognizing the beginning of a good hustle.
Clint gets them in double or nothing and takes them down. He grins proudly and holds out his hand for the cash, but when a few seconds go by and no money exchanges hands, Sam takes a slight step backward.
Of course, they end up being chased down the street, the men cursing at them the whole way.
"We could take them with our eyes closed, you know," Clint calls.
"Yeah, but do you want to explain to the others why we're in a jail cell?"
"Shit, good point."
*
Twelve days in, Tony pops in on him while he’s eating lunch; Steve is off with Bruce in his lab, although he's not quite sure what they're doing.
"Wings are done."
"What, already?"
Tony shrugs. "I work quickly. I vastly improved your turning radius and increased durability."
"Durability?"
"I figured it would be useful if you ever needed to carry passengers. Not everyone is as awesome as us and can fly, and I guarantee at some point they're going to rely on us to get their asses out of a mess."
"Can't Thor fly?"
Tony shrugs. "Sort of, but it's mainly him slinging his hammer around and it dragging him places. So no hammer, no flight, which is kind of a liability when you need to be lifted out of a jam. You won’t be able to lift as easily as I can, of course, but it's not too shabby."
“Oh, really?”
“Really, see, I built footholds on my boots so people can enjoy the ride as I glide. You're stuck with good old fashioned menial labor.”
"I could pick up Steve with good old fashioned menial labor with the old wings. Suck it, old man."
Tony folds his fingers together. “Are you challenging me, fledgling?”
“I believe I am.”
Tony lifts an eyebrow. "What are the parameters?"
Sam grins.
*
"What are we even doing out here?" Bruce asks, looking around the empty field Tony has dragged them to.
"Think of it as Avengers baseball," Tony says, raising his faceplate.
"And making it Avengers baseball means...?"
"Let's just say it's almost exactly like baseball, except in the air."
"What?"
"I carry someone and Sam carries someone, and a bat/baseball are involved."
Bruce sighs, but Sam can see a little smirk on his face. "Who's carrying who?"
"I get Cap," Tony says.
"Wait a minute, why would you?" Sam asks.
"Because you carrying him would make him a biased participant. You get Natasha."
"Pardon?"
"Why can't I play?" Clint says at the same time.
"Silence," Tony interrupts. "Now, are you two going to play, or not? You're the biggest baseball fan here, Cap. Plus, it's good practice for missions. I'm pretty sure you'll be falling off buildings like an idiot in the future and will need a rescue. You can be spotter, Daryl Dixon."
"Thanks a lot," Steve says as Clint mumbles "Pity role."
"Shut up, Barton," Natasha says, and before Sam realizes it, she's delicately positioning herself on Sam's hip. He winks at her.
"You better take care of my boy, Stark."
"Poor choice of words, Wilson!" Tony calls back, gesturing at Steve to come over. “I always take good care of those who ride me. Thor? The equipment, if you will?”
“You actually brought a bat and ball,” Bruce says.
“You haven’t been listening, have you?” Tony breezes past Bruce. “Who’s up first?”
“We are,” Natasha says, and she curls her fingers around the bat as Thor hands it to her.
“This is ridiculous,” Steve says, but it doesn’t stop him from walking toward Tony. “So, how do I…?”
"Here - put your right foot on mine and wrap your arms around my neck."
"And my left?"
"Eh, let it dangle. Your right foot is in the foothold so it's not going anywhere. Just hang on tight and you should be fine. Don't wiggle around too much; I don't want to be distracted because you gave me a boner."
"How would I give you a boner? You're encased in metal."
"Let's not rule anything out, I assure you. Ask Pepper. Now hop on."
Steve steps on Tony’s foot a little gingerly at first, until he realizes that Iron Man can easily support his weight. He wraps his arms around Tony’s neck at Tony’s prodding, and huh, Sam literally has a beautiful woman on his hip but somehow he can’t draw his eyes away from them.
“Sam,” Natasha says, flicking his ear. He glares at her. “Focus. I’m not losing because you’re getting all drooly here.”
“Hey, just don’t hit me in the head with that bat and we should be fine.”
“Hang on, Mary Jane,” Sam hears Tony say, and Thor throws the ball up at Steve.
