Chapter Text
The very first time Steve Rogers can remember having a crush on a boy, was so long ago the memories feel more like fractured parts of a whole than anything real or tangible.
More so than any real, single moment in time, the man simply remembers the feeling of warmth when he thinks about Robert Smith and his dimples and his coke stained cherry red lips and his big green eyes and freckles smattered across pale skin like a million constellations of stars. He remembers the way he blushed, cheeks tinted pink and sickly warm when the other boy would look at him. He remembers the feeling of butterflies in his stomach as the boy simply smiled at him like he was something important and special, something beautiful, like he was the whole entire world.
Even more than the feeling of warmth, Steve remembers the burning hot sensation of shame sitting like an anvil in his stomach.
Raised to be the perfect Irish Catholic boy, though undoubtedly a disappointment in some regards (his questionable health and proclivity to always get into a fight came to mind, there was never a time in his childhood that Steve was disillusioned. The boy was fully aware of the overwhelming, undeniable fact that the way he felt about Robert Smith, or Jack Cullen or any of the countless other nameless boys that caught his fancy at school or the movie theater or local parks (later in the barracks of the military) was wrong. Not just wrong, but against the will of God.
And it wasn’t like he was uninterested in girls entirely. Rather, his interest in them always seemed to be secondary to their male counterparts. He thought girls were pretty in an objective way. The way their hair curled, the curve of their breasts, their soft hips and waists intrigued him- but they never made his heart race, skin flush, mind numb to everything else in the way sharp jaw lines and stubble and muscles did.
But he spent far too much of his adolescence and young adulthood trying to tone his attraction towards the boys down and his attraction to pretty girls up.
So when he had first seen Peggy Carter, it was easy to fall head over heels for her at what felt like first sight and consequently shut down that horrible god forsaken part of him that dreamed of sucking at sharp chins and adam's apples. Of being held in strong arms, safe and protected, of living any life other than the one where he was a perfect soldier, perfect leader, perfect husband to a perfect wife.
And perhaps easy truly was the incorrect word to describe the process of reinventing himself as a strictly heterosexual man. How could one consider reinventing yourself as an entirely new being, while forcibly removing every shameful, horrible, gut wrenching part of yourself as “easy”?
Rather, removing any part of himself consistent with homosexual tendencies and further, with sin, was a dreadfully painful metamorphosis far more painful and emotionally disturbing than taking the super serum that turned him into the walking image of wholesome, American heterosexuality.
Every time he found himself blushing at the gaze of one of his fellow soldiers, dreaming of large hands on his waist and rumbling voices speaking low, sweet nothings to him and stubble scratching against his chin in a kiss, he would take that part of himself and bury it so far away from the surface of his being that he felt as if he could barely remember who Steve Rogers used to be before he started the act of dismantling himself entirely.
Arguably, at some point, it became quite clear that Steve Rogers pre-serum and Captain Rogers, Captain America, were two separate entities entirely. And Steve was happy to weed out all the worst parts of himself, leaving them with pre-serum Steve. Weakness and shame and guilt and god forsaken homosexual urges could stay with Steve if it was the last thing he did.
So he planned seemingly romantic dates and dances with pretty girls on Friday nights with the other soldiers and did everything and anything within his power to be “normal”. And even more so than normal, to be righteous and courageous, and take the part of Steve Rogers that would always fight for injustice and channel it into being the type of man other people looked up to. The type of man an entire nation could look up to. An all American Hero.
And then he went under the ice. Not just Captain America, but all of him… Captain America and Steve Rogers and his self righteousness and bravery and shame and guilt and entire sense of self went under and was frozen in time. And just like that he became a time capsule of a man out of time and every single thought and belief that defined his sense of self, his sense of worth, was frozen with him.
And then he woke up again, in a strange world that was far too bright and loud and wild. A world that made it clear that his opinions and values, his views on what made up a man’s worth, his thoughts on god and on his country, on himself, were as outdated as he was.
Once radical for his age, the beliefs he held were now mostly held by the elder, far more traditional and conservative members of society. And Steve felt like he was drowning because the world had so clearly started to move on from the overwhelmingly, undeniably all consuming world views that he had built his entire sense of self upon. And he knew that it was not very becoming of himself to agree with those so much older and more traditional than him, but maybe the worst part was that he wasn’t ready to let go.
He had spent his entire life trying to suffocate any part of himself that deviated from who he was determined to be, and frankly he truly wasn’t ready to let go of that image. He had worked too hard to let it all go… to let himself go. Not now, not ever.
