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There were a few things you knew for certain about Steve Rogers. One, he always rooted for the little guy; you only had to show him Rudy once for it to become one of his favorite films.
Two, he was not big on public displays of affection; it may happen once or twice, but for the most part, he preferred keeping those parts of his life as private as possible.
The others teased on occasion, but you suspected it had nothing to do with any sense of impropriety as they seemed to think, but rather a deep-seated need to have something separate from his life as a public figure, as a hero. He wanted something that was just his own. You could understand that much.
Three, and most irritating at the present moment, he hated leaving anything unfinished. He read every book he picked up to the last page, even if he hated it. He rarely went a meal without cleaning his plate. And if he was playing a game of any kind, you could be absolutely certain that Steve would play through until the game was over.
Which was all kinds of aggravating when he and Tony were locked in a very competitive game of Monopoly, while the rest of the team waited impatiently. You’d been out of the game for over an hour, the others falling out one by one, until only Tony and Steve remained. The pair seemed well-matched at the gameboard, and with a fistful of Monopoly dollars and multiple hotels for each man, it seemed the game would never end.
“Can’t we just call it a draw?” Bruce asked, near pouting. It had been his turn to choose a film that night and he’d been looking forward to it all day.
“No can do,” Tony called back, studying the gameboard as though it were something as important as missions plans or specs for his latest tech project.
“You guys can go on without us,” Steve added, waving a dismissive hand towards the television.
Clint sunk further into his seat on the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. “No, because you assholes will need a light to see your stupid game and we do lights off for movies,” he grumbled. He was more than a little bitter; Tony had managed to bankrupt him twenty minutes into the game.
Though the world at large seemed to think the days of the Avengers were full with constant battles, espionage, and offensive strikes, working with the the team actually saw far more down time than anyone would realize. Of course there were days when someone would raise the alarm and there would be minutes to gear up before jumping into a fight, but for the most part, there would be weeks of lag time between operations, time when field agents gathered intel and the others strategized as to how to use it.
There were a lot of movie nights.
And board games. Card games. On more than one occasion, you found yourself simply taking a seat in the Tower lounge and zipping through an entire paperback in a day. Sure, you all kept up with training and there were meetings aplenty, but they rarely lasted more than an hour or two, leaving you all to your own devices. People would disappear for days on end, Tony and Bruce would abandon communal spaces for their labs, and you’d even deign to hit a few clubs with Darcy Lewis from time to time, when she was in town.
Nights when everyone was keeping residence at the Tower were often spent together; there were still personality clashes and squabbles among all of you, and it seemed to alleviate some of that pressure when your time together was spent doing enjoyable things like watching films and playing games.
“You could always finish later,” Natasha suggested amiably. She was less bothered by the delay, content to sit on the couch with her legs tucked beneath her, watching the last embers of sunset fade from the sky, but she knew the others were anxious to get to the film-and-popcorn portion of the evening.
“It’ll only be a little while longer,” Steve mused, moving his little silver shoe across the Monopoly board.
Tony snorted. “Don’t be so sure, Capsicle,” he countered, grinning as rolled the dice to receive doubles, landing his tiny top hat on a profitable chance card.
You were seated on the floor, your back braced against the back of the couch, watching the game as it continued. Bucky was just beside you, seated on the back of the couch, eyes also on the board. You nudged his one dangling foot with your shoulder and he glanced down.
“Is there anything we can do to move this along?” you asked. He knew Steve better than anyone, after all; perhaps he could spark an idea.
Bucky barked a low laugh. “Fat chance,” he told you. “I’ve been stuck in the same damn never-ending game of gin rummy with that mook since 1938. Five minutes of downtime and he’s pulling out the scoresheet and a deck of cards.”
“I’m still winning!” Steve called absently, not even tearing his eyes away from the board.
Bucky just gestured towards Steve with his cybernetic hand and then rolled his eyes, as if to say ‘You see what I’ve had to deal with?’
What looked to be a cashew came flying over the couch, landing squarely on the Monopoly board, knocking over three of Steve’s hotels and two of Tony’s. Some muted snickering echoed from the couch, followed by what you were certain was Clint crunching on a handful of the nuts. Tony and Steve didn’t even flinch; they righted the pieces on the board and Tony popped the offending cashew into his mouth.
They didn’t even break concentration.
“Maybe I’ll go down to the lab,” Bruce said with a sigh, moving to stand up. “I was waiting on some test results anyway, I could…”
“No,” Natasha said, sharply enough to give him pause. “Movie night. No exceptions. Sit down.” Bruce eyed her skeptically, but resumed his seat.