“This might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” Sam says, and he once ate three full pies as a dare, puked all over his dorm room, and drank six beers to wash out the taste during his freshman year in college, so this is saying something. Although…he now realizes that he is probably the only one who has played any type of baseball for fun in the backyard as a kid. If the others want to play high tech baseball in the backyard, then they’re going to play fucking high tech baseball in the backyard.
Natasha has a good swing as she stretches away from Sam's body to avoid hitting him, but Tony’s speed makes it impossible for her hits to sail past Steve's hands. When she’s done with the bat, she tosses it in Steve’s direction, who manages to twist just enough so he can hit with one hand. Natasha gears up to throw, but something hits Sam in the shoulder.
“Hey!" Sam looks at the ground. "What the hell?"
Clint waves at them with a Nerf gun. He pops off another shot. "You need to practice your agility!”
“Where the fuck did you get a Nerf gun?”
Bruce, his head still buried in a book, whistles innocently.
“You might want to pick up the pace,” Natasha warns.
“Why - oh, hell no.”
Thor’s now perched on Tony's back, wielding the hammer. Sam’s surprised he can’t hear the bending of metal.
"Interference!" Sam yells.
"I should get bonus points for this," Tony says, his voice indicating the strain on his body. "I'm confident that carrying a lug of a demi god while a super soldier clings to my bosom wins over everything."
"Onward!" Thor says, holding up his hammer, but Tony doesn't move.
"As impressive as this was for a moment, I don't think that's gonna happen, big guy."
Sam sees he's barely managing to stay upright, and Steve wiggles his way out of Tony’s grip and drops to the ground, where he’s promptly pelted in the face with a Nerf ball. Grabbing his shield, he takes off after Clint, but Bruce stops him, pulling a water gun out of nowhere and handing it over.
Tony is significantly slowed due to all the weight he's carrying, so it's not even close, but Sam keeps weaving in order to avoid Thor actually following Tony's advice and tossing the hammer at them. Like a love tap! Tony says to Natasha's narrowed eyebrows.
It should be completely ridiculous - okay, it is - to see a twenty-seven year old World War II vet chasing an assassin with a water gun as he avoids getting hit by a Nerf ball, or to see Bruce sometimes stretch out his leg to trip them as they run by (without glancing up from his book), or to dodge and swerve so he doesn't get nailed by a Norse god, who is currently being held by a genius flying around in a metal suit, all while he's carrying an assassin of his own. Steve laughs loudly when Clint jumps clear over Bruce's head to avoid being tripped, and it's at that moment that Sam wants to move in.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Steve hit Clint with a faceful of water, so Clint dives at Steve’s knees, taking him down. When Clint stands up, he points a finger, cackling.
"Let me get him," Natasha says.
"Trade!" Sam calls out, and she drops to the ground in front of Clint, flipping him upside down using just her legs. Sam simultaneously wraps his arms around Steve's waist and lifts him up with a grunt. "Thank God I've been lifting heavier weights," he says.
Steve squirms in his arms to turn around to kiss him, but laughs against his lips. “Your goggles are in the way,” he explains, and he pulls them off, slowly, his fingers dancing along the tips of Sam’s ears. Which, apparently, is a new erogenous zone for him, and he shivers, tilting his head.
“Hmm,” Steve says, and he runs his thumb around Sam’s ear again. “You like that?”
“Yes,” Sam nearly growls, and it takes everything in him to keep them both in the air, especially when Steve pants in his ear, tangling their legs together.
"Infraction!"
“Fuck off, Stark,” Sam laughs, and turns his neck to allow Steve more access.
“That means I win, right? I win?”
“Pretty sure Sam is the one who is winning, Tony.”
"Shut up, flightless wonder. You really need to consider changing your call sign."
"Fine, you can say you won," Sam says. "I have more important things to do."
"Literally," Steve adds.
“Unnecessary,” Tony groans, but everyone can hear the smile in his voice.
*
As soon as they close their door, Steve is on him, his hands pulling at Sam's clothes.
"Too many clothes," Steve says, then accidentally rips Sam's shirt. "Oops."
"Never liked that shirt," Sam pants, ripping the rest of it off.
Steve runs his fingers down Sam's sides. "You're so pretty."
"I'll take it," Sam says, pulling at Steve's own clothes. Steve slips out of them easily enough, then his fingers are back to stroking Sam's ears.