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The very first time Steve Rogers saw two men kiss, two twenty somethings at a coffee shop he was frequenting for an Avenger's Community outreach appearance, he excused himself to the bathroom, got down on his knees right there on the cracked linoleum floor of the farthest stall to the left and vomited up his entire breakfast on the spot.
He gagged over the public toilet, vomiting until he was only able to bring up bile mixed with little specks of blood, as he tried desperately to screw his eyes shut tightly- refusing to let any tears fall.
He was stronger than this, he tried to remind himself, but he felt the tears prick at the corner of his eyes, threatening to fall and it made him pinch the skin of his inner wrist between his forefingers until it was red and swollen. The marks would be gone within minutes thanks to the serum, but the pain still helped him feel grounded, less like he was spinning out of control on the bathroom floor of a random coffee shop in a Manhattan he barley recognized as the one he had grown up next to.
He had dreamed of seeing anything akin to even casual intimacy between 2 men for years. He had spent countless hours picturing what it would look like. Two masculine forms joined together delicately, lips locked together, long fingers tangled in short hair, throats bobbing. The part of his brain that he hated knew that he would love the way it looked- even if he refused to admit it to himself outside of the darkness of night.
He always imagined he would love what it looked like. That he would feel some overwhelming, undeniable sense of belonging and comfort in response to seeing two men so openly attracted to each other.
But actually seeing it only a few feet away from him, made his skin crawl fiercely. Guilt and shame coiled in his abdomen at seeing the two men embrace and he felt disgusted, though admittedly it was mostly with his own self and not the two men. He felt exposed, like anyone and everyone could look at him and just know that there was something wrong with him. That he was wrong.
When he had finished vomiting, he tried to splash lukewarm tap water on his face, swishing another gulp of it around his mouth trying to remove the taste of vomit. But when he returned to the rest of his team, it was clear they could smell the acidic bile on his breath and see the way his face was red and puffy like he had been crying.
Barton looked at him with the smallest hint of concern, but Steve wasn’t able to process what the look actually meant because the minute Stark saw his clammy skin and shaking hands, he scoffed at the man in front of him.
“Should have assumed you were a homophobe, being captain bigot and all.” His tone was crossed somewhere between annoyance and anger.
“What, nothing to say?” The man taunted as Steve stood in silence. He was unsure whether the silence was induced by his inability to come up with a retort for the man or his fear of throwing up all over the ground of the coffee shop if he opened his mouth again.
But nonetheless, he was silent and it was clearly quite frustrating to Stark because after no more than a minute had passed, he was snapping back an indignant “That’s what I thought!”
And then Tony was storming past him to the couple who had previously been kissing, smirking at them like he owned the entire place (which he may have upon further consideration).
“Would you lovely couple like a selfie?” He offered with a tone that said he knew what a good offer it truly was, like he owned the entire world and everyone else was just living in it. And then Steve was learning what a selfie was (probably for the hundredth time because there were so many new things and he never seemed to remember any of them), as Tony took one of the two men's sleek StarkPhone's and threw up a peace sign as he tapped away at the screen feverishly.
And god did Steve feel like a piece of literal shit when he realized that the rest of his team was staring at him in disgust because he was standing in stormy, still silence, staring at the three men in front of him like they were worse than Nazi’s. Like he was going to be violent or punch them for simply being homosexuals.
“Seriously not cool…” Clint muttered at him, all previous appearances of concern gone, and then they were all getting in on the selfies with the couple and Steve was staring at them for a single second longer. The moment could have lasted an eternity until he finally processed that he desperately needed air. And then was finally able to snap into action, turning stiffly on his heel and all but running out of the door like the entire building was on fire.
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After that day, it felt like a sixth sense had been awakened within him and suddenly everywhere he looked there were homosexual people wholly and fully living their life as if it was completely normal and not one of the strangest things Steve had ever seen in his life.
One day, he saw two teenage boys holding hands on a park bench when he was out for his daily morning run, causing his heart to clench uncomfortably. Another afternoon he saw two older men sharing ice cream and one evening he even stumbled upon what appeared to be an entire establishment of young men wearing far too little clothing, drinking and flirting with each other out in the open like it was ok… like it was perfectly normal. The sight of it made his skin crawl and a part of him that had long since been dormant screamed out at him. What would it be like if that was him? Could he ever be as happy as those men? Would he ever be so lucky to get to live that happy and wild and free?
The questions haunted him almost daily. But when he dared question himself, shame would coil in his abdomen again and he stamped down that part of his brain like it was a hot piece of iron branding him from the inside out.
