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It's quiet-- or at least, as quiet as it ever gets for Matt. The two of them lie in a warm haze, naked under the covers, practically on top of each other in Matt's narrow bed. Steve strokes his hair, massages his scalp, and Matt practically vibrates under his hand.
"I don't mean to be rude," Steve says. "But it doesn't seem like you have a lot of overnight visitors."
"Correct."
Sort of hard to hook up with people when you're out fighting crime and getting the shit beaten out of you. He'd rather not think about that right now. If he starts thinking about it he'll start asking himself why he's not out there right now. Time to change the subject.
"Can I ask you something."
"Sure," Steve says.
His pulse speeds up a little, but he remains relaxed.
"Feel free to tell me it's none of my business, but... you've never done this before?"
He hears the inhale, feels the expansion and then contraction of Steve's chest as he sighs it out.
"I didn't want to tell you. I thought you might... I don't know. I didn't want it to be an issue."
Matt shrugs. "It isn't. Just unexpected. I mean, I can't see, but I have to assume that you're really hot."
That makes Steve laugh, his breath warm on Matt's neck.
"There's more to it than that. My life's been pretty complicated."
"I get that impression. Is there anything else you want to tell me?" The quickening of Steve's heartbeat is a resounding yes, even if Steve says nothing. He traces his fingertip down Matt's hipbone, makes him shiver. "Don't try to distract me, either."
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Mm, what makes you say that? Try me."
He pats Steve's hip. Resists the urge to see if Steve has superhuman stamina.
"I was sickly when I was younger," Steve says. "Skinny and weak. I used to get beaten up a lot."
"I'm sorry."
Steve shrugs.
"Lot's changed since then." A beat. "A whole lot."
Maybe it's the post-sex endorphins wearing off, but the combination of Steve's evasions and the truth of things dancing just outside of his perception is driving Matt nuts. He sighs. Enough already.
"Who are you, Steve?"
"Steve Rogers. Born July 4, 1918."
It takes a moment. That's almost a hundred years ago-- the Dodgers thing makes more sense now. But. It dawns on him then. The familiarity of the voice. Steve's imposing stature, the muscles. Matt rolls over and buries his face in the pillow, laughing.
"Jesus christ."
"Told you you wouldn't believe me."
Matt shakes his head, rolls back towards Steve.
"No, that's the thing. I do believe you. I knew there was something... off. Oh god, Foggy would be so disappointed in me."
Gears are turning faster now. My life's been pretty complicated. I think you'd be surprised, actually. I don't get out much. Older than I look, put it that way. He was an idiot to not realise it before now. Now it's Steve's turn to laugh.
"Because of not figuring it out, or because of the sex?"
"Both-- oh. Oh my god."
"What?"
"You said this was your first time. Did you mean... ever?"
Steve clears his throat. "Maybe."
Matt flushes with heat, with embarrassment, and maybe a little lust. Why him? Why now?
"I feel like I've desecrated the flag or something."
Steve laughs again. "I'm not the fucking flag! I'm a human being. Besides, in case you weren't aware, I was kinda busy the last eighty or so years."
"I'm sorry," Matt says, although he can't stop giggling. All he can think about is what Foggy would say. How simultaneously horrified and elated he would be. He can never, ever tell Foggy.
"You're a dick," Steve says, but there's a smile in it.
"That does explain how you can get it up so many times in one night. Have you considered a career in pornography?"
Steve yanks the pillow out from under his head and thumps him with it. He lets it happen. For a wild moment he considers telling Steve-- about Daredevil. If anyone would understand, he would. The need to do the right thing, to protect people, even if he fucks it up on the regular. It can wait, Matt decides. One thing at a time.