"I'm learning a lot about you."
Sam grabs him and nearly tackles him to the floor. "Want me to learn more about you?"
Steve grunts as Sam rocks himself on Steve's lap. He wraps his fingers around Steve's wrists, slamming them to the ground. "What do you think?"
Steve gives him a sly grin. "What do you want me to think?"
"I want you to think that you can fight and try to pull away - you can break free if you want to, but you choose not to, huh?” Sam tightens his grip, leaning forward to brush Steve’s nose. Steve stares back at him, licking his lips. “You will blindly trust me that I will take care of you, and you will let me hold you down.”
Steve flexes his fingers. "What if I don't want to be able to break free?"
Sam swallows, his mind going blank for a moment. "Oh. Uh. Yes. I like that option."
Steve frowns slightly. "You won't be able to hold me down."
"I'm sure Tony can make something," Sam manages to say, his mind still off kilter at the thought.
Steve wrinkles his nose. "Do you really want him to be indirectly involved in our sex life?"
"Dude, it would totally be worth it."
Steve bares his teeth at him. "Yeah?"
"Yes. Yes," he whispers, sucking Steve's earlobe into his mouth. Steve hisses, arching his back.
"You're so easy, Steven."
Steve jolts, his hands curling into fists. His eyes are huge.
"Steven?"
He exhales sharply, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. “I don’t know why -” he begins breathlessly, then stops with a confused shake of the head.
Sam tightens his grip. "Steven does it for you? So easy," Sam repeats, and he starts to sweat, his breathing increasing until he pants, his fingers stroking the palms of Steve’s hands.
Steve narrows his eyes, and Sam exhales when Steve wraps his legs around Sam's waist and pulls him in.
"Prove it, sir," he purrs, and Sam is more than happy to.
*
Day thirteen begins with a text from Pepper. Sam blinks awake, squinting at the screen to check the time - eleven, wow - and reads that Pepper would like to have lunch with him at 12:30. Huh.
Steve has never been able to sleep in, so Sam finds him on the couch, watching TV with the volume on mute.
"Go ahead," Steve says when Sam tells him. He gestures at the bookcase. "I want to catch up."
Pepper invites him to her and Tony's personal floor, where she's made them club sandwiches, perfectly toasted and layered with ham and turkey. There's also an open bag of potato chips, and he can't help but snag a few off the bat. He gets them glasses of water and sits across from her, with her propping her bare feet up on the chair next to him.
"Thanks for inviting me," Sam says, hoping she'll explain why she did in the first place.
She nods back, recognizing the unspoken question. "I just wanted to thank you," she says, toying with the crust of her sandwich.
"For what?"
"For moving in here with the rest. Tony's never really asked for things outright, and I know he really wanted this."
"He's not alone," Sam says dryly, but he manages to contain his frown. So, Tony didn’t tell her it was potentially temporary. Interesting.
"I know," Pepper says. She sighs. "Steve must have been the loneliest person in the world. He seems happy here - he is, right? He's happy?"
"Yes," Sam says, "I do believe he is."
"You're good for him," she says, and the strong look in her eyes is slightly daunting.
"Thank you, ma’am," he replies, patting her feet.
Pepper watches him for a moment, and he's reminded of that first glance over he got from Tony when they arrived. He wonders who stole it from the other. "Are you happy here?"
"I'm happy wherever he is," he says with a shrug, "but yes, it's been great here. Would Tony freak out if I thanked him for everything he did?"
"What did he do?" she asks, but her smile turns playful. "You can try, but I can guarantee he won't accept it."
"Too bad. He's going to get it whether he likes it or not."
She laughs. "I think we're going to be terrific friends, Mr. Wilson."
*
Steve is reading 1984 on their bed when Sam gets back. He sets it aside when Sam jumps on the bed, flopping on his back.
"Pepper gave me a puppy eyes, Steve. Puppy eyes. Tony never told her it was a trial run."
"Bastard," Steve says. "Bet he did that on purpose. It might be impossible to say no to Pepper."
"Were you planning on saying no, anyway?"
"At the beginning, yes. I think,” Steve says, turning on his side with a slight frown. “The thought of living in someone else's home made me uncomfortable, especially Tony's house. The last thing I want is charity."
