[this is going to be shortish, unbetaed, just... not everything it could be... and please if anyone else is interested in filling HAVE AT IT but I have to work out some terribad kinks I guess so here's part 1]
Sam’s first theory: There was something wrong—temporarily, unusually—with Steve.
Sam got home from the VA on Monday and Steve was standing in the middle of their living room with his face twisted up. He stared at Sam, surprised like he hadn’t expected him home yet even though Sam was, if anything, a little late. He usually got out at 2:00pm on Mondays, and it was nearly 3:00 now, between a last-minute office supply emergency and the traffic.
“Hey,” Sam said. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Steve said, after a second where his jaw worked like he was nursing a bruise. “Yeah, s’nothin,’ I just—fell asleep. Bad nap, I’m all—” He shook his head. He was standing tensed and strange.
Sam nodded, tossing his keys and wallet on the coffee table. Not unheard of for Steve. “You sure you’re not hurt?” He leaned in for his hello-again-for-the-afternoon kiss.
Steve grabbed Sam’s arms and jerked back. Absolutely unheard of for Steve.
“Dude,” Sam said, trying to back off, but he wasn’t going anywhere with Steve holding him this tight. “Seriously, is—”
Steve’s eyes went from too wide to too narrow. He pulled Sam in and kissed him hard, grabbing the back of Sam’s neck and all but biting down. Sam didn’t register that they were moving until his back hit the wall, and a second after that Steve had hitched him up against it with an arm beneath his thighs. None of which was unheard of for Steve, though usually not on days they’d been apart for seven hours. Sam had intended to shower first, but he was pretty much good to go from the second Steve picked him up with one arm, up until Steve brought his other hand down from Sam’s neck and dragged Sam’s hips into a truly uncomfortable position so he could rut against his ass right there.
“Okay,” Sam gasped, twisting his face away enough to talk. “You want to move this to the bedroom?”
“Not really.” Steve grinned, tense and strange as the way he’d been standing before, but then he dropped his face to Sam’s shoulder and laughed. “Uh, if we do you have to promise not to get distracted. I mighta… I said I woke up confused, right?”
“What, did you break something?”
Steve laughed again, wheezy and a little giddy. “I took the door off its hinges.”
Sam snorted, trying to sound normal through the growing and contradictory hazes of arousal and concern. “Well, I’m not fixing it.” He kissed Steve again, but pulled away to add, “Must’ve been some nightmare.”
“Fuckin’ terrible,” Steve agreed. He put both hands under Sam’s ass and started carrying him to the bedroom. Sam grabbed his shoulders, because it was weird, but he felt unsettled moving backward like this. Steve was a superhero, he could get them down a hallway in one piece. “Worst nightmare I ever had. But it’s all over now. Now my biggest problem is you still got clothes on.” He dropped Sam onto the bed and was on top of him before Sam could even go for the button of his jeans. “Why’d I let you leave this morning? You remember? I must not have been thinking straight.” He’d started over-enunciating his words, but Steve did that, too, after a year of elocution to try and drive the Brooklyn out of his accent when he was in his USO show. “I was an idiot this morning.” Steve—literally—ripped Sam’s jeans open. The button gave and the seams around the zipper tore.
“Dude,” Sam objected. It lost some of its heat in his laugh.
“Ah, you don’t need ’em.” He dragged them down Sam’s thighs, leaving them pooled at his calves.
“I don’t need ’em nothing, those were nice jeans. You’re buying me new ones.”
“Or a nice silk bathrobe. Easier access. I can afford that. Hell, why do you work?” He flipped Sam over and hauled him back to the edge of the bed. Which brought them back around to “weird,” since even if Steve was in the mood for rough he usually gave Sam—more of a heads up to see if he was in the same mood, first of all, but then some more opportunity to participate in the position, and—
“Jesus,” Sam yelped when Steve stuck the tip of a finger in dry. “Steve, for Christ’s sake, there’s lube in the drawer, while we’re talking about things that happened as long ago as this morning.”
Steve groaned into the small of Sam’s back, a rumble right into his spine. Then he surged up, wrapped an arm around Sam’s waist, and shoved them both up the bed, groping one-handed for the bedside table. “Far be it from Captain America to be rude about this,” he said. “Bet you could take it, though.”
