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The bakery is the best thing either of them have seen in ages.
Steve and Sam have been on a nonstop chain of HYDRA base raids for nigh on six weeks. Natasha’s finally secured them a safehouse, a ramshackle, one-bedroom apartment near the Tenderloin district. Cobwebs and rat droppings decorate the corners, and the radiator rattles like it’s dying. But that’s typical these days – every HYDRA outpost Steve and Sam raid, it leads them to another, and they can’t afford to be discovered, so they hole up in these horrible little apartments unnoticed.
Their hot streak against HYDRA is great, but the incessant fights are starting to wear on even Steve, whose bones and muscles ache a lot more readily these days. He can't imagine how the chase is wearing on Sam. He tries to let Sam sleep later, eat more. But even so, Sam’s been pushing himself to his very human limits. It’s starting to show. He’s losing focus sometimes, more prone to jitters and sleepless nights.
They really need this safehouse. They need to sleep and eat and pretend to be normal for just a few days, even if it’s in a truly shitty apartment holed away in San Francisco.
And they apparently need cake.
Steve and Sam discover the bakery while they’re out walking, only a few hilly, foggy blocks away from their temporary apartment. It’s Sam who drifts to a stop in front of the window, not even seeming to realize it, his attention drawn by the baked confections. Everything from tiny cupcakes to massive tiered wedding cakes is on display. Even through the glass, it smells like warm buttery sugar, and Steve has to stop along side Sam, close his eyes, and inhale. Steve’s mouth waters. And Sam—
Sam’s making an intense study of a mint-and-chocolate cake, the weariness of the last few weeks visible on his face, which makes him look especially desperate for it.
“You want to go in?” Steve says. “They have tastings.”
“By appointment only,” Sam says, pointing morosely to the sign.
“But look.” Steve squints at the fine print. “Not if you’re shopping for a wedding cake. Then they take walk-ins. Natasha just wired us more money. I’m sure we can afford it.”
“Steve,” Sam says. “It’s for engaged couples only.”
They stare at each other for a long moment. The idea sprouts in Steve’s mind almost immediately, but he’s not sure whether to voice it. It’s ridiculous and absurd and unlikely to work. And yet Sam had looked so longingly at that mint chocolate cake. And they do so desperately need a bit of normalcy…
“We could pull that off,” Steve hears himself say.
Sam expels a truly astonished laugh. “What?”
“You heard me,” Steve says. “You and me. We could just tell them we’re getting married.”
“Well, I guess the question of whether or not you’ve adapted to the twenty-first century is answered,” Sam says.
“You know there are plenty of changes I was happy to see,” Steve says. “So is that a yes?”
“Listen to you, all persistent about locking me down.” Sam crosses his arms, his gaze again drifting back to the mint chocolate cake. “…you really think they’d believe us?”
“Why shouldn’t they? You know me better than anyone since I woke up from the ice,” Steve said. Teasingly, he chucks at Sam’s arm. “If I can’t fake an engagement with you, I can’t fake it with anyone.”
“You sure know how to make a guy feel special, Rogers.” But Sam’s fighting down a grin, an actual grin, that Steve’s seen all too rarely these past few weeks.
“I’m saving all my sweet talk for when we’re in there.” Steve crooks a grin. “Nothing’s too good for my best guy, after all.”
He ignores Sam’s groan, grabbing his hand and all but dragging him into the bakery.
“We’re here for a wedding cake tasting,” Steve announces to the baker behind the counter, as if to close off any possibility that he or Sam might back out. But he hears his own voice echoing off the walls, and belatedly realizes he’s sort of pulled a Thor, using a commanding battlefield voice when it really wasn’t necessary.
The baker, a soft-faced, middle-aged man, looks between them skeptically.
“It’s for our wedding.” Sam slides up beside Steve, taking his arm. “My fiance’s kind of excited.”
“Oh, of course!” says the baker, seeming to instantly find Sam credible.
Steve turns his head, and realizes Sam’s leaning on him a little bit, and looking up with pure affection. Steve’s chest flips a little bit, unexpectedly. Sam always knows the right play. They always work off each other without thinking, on pure instinct. This fake engagement won’t be any different. Steve beams a smile back.