"Think about it, man. Tony has built an entire gym, robots, designed each floor entirely for everyone's use...he must have started right after Manhattan because that had to take a while. He really wants us to move in here."
Steve chuckles. "Yeah, I guess he does."
"Plus, I think you've well earned the right to choose what you want to do. I'll ask you this again: what makes you happy?"
"All right, all right," Steve grumbles. "You know I'm going to say you, you sappy bastard."
"You better."
Steve sighs. "I'm fully aware I'm stubborn. I'm also fully aware that I resist people's help."
VA session six, Sam thinks.
"I hate feeling weak. I felt that way most of my life, and people treated me like that. I wanted to prove I could do it on my own, so this whole -" he shrugs "- being taken care of thing -" he stops again, making a face. "You know what I mean."
"I do," Sam says, leaving it at that. He knows from experience that when vets open up, to let them lead the conversation.
"It's not like I have anything that keeps me in DC, like you do."
Sam kisses his temple and sprawls out on the bed. "The VA here is great."
Steve eyes him thoughtfully. "You're willing to leave your life in DC?"
"I'm well aware that this makes me sound like that sappy bastard, but you're my life in DC. My mama lives in Maryland, and that's not too far of a drive from here. You know my brother's in Kansas. I'm not leaving much in DC - and it would be a good idea for everyone to be in one area if this Avengers thing is going to work. Admit it, you love being part of a team, it's how you've always worked, and this group seems pretty solid to me."
"I guess," Steve says, but Sam doesn't miss the fond look in his eyes. He leans over and drapes his limbs over Sam like an octopus.
"I'd also like to note that the amount of sex we've had here has been a major factor in my decision.”
"It's been acceptable," Steve says. "I guess if you're in, I'm in."
Sam closes his eyes and strokes Steve’s bicep. "Let's do it."
*
On day fourteen, Sam corners Tony in his lab.
"We're in," Sam says.
"Yeah?" Tony attempts look casual, but he is barely containing his grin. "You like the stuff?"
Sam hears gym bed watercolors wings all at once. "The stuff was great, but honestly...we would have come without it. You didn't need to do it to get us to stay."
Tony tries to give a nonchalant shrug. "I just let my guys run wild, really."
"Sure, you had nothing to do with it at all."
Tony can't help but release that grin. "Okay, maybe a little. Maybe. A tiny, tiny bit."
"It's your love language," Sam says, then lets out a laugh at Tony's bewildered look. "It's what my mama used to say. Yours is acts of service. Mine is words of affirmation, if you were dying to know."
"Right," Tony says slowly. "Well. Yes. I suppose that. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. I don't want you affirming me all over the place."
"Noted."
"Clearly, this means party," Tony says. "You need to meet Rhodey; he's a colonel in the Air Force. Pilot. He'll probably wet himself over meeting you and Cap. He's a huge fanboy, it's almost nauseating, he has all the comic books and I even have a picture of him in a Cap uniform for Halloween when he was six."
"And you never did that?"
"Anyway," Tony says, ignoring that, "party. Lots of bourbon, vodka, beer, pizza, the works." He taps his chin. "I'll have to see if Bruce can create a formula that will let Steve get drunk because I bet that would be really, really hilarious. Natasha, too. She's probably a tank."
"She giggles sometimes."
Tony's eyes nearly bug out of his head. "You've seen her drunk?"
"Tipsy," Sam corrects.
Tony watches him for a moment with that scrutinizing look. "She trusts you," he says, a sudden serious tone in his voice. "Completely. The fact that she's able to even let herself be vulnerable around you at all is incredible."
Sam doesn't know what to say to that, and Tony must see that, because he continues.
"Is there anything else you need from DC?"
Only one. "I'd like to go back to the VA. Say goodbye." He frowns slightly. That group is the only thing he'll regret leaving.
"I figured. No problem, I'll get transportation for you, just let me know when."
"Thanks."
"I got the new counselor's number, too. His name's Ray - good guy. If you wanted to call him and tell him what he should know about your vets, that is. Or if you wanted to meet with him in person and talk about it."
Sam swallows. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."
"Then party."
Sam holds up a finger. "You have to do something for me first."
"What?"
"I need you to build me some very strong restraints."
"Strong enough for a super soldier, you mean?"
"Maybe."
Tony grins and holds out a hand. "Deal."