Work Text:
Brock wakes up feeling like shit and he feels like he could find more livelier words than that if his brain felt like being helpful. His nose is stuffed and his throat is on fire. He groans a little and it sounds so foreign in his ears, rolling over to find the space beside him empty and for once he’s absolutely okay with that because if Jack was there he would be shoved back under the covers and told to skip work.
Usually Brock wakes up to do some quick 30 minute work out and get himself energized. He’ll get the coffee going or juice something up if he’s got time. A shower and shave is usually in the process somewhere but today he downs some pills, skips everything because he woke up late and forces himself into some tact pants and his favorite band hoodie.
STRIKE can leave him the fuck alone and Steve can suck on it, even Captain America won’t cajole him into training the newbies today, he’s got paperwork to do that he put off because Jack was grab-assing him yesterday and he cut everything short to go screw around.
On a normal day he’s one of the first guys on the floor getting all their meeting crap set up for mission briefs since he’s one of the leads, but he’s late enough today that the place is buzzing like a regular afternoon already even though it’s still morning, barely.
He enters the large open meeting room where everyone loiters until Steve tells them what they have planned for the day or to stop fucking about while Johnson and Lang are already there talking about something or other by the water cooler, but Barnes looks up when Brock comes in and suddenly he’s wearing a shit-eating grin which is never a good sign. Ever.
“Hey Rumlow. You look like shit,” There’s an eerily creepy amount of glee in Bucky’s expression, the kind of glee Brock only sees when he’s shooting up bad guys. Or about to go mess around with Rogers and everyone knows it, “Love your sweater by the way.”
Across the room, Barton’s sipping on coffee and absently looks up. Suddenly he makes a choking noise and then dissolves into laughter not caring that his sleeveless purple vest is covered in brew.
“Look better than you Barnes.” Brock shoots back, ignoring Clint altogether then sneezes loudly. “Just need some juice or somethin’ and an energy drink, I’ll be fine.”
Johnson has looked up from his conversation after Barton’s reaction and is now flat-out staring at Brock. He looks away when Rumlow shoots him a glare in return and instead he starts whispering to Lang with mildly amused looks on their faces. Actually, everyone’s kind of whispering. Well a lot of everyone are the cadets and newcomers that know enough not to speak up or laugh like Barton just did but Brock’s head is too foggy to deal with anyone right now.
He grabs a water and parks himself down on one of the leatherback chairs, his face permanently affixed with a look of pain when his hip collides with the arm of it and his bruises flare up not to mention the beard burn all over his ass.
Clint bursts into laughter again while trying to sop up his coffee with literally a roll of paper towels as Natasha looks on and rolls her eyes at him.
Brock drops his head back against the chair and closes his eyes. He takes slow careful sips and knows he’s got time to relax if Steve isn’t here yet. A few more people join the room, footsteps soft under carpeting but Rumlow can tell even with his fuzzy head. One of them greets him by name and he sounds like he’s grinning or laughing he’s not sure but he can’t put a name to the voice and he’s too lazy right now to open his eyes so he grunts a bare minimum noise and goes back to resting.
He picks up Bucky saying something in Russian to Romanoff, and Barton snorts to it. A few more members come into the large half walled room while he’s attempting to mute them all out when Wilson awkwardly clears his throat somewhere close by his arm.
He finally opens his eyes and sees Sam looking at him questionably, “Can I help you, Wilson?”
That only makes the room ripple with snickers, some just staring at him like Romanoff, some trying to make coffee and not act like they’re staring, he’s sure Barnes just took a picture of him.
Sam only smiles patiently, “Are you trying to announce something to the class?”
Confused as all hell and his headache feels worse, he just stares blankly at him with his red nose and wet eyes while Wilson takes pity on him and tilts his chin at the front of his hoodie.
Raising his hand to scratch his head in confusion and wipe his face because his nose feels like it’s going to start running in about two seconds. He doesn’t get what the hell they’re all going on about and why they all wanna bug him over his damn fucking hoodie only to freeze when he realizes his sleeves are giving him sweater paws and the only time his clothes do that are if they’re-
Oh fuck me.