“You’re here for the special wedding sampler offer,” the baker continues. “Well, you two are in luck. Normally, walk-ins have to eat at the counter. But we’ve just had one of our best tasting rooms open up after another couple canceled. The mothers apparently couldn’t agree on something, so poof, bye-bye one of the best bakeries in the city.” The baker throws up his hands, and then catches himself and seems to remember he’s dealing with clients. “Anyway, you two look like a nice couple, so I’m just going to give you their spot. Follow me.”
Steve and Sam share a wide-eyed glance, neither able to believe their luck.
The baker leads them upstairs to a spotlessly clean room, all white and beige wood. It's clean, tasteful. Almost hilariously so compared to the rat holes Steve and Sam have been living in for the past few weeks. Sunshine beams in through an intricately latticed window, and on the sill, bright flowers spill artfully over their pots. There’s a pale wood table in the middle of the room, its surface smooth and pristine, and the seats are long cushioned benches.
The purpose of the benches, Steve realizes, is to allow couples to sit close together. He slides onto the bench next to Sam, and slings his arm over Sam’s shoulders. He likes how Sam feels, pulled against him. And he’d swear he feels Sam relax after a moment, and burrow into the embrace.
The baker, meanwhile, has produced a round ice water pitcher and two glasses from a shelf in the corner of the room.
“So I’m Martin, one of the pastry chefs here,” says the baker. He sets out the glasses, and begins to pour. “I’ll be back with tea in a minute. As for the cake, we offer two wedding samplers, half set and full set. The people before you who canceled, they were signed up for a full set, but if you'd rather do half--"
“Oh no,” Steve says. He pulls his arm a little tighter around Sam. “Full. We're going all out.”
Martin turns to Sam. "And that's all right with you too, sir?"
Sam chuckles, patting at Steve’s chest. “Whatever you want, babe.”
“Great,” says Martin, who’s finished pouring the water, and appears ready to leave.
“Wait,” Steve says, unhooking his arm from around Sam’s shoulders and leaning forward. “Does the full set include any of that mint chocolate cake that’s in the window? My—Sam, here, really had his eye on that one.”
Martin’s face falls. “Oh, I don’t think that one’s included. But I can check.”
“Well, that’s okay,” Sam says. “Cake is cake.”
“No,” Steve says, whipping around to look at him. “You really wanted that one.”
“I have lived through worse things than being deprived of mint chocolate cake,” Sam says. He looks up at Martin. “Although I’m sure it’s very good.”
Martin laughs. “Listen. We might be able to make a substitution. But our business protocol is to charge for it.”
Steve waved a hand. “Add it to the bill. That’s fine.”
“Okay,” Martin says in surprise, seeming to have expected a fight over it. “Okay, well, great. I’ll see what we can do.”
He disappears back down the stairs. It’s quiet for a moment, and then Sam leans back in the cushioned seat. “I would’ve gotten fake engaged to you long ago if I’d known you were going to spoil me,” he murmurs.
“Told you.” Steve leans back as well, so that they’re turned face to face, their noses nearly touching. “Like I said, nothing’s too—”
“Don’t,” Sam says. “That does not get any less corny with repetition.”
“All right, all right.” Steve glances around. “Is this all OK with you?”
“It’s great, Steve.” Sam chuckles to himself. “This is definitely not what I envisioned when we first started out, but I’m sure not gonna complain about it.”
There are footsteps coming up the stairs. Martin reappears with a tray, atop which sits a sleek stone teapot and two matching cups. He sets the tray down carefully on the table, and lifts the teapot lid. A rich, woodsy scent fills the room.
“So,” Martin says, as he moves the tea filter out of the pot, “if I may ask, how did you two meet?”
Steve and Sam glance at each other, before Sam has the presence of mind to laugh and jerk a thumb at Steve. “This guy kept passing me on my morning jog. In an incredibly tight shirt.”
“It wasn’t that tight,” Steve argues automatically. They’ve actually discussed this before.
“It was one hard cough away from splitting at the seams.”
Martin laughs, and gives Steve a knowing look. “And I assume it wasn’t coincidence you kept passing him.”