“How about we don’t find out.” Sam reached back and grabbed Steve’s dick, intending to get him through the apparently intolerable next two minutes. “I’m not explaining to some pretty nurse that I need stitches up my ass because my superhero boyfriend couldn’t wait—” Steve shuddered, his elbow slipped, and his weight dropped on Sam’s back. Sam’s thigh was soaked and they were going to have to launder the comforter. “Well, shit,” Sam said. “You got me all worked up.”
Steve sat back, breathing heavily. “I can go again,” he said. He sounded surprised.
“Believe me, I know.” Sam squirmed onto his back, tough with Steve right there and his jeans still around his ankles. He managed to kick them off. “You want to slow it down a couple miles per hour?”
“Really don’t.” He grinned, still taut and strange, and flipped the lube open. “We should get outta here.”
“What, for—Christ!” The lube was still cold and he had two fingers up his ass way faster than he was expecting. His dick jumped, plenty okay with the change. He gritted his teeth. “For dinner?” he said, making an effort to sound unaffected. Steve was insufferable when he felt he’d won something.
“Sure,” Steve said, “dinner. To start with. Then Tahiti or something.”
“What—?” Sam had to shut up or gasp out loud, and Steve wasn’t distracted enough for him to start doing that. “You okayed that with Fury?” He tried to sound like it wasn’t a big deal, like he wasn’t already weighing how much it’d kill him to miss his groups at the VA, or to be gone if something went down in D.C., against the idea of relaxing with Steve and without the weight of the world.
“Screw Fury,” Steve said. “I’m a big boy, I don’t need daddy’s permission. And what’re they gonna do, fire Captain America?” He hoisted Sam’s knee over his shoulder. “I don’t think about myself enough, you know that? Always so hung up on the mission. I need a little time with just—” He put a hand on Sam’s face, spanning his jaw, inches from his throat. “Just you.”
All of which qualified as something pretty big being up with Steve. But it wasn’t unheard of for Steve to prefer fucking to talking about something that was wrong, either, at least at first. He’d tell Sam what was wrong. He was lucky Sam had been in the mood for this, and not feeling defensive about his VA work (“why do you work,” he knew how important it was to Sam). But it was unusual and it was temporary. They’d figure it out tomorrow.
bodyswap trash fill 1/4?
Sam’s first theory: There was something wrong—temporarily, unusually—with Steve.
Sam got home from the VA on Monday and Steve was standing in the middle of their living room with his face twisted up. He stared at Sam, surprised like he hadn’t expected him home yet even though Sam was, if anything, a little late. He usually got out at 2:00pm on Mondays, and it was nearly 3:00 now, between a last-minute office supply emergency and the traffic.
“Hey,” Sam said. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Steve said, after a second where his jaw worked like he was nursing a bruise. “Yeah, s’nothin,’ I just—fell asleep. Bad nap, I’m all—” He shook his head. He was standing tensed and strange.
Sam nodded, tossing his keys and wallet on the coffee table. Not unheard of for Steve. “You sure you’re not hurt?” He leaned in for his hello-again-for-the-afternoon kiss.
Steve grabbed Sam’s arms and jerked back. Absolutely unheard of for Steve.
“Dude,” Sam said, trying to back off, but he wasn’t going anywhere with Steve holding him this tight. “Seriously, is—”
Steve’s eyes went from too wide to too narrow. He pulled Sam in and kissed him hard, grabbing the back of Sam’s neck and all but biting down. Sam didn’t register that they were moving until his back hit the wall, and a second after that Steve had hitched him up against it with an arm beneath his thighs. None of which was unheard of for Steve, though usually not on days they’d been apart for seven hours. Sam had intended to shower first, but he was pretty much good to go from the second Steve picked him up with one arm, up until Steve brought his other hand down from Sam’s neck and dragged Sam’s hips into a truly uncomfortable position so he could rut against his ass right there.
“Okay,” Sam gasped, twisting his face away enough to talk. “You want to move this to the bedroom?”
“Not really.” Steve grinned, tense and strange as the way he’d been standing before, but then he dropped his face to Sam’s shoulder and laughed. “Uh, if we do you have to promise not to get distracted. I mighta… I said I woke up confused, right?”
“What, did you break something?”
Steve laughed again, wheezy and a little giddy. “I took the door off its hinges.”