“Fuck, oh fuckin’ hell.” He blurts out because fuck. He’s wearing Jack’s sweater and no one’s supposed to know they’re messing around because this is exactly why. Shit. Sam raises a brow and he realizes he said shit out loud.
He looks down at what gave it away aside from size and he wants to crawl in a hole because he knew this was going to come back and bite him in the ass, it’s why Bucky is grinning at him and why Clint is laughing still and everyone else is staring at him.
For Christmas he bought Jack a ‘Yes I’m Polish, wanna see my kielbasa?’ hoodie as a joke as he’s a fan of novelty shirts with silly sayings and Jack kind of makes faces at him for it sometimes plus because he’s a pretty big fan of Jack’s sausage if he’s being honest with himself.
Unfortunately, it’s also common knowledge that the only Pole Brock knows is his second in command so..
Fuck.
“Uh,” He’s very good at quick fire retorts, he swears. “I guess Jack left it at my place after he came over to hang out. I musta thrown it in the laundry to wash.”
Barton’s turned himself around to press his face against the wall because he’s practically crying with laughter and Barnes looks so unimpressed.
“Seriously? Gonna stick with that excuse?”
Brock sits up in his chair, hands flapping out defensively like he’s got nothing else to really say because it’s the truth he wants to put out there and it’s very plausible, “Yeah? It was a fuckin’ accident!”
Natasha’s rubbing Clint’s back as he tries to get air back into his lungs and looks like he’s suffocating a little, Brock hopes he chokes.
“Right, Jack left a sweater at your house. Took it off while having a beer and ‘hanging out’,” Barnes actually makes air quotes at hanging out and his metal hand looks exceptionally judgmental about having to make the gesture like Bucky’s sarcasm is emitting from just that arm alone, “And instead of leaving it out for him to grab later, you picked it up from your living room accidentally and washed it?”
Brock shrugs because he keeps running the scenario in his head to see if he fucked up somewhere and yet he keeps coming up with it making sense and isn’t weird that Rollins would do that and that Brock may wash it because he could possibly think it’s his and not be paying attention like before he came into work and wished he did.
Really, no one should think twice about his explanation and should believe him. They know he and Jack are best friends and friends do nice shit for each other. He thought Buck was his friend too but he’s about to kick his ass when they clear out because he decided to out him in front of everyone instead of asking him privately..not that he would have told him the truth since he kind of tells Rogers things while they pillow talk and shit like that and then people find out when Steve gets all protective brother or some shit and brings some secret up thinking he’s helping a person instead of being a problem. Bucky’s a damn gossip plain and simple but he’s pretty okay, well until now.
Clint’s trying to wipe his tears and laughing lightly while Natasha is smirking and trying to pat his back. Okay Brock’s not really that upset at Barnes, he’s just a little annoyed everyone’s here listening like they never get anything juicy like this in their lives when they work for SHIELD of all places and the monster of the month usually has tricks up their sleeve that usually leaves them all chatting about it for weeks on end.
“What's with all the laughing going on?” Steve suddenly starts from around the corner but then stops when he follows everyone's gaze to Brock and sees the hoodie, “Uh..”
“Brock’s trying to convince us he’s not wearing Jack’s hoodie because they’re screwing each other.” Johnson explains with the most laid back expression Rumlow’s ever seen.
Scratch that, he won’t kick Bucky’s ass, he’ll kick Johnson’s instead.
Steve looks from Brock to Johnson, to the room with most of their team in it and a few straggler trainees, draws in a breath, looks at Bucky who’s smiling much too wide for Steve’s comfort level and then opens his mouth to say something. He pauses and then just exhales like he gives up.
Probably because he does two seconds later and walks out and after a few soft steps there’s the sound of his office door closing.
Scott Lang is the one who hops off the large overbearing conference desk with an excited look, he’s new and Rumlow’s sure he’s one of those types that doesn’t know the reason you shouldn’t poke a bear or a rabid dog until it actually bites him for it to get through his air headed skull.
Brock doesn’t know what he’s about to say but he has a feeling he’s about to push him up above Johnson on his mentally made checklist.