He made it this far by being the perfect American Man. The perfect spoiler and leader and captain and role model. He wasn’t sacrificing that for anything, not now, not ever. Especially not something that far more licentious men fell prey to… like drinking… or sex… or god forbid homosexual sex. No he would not fall to sin. He wouldn’t dare give up this life he had worked so hard on for anything.
The sentiment proved more difficult than he had originally thought due to the most unforeseen factor. Tony Stark came into his life like a hurricane, a tsunami and a wildfire all at once. They were bitter adversaries from the very first second they had met each other. The man succeeded in pushing every single button Steve wasn’t even aware he had to push.
The two men fought about everything and anything. Battle strategies and where to order pizza from, language that was appropriate to use and movies to watch on team bonding nights and how to attack enemies, when to attack less than enemies, money to spend, money to waste, morals to live their lives by, to led their team by… if it was Tony’s team or his team (and it certainly was Steve’s team he will have you know), if Tony even counted as being on the team at all.
And then after the coffee shop incident, everything seemed to get so much worse because Stark always latched onto anything that could possibly annoy Steve and when it became clear homosexuality could apparently make him puke his guts out it was like adding fuel to the Hating Steve Rogers fire.
It started with little things at first. Stark wore a rainbow pin on his lapel to a press conference, staring Steve down with his eyes, daring the other to say something, which he of course did because “should they really be making political statements like that during a press conference?”
“Fuck you grandpa!” Stark had replied before insisting the entire team wear the pins as well, except for Steve himself, who declined adamantly- which admittedly didn’t help the homophobe rumors surrounding the man.
After the pins, came the scandal. Steve was aware that Tony Stark was a promiscuous man, but when he went on his morning run one day and saw a newspaper headline that Tony Stark had had an affair with a married man- the head of some tech company- he felt like his heart was stopping. Because regardless of the year it was, it couldn't possibly be a good thing for your name to be associated with the headline “Tony Stark Insatiable Slut or Sexy Suitor?”.
And that wasn’t even starting to unpack the fact that there was no denying that there was a homosexual on his team and that his morals were stuck in a different century. He was a military man through and through and there was something so off about feeling like he was going into combat with someone like Tony Stark. “Someone like you!” His mind tried to scream at him, but he stomped the thought out like he did so many times before. He was nothing like Tony Stark. No. He was better than the other man ever was. He had self control and dignity and knew how to push it all aside. Lock it away, refusing to acknowledge any deviant sign of homosexuality… any sign of his real self.
And then came the touching. God there was so much casual touching. And it was one thing for a male friend to touch you, but Steve knew that Stark had slept with other men before- the evidence paraded across newspaper headlines and magazine covers and talk shows. So, when Stark started touching him, hands on his shoulder and his waist and in his hair so casually, like it wasn’t one step away from sin, it made him feel like he was going haywire.
The worst part was that Steve knew Tony knew how it was making him feel as well, because anytime he would touch the other man, he would smirk at him like he was punishing Steve. Tony looked at him like he somehow knew that the physical contact made his heart race and he felt like the other man could see straight through him, and further could see the desperate want hidden behind Steve’s stony expression any time the two touched.
Steve felt nothing but shame over the way he looked at Tony. He wanted to scream at himself when he noticed the veins in the other man’s arms, or his taut muscles as he worked on his Iron Man suits or other upgrades for the team, oil smudges on his sharp cheeks, shirt hitched up- showing the trail of hair down towards his crotch.
Those were the days that Steve would take cold showers, digging his nails into the flesh of his thighs- willing himself to be normal. Be normal. Be normal. But the little bloody nail marks on his thighs would heal so fast and it was never enough. The pain, the punishment, the self hatred all too short, too fleeting- gone before he could ever process it in the first place, leaving him hollow and empty and alone.
No matter how hard he tried, he could never truly turn the switch off in his brain and it made anger boil up in his body when he realized that he liked hearing Tony speak about his projects. He enjoyed watching his breath rise and fall when he fell asleep on the couch of their shared living room or at the counter in the kitchen, while he waited for his coffee to brew.
Until one day, when he had the shocking realization that Sure he had had crushes, fleeting moments of desperate infatuation and want throughout his life before and after the ice, but Tony Stark opened his mind and heart to so much more. And the part of his brain that he refused to ever acknowledge knew that he was maybe, perhaps falling in love. But falling in love with Tony Stark was like falling in love with the sun. He would not only be burnt, but rather incinerated if he let himself feel the feelings that were sneaking into his life like unwanted guests. But the heart wants what the heart wants and god it was ridiculous what Steve Rogers’ heart seemed to want.
