Avengers FPS - Thor/Steve - comment fics
Two teeny comment fics written for the Avengers Kissing Meme over at foxxcub's journal.
*
Of course, Steve had thought that Thor would throw himself into this with the same sort of gusto that he throws himself into anything that he does, except he's wrong. But it's the best kind of wrong, because this kind of wrong comes with soft, barely there kisses; kisses that are more a scratch of beard and a hint of warm lips than anything else and send delightful shivers down his spine when they're pressed just behind his ear, just at that spot.
Then there are the kisses that taste vaguely of strawberry poptarts and leave crumbs on Steve's chin when he walks into the kitchen after Thor's had his (first) breakfast and is greeted by those enormous arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him down into Thor's lap.
There are kisses that have him grabbing fistfuls of blond hair, that taste of sweat and rubble and the thrill of winning their latest battle. These are the kisses that lead deep into the night, and in the morning Steve wakes to Thor's lips touching each scrape and fading bruise with a reverence that only demigods can summon.
**
Steve could blame it on his being frozen for 70 years, and go off on a tangent about how things were different in his day, or he could man up (he's Captain America, for Pete's sake) and admit that he's just a bit dense when it comes to love, or at least very strong like.
Anyway, the point is, he should really have known what it meant that his sketch book was slowly but surely filling up with thumbnail portraits of Thor. Or bits of Thor, at least. A muscled arm; a hand grasping a hammer; the curve of a cheek as it dimples into a smile; the curve of his backside in those leather pants. The last one especially should've been a fairly big indicator if the rest of them weren't.
So, really, he shouldn't be all that surprised when he finds himself trying to follow a TV show on one of Tony's vast screens, sprawled over the couch so that his feet are dangling off the edge and his head is half pillowed on Thor's thigh where he'd sat down an hour ago to see what Steve was doing and never left. Thor's hand is in Steve's hair, nails scratching gently over Steve's scalp, and it is simply the most natural thing for Steve to turn his head and press his lips to the centre of Thor's palm.
*
Of course, Steve had thought that Thor would throw himself into this with the same sort of gusto that he throws himself into anything that he does, except he's wrong. But it's the best kind of wrong, because this kind of wrong comes with soft, barely there kisses; kisses that are more a scratch of beard and a hint of warm lips than anything else and send delightful shivers down his spine when they're pressed just behind his ear, just at that spot.
Then there are the kisses that taste vaguely of strawberry poptarts and leave crumbs on Steve's chin when he walks into the kitchen after Thor's had his (first) breakfast and is greeted by those enormous arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him down into Thor's lap.
There are kisses that have him grabbing fistfuls of blond hair, that taste of sweat and rubble and the thrill of winning their latest battle. These are the kisses that lead deep into the night, and in the morning Steve wakes to Thor's lips touching each scrape and fading bruise with a reverence that only demigods can summon.
**
Steve could blame it on his being frozen for 70 years, and go off on a tangent about how things were different in his day, or he could man up (he's Captain America, for Pete's sake) and admit that he's just a bit dense when it comes to love, or at least very strong like.
Anyway, the point is, he should really have known what it meant that his sketch book was slowly but surely filling up with thumbnail portraits of Thor. Or bits of Thor, at least. A muscled arm; a hand grasping a hammer; the curve of a cheek as it dimples into a smile; the curve of his backside in those leather pants. The last one especially should've been a fairly big indicator if the rest of them weren't.
So, really, he shouldn't be all that surprised when he finds himself trying to follow a TV show on one of Tony's vast screens, sprawled over the couch so that his feet are dangling off the edge and his head is half pillowed on Thor's thigh where he'd sat down an hour ago to see what Steve was doing and never left. Thor's hand is in Steve's hair, nails scratching gently over Steve's scalp, and it is simply the most natural thing for Steve to turn his head and press his lips to the centre of Thor's palm.