“Doesn’t matter what you say man, we all have proof!” He’s snapping his fingers as if trying to remember, looking at Agent Johnson for help, two idiots in a pod, “What did we see him wearing three weeks ago?”
“Gloves.” Romanoff cheerfully supplies, green eyes glancing at Brock with a coy smile.
Romanoff’s the type to attach jumper cables to someone’s balls directly from car batteries if you play tricks on her, she did it once to some poor fucker, he won’t screw with her so he only rolls his eyes.
Lang snaps his fingers and strikes the air excitedly, “Yes! The gloves! You were wearing his gloves on a mission! It was so cute, like high school all over again!”
Because all gear is their responsibility and some of it has their last names labeled into or onto it and you would think gloves wouldn’t but they do, their initials stitched into the corners at the wrist, easy to hide or so Brock thought because they had to pack overnight bags for that mission and Jack gave him his before they both left his place and climbed into separate cars to get to where the team were expected to meet.
“Don’t forget his underwear.” Barnes pipes up, his smirk widening.
“How?!” Brock turns to Bucky and he’s sniffling because his nose is deciding to run now, “There ain’t no way you’d know if I was doin’ that, which I wasn’t!”
Sam’s been quiet after the hoodie reveal but he suddenly frowns and nods like he wishes he was wrong. “Barnes pointed it out to us last week after we were in the locker room changing for training. You wear black boxer briefs and only black boxer briefs. Everyone knows it only because you walk around in them talking or fixing your hair or taking a selfie because you’re that vain about yourself. That day you were wearing some blue C.K.’s that were so tight around your ass they were cutting off your circulation.”
How the hell did everyone suddenly get a fascination about what underwear he wore?
Brock honest to God doesn’t know what to say and a few seconds pass before the elevator for the floor chimes and he mentally rolls his eyes to another person that was probably going to join them in this improvisational grilling about his personal life not that any of these fuckers had any business to.
It ends up being Jack rounding the corner and immediately attracted by everyone in the open conference room holding a coffee and looking pleasantly happy in his stoic way of things.
He’s quite astute so the moment he gets close enough he reads all the body language and all eyes on one person, his walk easing just a tad as he gives himself time to process the situation like he’s honed to do when something’s amiss.
“What’s going on?”
Bucky moves to fold his arms and grins, “Not much, having a conversation with Rumlow.”
Shrinking in his chair, Brock was trying to avoid getting into trouble with Jack for coming in.
Green eyes set on him, jaw tense, “I thought I told you to stay home.”
Even if it was a simple cold, Rollins might have suggested he take care of it and stay home the night before, maybe. As per their relationship went, whatever Jack generally said outside of work, he didn’t listen to. It was just the law with how his brain worked at times. He hoped the meeting would get started before he could get a lecture but now it looked a hell of a lot worse with the team proving they were both sleeping together and Jack had no idea.
“..And why’s Steve hiding in his office?”
Jack’s suspicious on all levels over that itself because unless Bucky’s closed it for him so he could do a little heavy flirting, usually Steve never closes his door and they had a meeting scheduled, he was never late unless of course it had to do with Barnes who was currently looking like the cat that caught the canary.
Steve is obviously done with this shit so when Bucky does decide to retrieve him the day will go on like normal but for how Brock just makes a face and rests his elbow on the armrest of the chair, chin resting on his hand waiting for Rollins to let everything click into place.
It takes only a flit of his eyes to realize what happened, gaze going back to make contact with Brock’s after he notices the sweater and his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, “You’ve got my sweater on.”
Clint is laughing again and Jack just gives him a look that’s half confused, half annoyed and that laughter tapers off a little, a hand coming up to cover at his mouth.
Brock rolls his eyes, “Apparently I mixed it up with my wash.”
“Yeah then he thought it was a great idea to wear it to work. Also nice to confirm you two are screwing.” Natasha declares and barely bats an eye when Brock glares at her.
People are now looking between him and now Jack like they want to see Jack squirm too but he’s resolutely quiet and eerily still before suddenly he just smirks and stares at Brock. It’s a little scary and off-putting to some. A couple people take subtle steps away from him and treat it like they’re fixing a shoe or checking out the chair or table surface behind them.