And then it all came to an unfortunate boiling point during a weekly movie night with the entire team. They had finally gotten Tony to leave his workshop with the promise that the man could choose the movie they watched, and with a smirk he had agreed- streaming something called Brokeback Mountain onto the large television screen mounted on the far wall of the living room.
At first the movie started off like any other movie that he didn’t quite understand because the movies were so different than they used to be when he and Bucky used to go to the theater back in Brooklyn an entire lifetime ago. But as the movie went on, Steve’s cheeks tinted bright red as he realized what type of movie this was.
But then something horrible and terrifying and repulsive happened. He felt his pants tighten as the movie continued to play, his body horrifyingly reacting to the two men on the screen without his want or explicit consent. Which made him feel red and hot all over, burning with mortification and embarrassment and shame that he could fall so easily into the trap of sinful lust… and homosexual sinful lust at that.
He felt so embarrassed and horrified in that moment and he felt like there were eyes on him, like they could all see through him, see exactly what he was. And god Steve should have kept his composure in that moment, but he felt embarrassed and angry and like he was going to explode.
“Really Stark, try something moral for once.” He spit out, trying to deflect the attention away from himself, as he made to stomp out of the room vehemently, still very aware of the tightening of his pants setting a ticking clock on his interaction with the other man.
“Oh no you don’t” Stark exclaimed, jumping to his feet self righteously. “I’m getting sick and tired of your casual homophobia, Rogers…. This isn’t the dark ages anymore, grow up.”
Steve could feel his face heating up whether with embarrassment or self righteousness he was unsure. He could hear the cowboys on the screen kissing each other, the sounds of skin slapping against skin echoing in the living room alluding to something far friskier than just kissing, and the whispers of the other Avengers around him and his heart was racing because everything was too loud, too much, too everything.
“And I am getting so fed up with you being a morally self righteous asshole,” Tony spat and he knew everyone else was agreeing with him because his entire team was shaking their head (even Clint who always seemed to pity Steve the most) and he wanted to scream because this was so unfair. He was trying so hard to be so good, so perfect, everything the world needed him to be and he was failing so thoroughly.
“I can’t believe my dad ever idolized you, because you’re a fucking massive dick…”
And then blood was rushing in his ears and he wanted to scream at Tony for being so rude, for insulting Howard Stark, a man he respected more than anything, and at the other Avengers for saying nothing… for silently agreeing with Tony, at himself for having a literal hard on for this debauched cowboy film. It was all so wrong, he was so wrong and it made him want to lose it to the other man… at them all, to be the Steve Rogers of so long ago- the one who would throw a punch at someone twice his size without a second thought.
“You’re a coward… and small minded” Tony snarled and Steve couldn’t take it anymore, whipping around to give Tony Stark a taste of classic Steve Rogers self righteous anger. And then the world stopped because everyone was staring at him and they looked shocked. At first Steve couldn’t figure out why and then it all hit him head on like a train. The boner. He had a fucking boner over the stupid cowboy film.
Blood rushed to his face as time seemed to stop entirely. He felt all those eyes on him… staring, judging him, and of course they were judging him. He had a hard on for two men fucking in cowboy hats.
And god his life felt like it was crumbling in front of his very eyes. The perfect, heterosexual family oriented, good valued Steve Rogers being crushed in front of him like he was made out of dust. Like he was nothing.
He could feel himself start to hyperventilate, fear and panic clawing at his insides with razor sharp claws of a beast. He felt like a child again, sitting in church pews, feeling the shame branded on him like it was his own personal scarlet letter. His own deepest secret broadcast to everyone around him, to the people he wanted to respect him, the team he wanted so desperately to lead with virtue.
“Oh…” Tony’s voice dropped to almost a whisper as he stared at the man in front of him like he was seeing a ghost, his anger deflating like a balloon.
“Oh….” he repeated this time with far less confusion (and far more pity, which made him want to scream because Steve Rogers was a man who wanted the pity of no other man).
Tony took a tentative step towards the man in front of him, hands outstretched like he was talking to a skittish dog or an abused child. “I… uh…” Tony started, but Steve’s feet finally seemed to start working again and in that moment he spun on his heels like there was a fire behind him, refusing to hear the words spilling out of the other man’s mouth.
“Wait…” Tony’s voice sounded almost desperate, pleading with Steve to stop and hear him out. “Rogers’ just wait a second…”
But Steve was already out of the living room, practically running to his room before he lost control of his body and did something revolting like puking all over the hallway or punching the man, too terrified of his team's reactions, too ashamed of himself, and too angry at the wildfire that was Tony Stark to look back.