“Whose idea was it to play Monopoly anyway?” Clint asked in annoyance.
You groaned, face falling into your hands. “Mine,” you admitted. “I am so, so sorry. I just didn’t want to sit through another game of Tony making every answer in Scattergories sound dirty.”
“I think we were all glad to avoid that,” Steve replied with a chuckle, the first sign he was paying any real attention to the conversation going on around them. He glanced over at you and gave you a small smile before returning his gaze to the game.
Bucky peered down at you with a grin and a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows; you flipped him off on instinct.
It had been an ongoing argument between the two of you for some time. Bucky kept pushing the idea that Steve thought of you in a little bit of a more-than-friends manner. You remained obstinate, insisting that if Steve had any sort of romantic intentions towards you, he would have made them known long ago.
After all, it had been six years since you’d first met. Another two and a half since you became a regular member of the team, and eleven months since you move into the Tower full time.
“You gotta understand,” Bucky had told you. “That punk looks in the mirror and sees the skinny kid he was eighty years ago. He’s no good at approaching women. Hell, he’d never have gotten past a firm handshake with Peg if she hadn’t pretty much pounced on him. Pre-serum and all.”
That had made you smile. “He was cute,” you told Bucky. “Anyone who’d gotten to know him back in the day would have seen as much.”
Bucky smiled and gave a gently mock punch to your chin. “See? That’s why I like ya, kid. Stevie does too… in a helluva different way. Just talk to him.”
You had rolled your eyes. And you didn’t talk to him. You were a plain-jane from Nowheresville, only given a shot to work with the team due to a freak accident: you’d been swimming in an unknowingly heavily polluted pond when a lightning strike had hit the surface and knocked you clear out of the water. Around the fifth or sixth time you blew the circuit breaker at home with a sneeze, you realized you could control electrical current. Faced with an uncertain future as a lab specimen if found out, you ran to the only people you thought might be able to understand: SHIELD. They gave you a purpose -- and a suit. Now here you were, sitting on the floor in Stark Tower, surrounded by a group of amazing people you were lucky enough to call friends.
But at the heart of it, you were still a nobody. Plain, boring, you. Steve Rogers -- Captain America, for god’s sake -- needed someone interesting and dynamic, like Peggy Carter had been. Bucky was just teasing you; there was no way Steve was harboring some secret attraction. You knew better than that.
Bucky dropped his voice low. “We’ve been sitting here, givin’em both shit for the past forty-five minutes, and Steve didn’t pay it any mind, ‘til you spoke up.”
You blushed and averted your gaze. You liked Bucky a lot, especially now that his recovery was on a clear track and his personality had come out more. But you were starting to reach your wit’s end with all of this teasing. You were certain your own feelings for Steve weren’t all that obvious; you didn’t see why Bucky had to poke so much fun.
You cleared your throat. “If we want to get whatever epic Bruce has picked out for us tonight started anytime soon, we’re gonna have to find a way to put a stop to this,” you announced, and the others murmured in agreement.
Clint kept throwing nuts, but they would simply right the board and eat the projectiles. When it was clear it was failing to make a dent, Natasha joined him in the endeavor, hoping the increased rain of cashews would further the cause, but they started launching them back without even pulling their gaze from the board.
Bucky moved to stand behind Steve and started messing with his hair and flicking at his ears. Steve frowned but refused to be pulled from the game, shoving Bucky away with one arm while letting out a triumphant ‘HA!’ as Tony landed on a multiple hotel property that he owned.
Tony grumbled and forked ever the cash, though it did little to make a dent into the mound of multicolored paper on the table before him. With a sigh, Bucky gave another rough rub of Steve’s head before walking away, hands in the air.
“That’s it,” he said, shaking his head. “I got nothing.”
Suddenly, an idea sparked in your mind. Thinking back to the last movie night, when things had gone much smoother with no board games in sight, you remembered a scene from the last movie you had watched. It had been Clint’s pick, and to no one’s surprised he had chosen Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. Not exactly a favorite among the rest of the group -- “Why the hell is Robin Hood sounding like he’s from Iowa?”, Bucky had said -- but a particular scene was drawn to your mind.
The oddly midwestern Robin had been showing off for Maid Marian, attempting to woo her with his skill with the bow. Marian had decided to tease him, blowing on his ear as he fired to distract him, the arrow narrowly missing Friar Tuck.
Just maybe…
You stood up from the floor and moved to stand behind Steve, your hands coming down on his shoulders.
“Steve…” you said in a singsong voice.