“Nope. There was just something about him.” Steve smiles, turning, and discovers Sam’s expression has changed ever so slightly, as if he hadn’t fully expected to hear that.
Even so, Sam plays along. “We started talking, and it turned out we had a lot in common,” he says. “You came by my work, and pretty soon we were inseparable."
All technically true, Steve thinks, and now it’s his turn to feel slightly confused about the fact that their actual first meeting makes an incredibly plausible story.
“Look at you,” Martin says, nodding toward Steve as he pours out a cup of tea. “You’re blushing. Whatever his work was, it seems to have made quite an impression.”
“Oh, uh.” Steve proudly claps Sam on the shoulder. “He ran a support group at the VA.” A little smile drifts to his face. “I walked in and heard him talking to the group. That’s when I knew.”
“Yeah?” Sam says, unable to keep himself from asking.
“Yeah, of course I did,” Steve says.
“The VA?” Martin repeats, pouring the other cup of tea. “As in, Veterans Affairs?”
Sam nods. “We both served.”
“Oh,” Martin says. He’s finished pouring the tea, and puts a hand to his chest. “Oh, I didn’t realize. Where did you serve?”
“Afghanistan,” Sam says, and glances over at Steve, “and you’ve had some, uh, classified deployments.”
That’s one way of putting it. Not for the first time, Steve silently praises Sam’s gift for improvisation.
“Well,” Martin says. “I think it’s lovely that you two got through it and found each other.”
Steve lowers his head, instinctively uncomfortable with that kind of praise, while Sam puts an arm around him.
“Thanks, man,” Sam says. “That’s really kind of you to say. Not everybody is so understanding.”
“Listen,” Martin says. “This tasting’s on the house.”
Steve and Sam’s faces fall at the exact same moment.
“We couldn’t,” Steve says, leaning forward. “That’s far too extravagant. We’re happy to pay.”
“No, no. Your money’s no good here.” Martin picks up his tray, and goes to leave again. “You two are heroes. You deserve it.”
Steve sits back, and something about Martin’s enthusiastic good faith in them makes Steve feel like absolute shit about lying to him. Out of all the ways this fake engagement could’ve gone wrong, he hadn’t anticipated this.
“I guess we better keep this up,” Sam murmurs, as if reading his thoughts.
“Yeah,” Steve says.
“At least the veteran thing isn’t a lie.”
“I’m pretty sure I’d jump out the window if it were,” Steve agrees, and Sam laughs.
Sam turns his head, watching Steve. He gnaws on his bottom lip. “Is it going to be weird if I kiss you?” he says, and then adds: “So it looks real?”
Steve freezes for a moment. It’s not going to be weird. But it’s going to be Sam.
“Don’t tell me you’re nervous, Rogers.”
“No,” Steve answers immediately. “You’re not the first man I’ve kissed, you know.”
“Oooh. More of that patented Steve Rogers sweet talk,” Sam chuckles, his fingers going to Steve’s chin, angling it, and then he closes his lips over Steve’s.
Indeed, Sam is not the first man he’s ever kissed; that had happened long before Steve had even heard of a supersoldier serum. But Sam is the first person in a very, very long time who’s made Steve’s chest jolt like this, who’s made him whimper sharply as the kiss deepens, and who makes him ache a little bit when it ends.
This isn’t what Steve had expected from this situation at all.
Sam waves a hand in front of Steve’s face, and Steve realizes he’s blanked out a little bit.
“…You sure I'm not the first?” Sam teases.
Steve swats him. “Oh, shut up. I know I’m not that rusty.”
They’re still leaned in close, and Steve’s still trying to work up a casual way to say maybe we should practice that some more, when Martin returns bearing a tray full of cake.
“We were able to get the mint chocolate cake right here,” he says, gesturing to the green swirled cake on the far corner of the tray.
Martin goes on to describe the other flavors: red velvet with buttercream, chocolate with chocolate mousse filling, coconut and lime, matcha and ginger, raspberry champagne, blueberry lemon. He leaves them a notecard and a pencil to rank their choices, and then he leaves them to it.
Sam’s already picked up his fork and is digging in to the long-awaited mint chocolate cake. Still a little buzzed from kissing him, Steve watches, and he sorely hopes the cake is not a disappointment.