“Well at least we don’t have to hide anymore, I can freely talk about how amazing the sex is and how good Brock’s ass looks when he’s not wearing anything.”
Brock facepalms himself to hide the blood rushing to his face while everyone else makes sounds of absolute disgust, he can barely see the floor between gaps of his fingers but someone’s feet are jogging out of the area. Considering it’s sneakers, he’s thinking it’s probably Lang.
He looks up a few seconds and Natasha smiles at him, tilting her head as she leaned against Clint’s shoulder, “I always did say Rumlow had a cute ass.”
Bucky nods appreciatively, “It was the other day Sam was like look at Brock’s fine ass.”
Wilson almost chokes on his coffee and he waves at the air like he’s trying to sweep Barnes from his sight, “I never said that, you asked me while the poor guy’s bent over picking up his gear, ‘Hey Sam, what do you think of Rumlow and Rollins?’ and I said if he’s not tapping that fine ass he should.”
“And he is.” Jack informs without a beat of hesitation, looking at his nails like this is fine to admit to their whole entire tactical team.
Clint makes a small noise like he’s trying to keep a laugh in, face red and puffing just a tad and his body is shaking a little. Natasha does him a favor and leads him out to the smoking area so he can take a breather.
“You all wanna stop talkin’ bout my ass like I ain’t even here?” He’s ill, he doesn’t need this shit.
Brock folds his arms over his chest after pulling the hood over and leans back against the leather while he parks his feet onto the chair beside him and closes his eyes already done with the day.
“Yeah okay,” Sam clears his throat and claps his hands together as he stands, “Meeting canceled, it was just stuff about reports and all that. We’ll do it tomorrow instead, pass the info around and back to whatever you were all doing.”
There’s a few disappointed groans but he can tell everyone’s going back to their offices or to the gym to train recruits and all the other shit they could be doing because generally what Sam says is law if Steve isn’t around.
Releasing a small uncomfortable moan, Brock wonders if he can sleep in the chair and have everyone leave him alone, dropping his head forward and pressing his chin into his chest the hood way too big for him and it’s perfect right now.
He feels someone give his arm a swift punch, it hurts a little more than it should when Bucky’s metal fist generally hits him but his body isn’t taking it today.
“We should go on a double date one of these days.”
Brock grunts back in response and Barnes chuckles before he leaves the room. It’s silent for a few seconds aside from the background noise of everyone around them on the floor, Jack lifting up his feet off the chair so he can sit there instead and puts them back on his lap.
They’re by no means anywhere private but it doesn’t much matter anymore now, lifting his head as Jack carefully slips Brock’s foot from his shoe and cups it with both hands, thumbs digging into the arch as he rubs them. Brock hears himself let out an embarrassing moan and someone walking past them in the hall trips over their feet before pretending they heard nothing all the while walking a little faster to get away.
He doesn’t care as much as he should because it’s actually nice that Jack can do the perfect little things he does in front of everyone now so he can take advantage anytime he wants to.
Eventually Jack slips the shoe back on and switches to his other foot and Brock can’t help the way he groans happily over it, feeling a little better just over Rollins’ care.
“I told you they weren’t going to give a shit about us being together. Maybe Rogers would give us some looks because he’d worry about us fully concentrating on work while being together and maybe the jokes..”
Brock rested his eyes, snorting softly, “Like he can fuckin’ talk, him and Barnes are attached at the hip. And those assholes all knew before I made the mistake of wearing your sweater. You conveniently arrived at the tail end of my roastin’. Apparently they know what underwear I usually put on and know when I wear yours by mistake because our team is hyper focused on my ass and have intel on your choice of underwear lines.”
“Well,” Jack put Brock’s foot back into his shoe and moved him so his legs were on the floor, leaning forward to roll his office chair so they were side by side. Brock taking the chance to lean against Jack because everyone could just fuck off now and again, he’s the one with the cold. “Some of them are here to know everything around them.”
Jack pulls him close until Brock’s snug and warm against him, wrapped up in his boyfriend’s hoodie and soaking in all the body heat Rollins can offer because Brock’s feeling somewhat cold suddenly.