He chuckled but didn’t look up, gathering up the dice to roll his turn “You’re not going to shock me, are you?” he asked. You could hear the smile in his voice, almost teasing you.
You dropped your voice low. “Not in the way you would think,” you told him, and promptly dropped a kiss atop his head. His roll stuttered, the dice falling from his hand to knock a few hotels askew, landing on a low number. You smiled. At least you could fluster him, you reasoned. Even if it would be a little awkward later.
You started to knead his shoulders, feeling a knot of tension at the base of his neck and working it out as best you could with your thumbs. Steve may have been immune to annoyance but he didn’t seem to be able to ignore this, head dropping a little and a soft sigh slipping from his lips.
“Hey, me next,” Tony said. He didn’t even bother to look up.
You snorted. “Not happening, Tony,” you said, and nearly giggled at the pleased hum that Steve made with your pronouncement.
You felt the tension releasing in Steve’s shoulders as you continued your impromptu massage, but he didn’t seem ready to give up the game just yet. You’d have to step things up.
You drew your hands up to run through Steve’s hair. He was growing it out again; he’d gone for something more modern, shorter and a little spiky for a time, but you supposed old habits died hard. It was getting longer on top and he was side-parting again; you always liked that look on him and luxuriated in running your fingers through the slightly more lengthy strands. When you gave a gentle scratch to his scalp with your nails, Steve leaned his head back and groaned your name.
He looked up at you and smile, eyes torn away from the gameboard. “You keep this up and you’re going to put me to sleep.”
You smiled back and leaned forward a little. “That so?” you asked innocently.
Steve chuckled. “I know what you’re trying to do,” he warned.
“Why Captain Rogers, whatever do you mean?” you asked him, realizing at once how flirtatious it sounded. Steve didn’t seem to mind in the least, only holding that sweet knowing smile, and no one else in the room said a word. It didn’t even occur to you that they were watching you, the entertainment for the evening no longer the proffered film.
“I saw that last movie too, you know,” he told you and laughed, turning his attention back to the game.
You pouted a little but continued your work, running your fingers back and forth through his hair, pausing to scratch a little here and there at his scalp and the soft short hairs at the back of his neck. For his part, Steve was clearly enjoying the attention, even if he wasn’t budging.
Feeling a burst of courage and forgetting that anyone else was around to see -- forgetting, really, everything in the world but Steve and the way he was allowing this intimate touch -- you decided to take it even further. You leaned down and very softly blew on his ear, the warmth of your breath running over the sensitive spot just behind the lobe.
Steve drew in a sharp breath and said your name low, almost in a warning tone, but you were much too far gone to care. Realizing you had found a sweet spot, you leaned even closer, pressing your lips as gently as you could to his skin.
You didn’t stop. You could feel his breath coming quicker, see his chest heaving just a little. You couldn’t stop yourself now, just kept up dropping gentle presses of your lips to his skin, lingering a little longer each time. Steve’s hands were gripping the edge of the table and you could swear you heard the wood begin to splinter.
“Uh, Steve?” Tony said, amused tone to his voice. “It’s your turn.”
You chose that moment to open your mouth, treating Steve to a soft flick of your tongue and a gentle nip of your teeth.
“Fuck it,” Steve growled suddenly.
He stood and turned so quickly that he knocked the table back and over, gameboard and pieces spilling to the floor, accompanied by a rain of colorful paper money. Tony was complaining loudly but you didn’t hear him at all, staring wide-eyed at Steve, all messy hair and flushed cheeks.
He wasted not a second in scooping you up and fitting his mouth to yours, pressing you against the nearest wall. You whimpered against the onslaught, all tongues and teeth until you found the perfect rhythm, your hands tangled in his hair. There was murmuring going on around you but it barely registered, and your mouth, already red and kiss-bruised, fell open when Steve moved to trace the same path from your earlobe down your neck as you had teased him with at the table.
“Uh… so are we watching the movie now or…?” Clint spoke up.
Bruce laughed softly. “Some of us are, maybe, but I’m thinking those two will be otherwise engaged.”
Steve pulled away from you just the slightest bit and grinned, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a very long time,” he said quietly.
You smiled in return. “Me too,” you admitted.
Steve quirked an eyebrow. “Wanna go someplace a little more private?” he suggested, game long forgotten.
You sighed dreamily and kissed him again, quick and soft, before nodding. “Absolutely,” you agreed, and broke into a fit of giggles as Steve gathered you up in his arms and carried you out of the room.
~*~
Tony stood and frowned down at the mess of game pieces on the floor.
“That asshole!” he exclaimed. “Now we’ll never know who won!”