Work Text:
His hands were shaking,
His stomach was in a knot,
His heart was beating a mile a minute,
He really shouldn't be this nervous.
This...this was a mundane thing to do, he'd been told.
People far more weaker than himself had done this.
Hell, his other half had spent the last few years doing it all by himself...
Single-handedly, thank you very much.
So, really, this should be a breeze, he thinks to himself as he takes a breath.
Nothing to be scared of, as he leans over...
And suddenly leans back, right onto the awaiting grass,
Right onto his tuckus.
A flowing laugh puts the shame over the pain,
As a bearded face suddenly towers over his recently clean-shaven one.
"So, I see Norita's giving you some trouble again, huh?" asks the now dubbed White Wolf, among the other Wakanda people, with a slight smirk and a tilt of the head.
But the former Captain America and also former Nomad will not join the other man in laughter, at least not this time.
With his best five year-old pout, he crosses his arms from his laid position onto the floor and whines:
"Buck...your stupid goat is a stupid head!"
And the man in question, using his only available limb, helps his other half raise himself back up.
"Well Steve, maybe the animal that you're trying to milk wouldn't always end up putting his whole back into kicking you in the face, if you didn't always put your own when you're trying to do the deed!" he explains to the blond man like the child that he is being, who huffs in annoyance.
A sparkle comes over his blue eyes and a smirk of his own comes over his lips, making the one-armed man suddenly gulp.
"Steve? Stevie...honey, sweetie, dollface..." the other man gently tries to coax, but instantly knows nothing would come of it and accepts his fate...
That of being tackled onto his back,
Being told: "Oh, I'll show you putting some back into it whenever I do the deed!" in a hush against his neck...
All the while, being kissed, caressed and...
Well satiated,
Well into the next night.
And, as the both of them lay there,
The stars shining above them,
The grass sticky from unnameable substances underneath them.
Into each other's arms,
Steve Grant Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes cannot help but think:
If this is what peace feels like...
Then maybe the war,
Really was worth for.