Chapter Text
Six months into his stay in the twenty-first century, Steve seriously considered taking out an ad announcing to the world that, yeah, people had sex in the forties. Maybe they talked about it less. Maybe they had a few hang-ups that weren’t in fashion anymore (thank God). But, overall, sex had been pretty popular. He’d certainly found it exciting.
But Steve knew it wouldn’t do a damn thing. His teammates, especially Tony, would still make comments about his sorry dating history. He’d still have to keep talking about his virginity (and wasn’t that a kick in the pants – a foot taller, a hundred pounds heavier, and everyone still thought he couldn’t get lucky) and he’d still be catching Avengers having sex everywhere. Every. Where. So far, the tally ran something like this.
Tony and Pepper in the elevator.
Okay. That one had pretty much always been in the books. He’d just been lulled into a false sense of security when it hadn’t happened within a week of moving in with Stark, that’s all.
Steve had been waiting for an elevator to take him up to dinner. When the doors opened, though, he’d been treated to the sight of Pepper with her skirt pushed up around her hips, one long leg thrown over Tony’s shoulder, and Tony’s face buried between her slender thighs. She stared at him for a full minute with wide, horrified eyes before Tony, of course, broke the impasse.
“Security breach,” Tony cackled breathlessly against her pale skin.
Pepper hit the billionaire genius across the back of the head before grabbing for her skirt.
“Sorry. Sorry,” she muttered, pressing buttons frantically. “There will be another elevator in a minute. We’ll get this one – fumigated or something. Stop laughing, Tony. I told you we should have left the express elevator for the penthouse only.”
Tony’s warm gaze and unrepentant shrug had reminded Steve of Bucky.
Natasha and Bruce just about anywhere.
To be fair, Steve never actually caught Natasha and Bruce in the middle of anything. It was just the way the two were around each other. Whether he walked in on her pinning Bruce to the mat in the gym or Bruce helping her out with a yoga pose in the living room or both of them making tea in the kitchen, it always felt like he was interrupting something better done without any clothes on.
“Of course, not,” Bruce said the one time Steve decided to ask. “Would you like some tea? It’s a chamomile blend.”
Then Bruce touched Natasha on the wrist – lightly, almost reverently – and handed her a steaming mug of something that smelled like flowers and licorice and lemons. She leaned in to take it from him and, just like that, they were in their own world again.
“No, thanks. I think I’ll just – uh – go for a run.” Steve hated running. Legacy of an asthmatic. “Or something.”
Bruce turned and frowned at him. “Are you sure? Exercise in the middle of the night isn’t actually a recommended treatment modality for insomnia.”
“The tea is delicious,” Natasha murmured as her eyes slid down to Bruce’s ass, barely discernible in his usual baggy pants.
The way Natasha eyed Bruce promised exotic, possibly painful things that made Steve want to cross his legs and beg for mercy. But when the doctor turned back around and caught her line of sight, he only swallowed. Their eyes met and the room flashed suddenly hot with a dark, predatory fire. Steve took one step back then two. Bruce was a brave man. Steve had found new respect for him. But they were worse than Tony and Pepper, really. A smoldering burn instead of a flash fire but still impossible to put out.
“I’ll just—” Take a cold shower. A really cold shower. He couldn’t remember ever taking so many cold showers in his life. At least, his SHIELD assigned therapist thought it was a sign he was overcoming his PTSD. “Read.”
That week, Steve had come close to just asking Jarvis where everyone was before he even headed out of his rooms.
Clint and Agent Coulson on the phone.
Steve knew his team and most of the world expected him to have problems with sex in general and gay sex in particular. His first news conference with the Avengers had made that much clear. There were whole groups of people out there using his shield as a symbol, a rallying cry for ‘wholesome values’. It had taken everything he had not to laugh like a loon or shoot somebody when he’d finally figured out what they meant.
Bucky would have been relieved. He’d always been scared to death that a couple of half-assed hand jobs would turn Steve into (more of) a target or, after Doc Erskine’s serum, get them dishonorably discharged or just flat out shot. Even the hand jobs had stopped after he’d met Peggy. No one had encouraged him to run after Peggy Carter more than Bucky. The fact that their secret was still a secret after seventy years tasted bitter – on those nights when Steve forgot himself enough to actually think about it anyway.
On one of those nights, Steve had wandered up to the kitchen in search of something – anything – to distract him from memories of dead people and ice. He’d found Clint – who Tony had housed on his own floor for some reason - in the living room, talking to Phil Coulson over some sort of video feed on the television. He’d known Clint went to see the man every day. He’d chalked it up to their long partnership in the field. Then he’d walked in to find Clint on the sofa, head thrown back as his hands worked desperately between his legs as Phil leaned forward on the television, his hands clenched like claws as he watched intently from a hospital room miles away.
“Come on, baby boy,” Phil muttered, voice hoarse, eyes burning.
Clint tossed his head, eyes still clenched shut. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. You come for me. Only me. And you will. Come. Right. Now.”
Clint wailed his release like a wounded animal finally set free.
Now, Steve flinched every time Tony mentioned video conferencing anyone.
So, that left Thor and that was just a matter of time. Thor spent at least half his time in Asgard - apparently arguing for leniency for Loki which made Steve feel more than a little grateful that he was an only child - and Dr. Foster was still investigating Einstein something bridges in Norway. Steve figured another month, maybe two, and he could add some brain melting images of Thor in flagrante to his collection. He really, really couldn’t wait.