They’re both quiet while the world continues on without them, Lang letting out a yell about something and the sound of a wastebasket can be heard hitting a desk but that was about it in the out of the ordinary department. Jack’s arm stays tucked around Brock’s back and his fingers soothingly stroke his side, his head resting against Brock’s mess of hair.
“You okay?”
Brock could only make some unintelligible sound in response, letting his eyes close as he sneezed a few times into his hand, rubbing his palm against his pants in habit.
“Come on, let’s take you home. I’m sure Steve wants you 100% and not 50.” Jack says softly, affection in there but completely authoritative because he knows him too well.
Brock only nods but is too comfortable to move, curling in tighter to Rollins’ warmth.
He could feel Jack brush his lips along his ear, planting a small kiss there, light and soft. It makes him shiver a little as does the fingers brushing into his hair.
“Let’s get you in bed, tuck you under the covers and feed you some soup. If you’re extra good I’ll even suck your dick.”
And that..Brock’s sold on that. Like really sold on it, turning his head to kiss Jack despite not wanting him getting his germs but then again they’d been screwing last night so whatever he was going to pass off was already on him either way. Rollins chuckles against his mouth before he gets up and helps him to his feet. He doesn’t protest as he’s led carefully to the elevator doors and barely sees him raise a hand to someone, probably Wilson or even Barnes.
Eventually he’s herded into the car and belted in, he doesn’t much care how much Rollins is babying him, being on his feet is oddly exhausting and he feels dizzier than he did when he was being grilled. He quickly falls asleep to the soft hum of the car engine and smooth drive home. He barely notices when Jack helps him out and they get inside his house and into his bed.
He’s asleep again and doesn’t come back until Jack’s softly shaking him and pressing a soup mug in his hands, only half full and a cup of some of that cold medicine drink he shuffles away for moments like this. He’ll never admit it but he doesn’t bother to sip at his chicken noodle until Jack slips in beside him and brings an arm around and maybe Brock leans in against him again while his boyfriend channel surfs for something to watch.
The soup is good, store bought but it’s the one he likes and he’s thinking about his Nonna’s wedding soup and how he’ll want it tomorrow if he gets worse, he’s half awake though and pretty tired. He’ll have to call her later. Jack takes the soup mug away when it’s empty and replaces it with the medicine drink, holding it under so Brock takes it without letting it cool down. Brock forces himself to drink quickly even though his body is protesting.
When the cup is put to the side, Jack is lightly pushing him to lay down completely and Brock really can’t argue about that.
“I called your Nonna while I was heatin’ up the soup, she said she’ll make your wedding soup in the morning and I can pick it up on my way home from work.”
Brock doesn’t know how he got so lucky really. Maybe he shouldn’t feel so sore about the team calling him out and he settles his head against the pillows, rolling on his side with his back to Rollins, “What about my dick?”
He can hear Jack laughing softly behind him as he’s moving in to spoon him, “Get some rest first, when I think you’ve had enough of it, I’ll wake you up the way you like.”
Brock smiles absently, pressing a hand against Jack’s when it comes around to rest against his stomach, “When I get better I’m gonna replace all the coffee with decaf and let them all figure it out. Bribe Tony to figure out some way to disable Barnes' arm and mess up some of Barton's arrows..”
Jack presses a kiss into his hair, “Only when you get better, then you can do whatever the hell you want.” He pauses for a moment in thought, lowering his voice suggestively, “Especially when you’re wearing my clothes.”
He then rolls his hips just once to get his point across and Brock hums as he presses back and hears Rollins make a sharp little noise under his breath, keeping a mental note about that to himself when the idea of Jack finding him wearing nothing but said hoodie one day pops up in his head.
For now though, all wrapped up warm in that sweater and held tight against Jack’s strong frame, he feels safe and taken care of and even though he’d never ask for shit like this, Jack knows how to keep him happy. Brock also knows that even with all the bullshit caused over the hoodie, the whole team are a buncha assholes he’d never trade..well cept Lang. He just might trade Lang.