It’s not. Sam gets a look of absolute bliss on his face, and he moans.
Okay, Steve thinks, shifting sharply in his seat. Okay. That noise was kind of obscene. He takes a swift drink of his ice water.
“You, ah, like it?” Steve says.
“Steve,” Sam says. “I would go through an actual, legally binding wedding ceremony for more of this cake.” He takes another forkful, but instead of eating it, points it towards Steve’s mouth. “You have got to try some.”
Mint chocolate is not actually Steve’s thing at all, but he would frankly eat just about any flavor off Sam’s fork. He parts his lips, allowing Sam to insert the fork, and then closes over the morsel. Okay, yeah. Even he can admit the cascade of rich chocolate and sharp mint is pretty amazing.
“Wow,” Steve says after Sam retracts his fork. “Yeah, I see what you mean.”
He, too, digs into the array of samples, and thinks he and Sam have unwittingly stumbled into the best bakery in the country. Each cake is perfectly light and fluffy, the fillings almost sensual in their texture, and erupting with flavor: butter, ginger, sugar, blueberry. The mint chocolate cake isn’t the only one to elicit those obscene-sounding moans from Sam. Steve – really kind of wants to tell him to stop that. He’s modern enough to admit it’s starting to turn him on.
But Steve keeps quiet. Because Sam is happy. The tension has flowed out of his muscles completely, the weariness lifted from his face. If it means Sam will get a good night’s sleep tonight, and might not be so tightly strung tomorrow, Steve thinks this whole charade will have been worth it. (Even if he still feels a nagging guilt about essentially scamming this bakery. He’ll have to find a way to secretly wire this place a good sum of money.)
Eventually, they finish off all of the cake samples, and Sam leans against Steve contentedly and closes his eyes. Steve holds on to him with one arm, and with his free hand, idly fills out the ranking sheet Martin had given them.
“You’re actually filling that out?” Sam says, eyes closed. “That’s adorable.”
“Of course I am.” Steve marks off a particularly sharp check mark. “I have a lot of opinions here.”
Where their bodies are pressed together Steve can feel Sam’s laughter rumbling, and it makes him jolt pleasantly again. He turns, and before he can think to stop himself, kisses Sam’s forehead.
At this, he feels Sam’s muscles tense.
Sam lifts his head. “Steve,” he murmurs.
“Sorry,” Steve says, shaking his head. “Sorry, I – just wasn’t thinking.”
Sam stares at him for a long moment, and then he shakes his head, and Steve realizes he’s smiling. “I guess I should just give up on ever expecting sweet nothings from you, huh?”
He leans in, and his breath is warm on Steve’s cheek. They hesitate for a moment, Steve’s lips parted and his heart feeling like it’s going to jackhammer right out of his chest. He draws a breath, parting his lips a little wider, and then Sam finally closes the distance.
This isn’t a practice kiss. It’s – Steve moaning, and wrapping his arms tight around Sam and pressing him against the back of their seat and kissing him as hard as he can, and hearing Sam make another one of those obscene-sounding noises into his mouth.
It’s how he’s been traveling and fighting with Sam for a year now and he’s stacked up a thousand little observations: the shape of Sam’s cheekbones and the way his eyelashes fall against his cheek, the way he sings in the shower when he thinks Steve can’t hear, the pancakes he makes on sleepy mornings that are the best in the world.
It’s something unexpectedly breaking open inside Steve, making him feel like he's in free fall, the realization suddenly rushing all around him that it’s real.
They pull apart, and Steve reads some of his own shock on Sam’s face.
“Steve…?” Sam breathes.
Steve nods. “Yeah,” he says.
Yeah, I mean it. Yeah, I want to kiss you. Yeah, I want to take you back home as soon as possible. He’s not sure how to say any of it, but apparently it’s all over his face, because Sam eventually breaks into a grin, and Steve has never loved the little gap in his teeth so much.
“Yeah,” Sam finally confirms.
“Well,” comes Martin’s voice. “I take it you two like the cake.”
It takes Steve a good long moment to pull his attention away from Sam. When he does, all he can think to do is drop his hand over Sam's and clasp it tightly. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much.”