Sam snorted, trying to sound normal through the growing and contradictory hazes of arousal and concern. “Well, I’m not fixing it.” He kissed Steve again, but pulled away to add, “Must’ve been some nightmare.”
“Fuckin’ terrible,” Steve agreed. He put both hands under Sam’s ass and started carrying him to the bedroom. Sam grabbed his shoulders, because it was weird, but he felt unsettled moving backward like this. Steve was a superhero, he could get them down a hallway in one piece. “Worst nightmare I ever had. But it’s all over now. Now my biggest problem is you still got clothes on.” He dropped Sam onto the bed and was on top of him before Sam could even go for the button of his jeans. “Why’d I let you leave this morning? You remember? I must not have been thinking straight.” He’d started over-enunciating his words, but Steve did that, too, after a year of elocution to try and drive the Brooklyn out of his accent when he was in his USO show. “I was an idiot this morning.” Steve—literally—ripped Sam’s jeans open. The button gave and the seams around the zipper tore.
“Dude,” Sam objected. It lost some of its heat in his laugh.
“Ah, you don’t need ’em.” He dragged them down Sam’s thighs, leaving them pooled at his calves.
“I don’t need ’em nothing, those were nice jeans. You’re buying me new ones.”
“Or a nice silk bathrobe. Easier access. I can afford that. Hell, why do you work?” He flipped Sam over and hauled him back to the edge of the bed. Which brought them back around to “weird,” since even if Steve was in the mood for rough he usually gave Sam—more of a heads up to see if he was in the same mood, first of all, but then some more opportunity to participate in the position, and—
“Jesus,” Sam yelped when Steve stuck the tip of a finger in dry. “Steve, for Christ’s sake, there’s lube in the drawer, while we’re talking about things that happened as long ago as this morning.”
Steve groaned into the small of Sam’s back, a rumble right into his spine. Then he surged up, wrapped an arm around Sam’s waist, and shoved them both up the bed, groping one-handed for the bedside table. “Far be it from Captain America to be rude about this,” he said. “Bet you could take it, though.”
“How about we don’t find out.” Sam reached back and grabbed Steve’s dick, intending to get him through the apparently intolerable next two minutes. “I’m not explaining to some pretty nurse that I need stitches up my ass because my superhero boyfriend couldn’t wait—” Steve shuddered, his elbow slipped, and his weight dropped on Sam’s back. Sam’s thigh was soaked and they were going to have to launder the comforter. “Well, shit,” Sam said. “You got me all worked up.”
Steve sat back, breathing heavily. “I can go again,” he said. He sounded surprised.
“Believe me, I know.” Sam squirmed onto his back, tough with Steve right there and his jeans still around his ankles. He managed to kick them off. “You want to slow it down a couple miles per hour?”
“Really don’t.” He grinned, still taut and strange, and flipped the lube open. “We should get outta here.”
“What, for—Christ!” The lube was still cold and he had two fingers up his ass way faster than he was expecting. His dick jumped, plenty okay with the change. He gritted his teeth. “For dinner?” he said, making an effort to sound unaffected. Steve was insufferable when he felt he’d won something.
“Sure,” Steve said, “dinner. To start with. Then Tahiti or something.”
“What—?” Sam had to shut up or gasp out loud, and Steve wasn’t distracted enough for him to start doing that. “You okayed that with Fury?” He tried to sound like it wasn’t a big deal, like he wasn’t already weighing how much it’d kill him to miss his groups at the VA, or to be gone if something went down in D.C., against the idea of relaxing with Steve and without the weight of the world.
“Screw Fury,” Steve said. “I’m a big boy, I don’t need daddy’s permission. And what’re they gonna do, fire Captain America?” He hoisted Sam’s knee over his shoulder. “I don’t think about myself enough, you know that? Always so hung up on the mission. I need a little time with just—” He put a hand on Sam’s face, spanning his jaw, inches from his throat. “Just you.”
All of which qualified as something pretty big being up with Steve. But it wasn’t unheard of for Steve to prefer fucking to talking about something that was wrong, either, at least at first. He’d tell Sam what was wrong. He was lucky Sam had been in the mood for this, and not feeling defensive about his VA work (“why do you work,” he knew how important it was to Sam). But it was unusual and it was temporary. They’d figure it out tomorrow.