fic: Wishing Well [2/4]
Title: Wishing Well
Chapter: 02 and you feel like something is about to begin
Fandoms: Captain America: The First Avenger; Earth-199999 (Marvel Movieverse)
Characters/Pairing: Howard Stark, Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter, Tony Stark, Phil Coulson; Howard/Steve, Peggy/Steve
Rating: T
Spoilers: Captain America: The First Avenger + the secret trailer
Word Count: 3639
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Summary: In teaching Steve how to woo Peggy Howard falls in love.
Author’s Note: Written for the prompt "Steve's not the most experienced guy or just isn't a very good kisser. So I'd like one of the Starks (I'd be perfectly content with Howard or Tony) to help him out by offering to teach him a thing or two" at capkinkmeme.
Of course I had to go all-in for a simple kissing lessons prompt. Apologies for any anachronisms or possible historical errors I might've made due to the setting being the 1940s and not, say, 2011.
"Why don't we take this to my lab?"
"Are you sure?"
"I have something to give you, remember? Besides, someone has to teach you the finer points of kissing. Women love a man who knows how to kiss. And you, my easily embarrassed friend, have potential."
He contemplates pulling out his secret stash of Scotch to finish what the beer started while watching Steve look at all the half-finished equipment laid out on the table. He can either get drunk and work through the inevitable hangover tomorrow morning or he can sober up and reconsider the offer he made earlier tonight.
Teach him how to kiss, he muses while Steve looks at several modified firearms on one of the work tables. How do I do that?
The way Steve strokes along the curve of the half-painted shield with such care as him shifting uncomfortably against his desk. He swallows hard and wonders if Scotch will be any good for a dry throat. Probably not. He considers saying something - "What do you think about the paint job?" "You sure you don't want to take a second look at the other shields?" - but his mouth won't work. It's when Steve wanders to the other side of the lab that he realizes that they're both avoiding each other. It's about as bad as whatever was going on between Steve and Peggy earlier this morning.
Fantastic.
Howard finally decides that maybe he should break out the Scotch and pushes off the desk. It squeaks and Steve starts, turns around to him. Howard forgets the Scotch and he's still tipsy enough to keep staring at the super soldier who continues to epitomize the word "flustered".
This shouldn't be so awkward. He shouldn't be so awkward. He's Howard Stark.
"Come on," he says, gesturing. Steve straightens his uniform and walks over quickly like a soldier should. Howard looks up at him, contemplating how to go about it without staring at the perfect bow of his lips. "First of all, don't wander away and lose any chance at this. Now say someone's interested and interesting enough for you to kiss. What do you do?"
"Um..." Steve's turning red again. "Grab her and kiss her? Well, you, uh, you..."
Showing, Howard decides impulsively, is a better idea than describing. Much better. He grabs Steve's left hand and pulls it and him forward, presses it on his waist. The heat and weight of it quite literally takes his breath away.
"Mr. S-Stark?" Steve stammers. "What are you-"
"Howard, remember? And I'm showing you how it's done. Relax, you won't hurt me." The temperature's gone up but he doesn't ever think of opening the door to let some air in. "You put your hand on her waist like this, and the other hand like so..."
He keeps his eyes on Steve's as he takes the other hand and slowly places it against the side of his neck. His palm is calloused in places, reminds Howard of his own hands. The fingers curve against the slope of his neck automatically, thumb resting against the curve of his jaw. It's getting harder to breathe.
"I've...never seen Bucky do this," Steve confesses. His eyes are stormy, his face flushed.
"He's good, if a little coarse," Howard says and his voice is thick with tension, with the questions in his head. He's taken risks - it's part of his job - but this is beyond risky. He could lose so much if he keeps going... "Don't think Peggy would want that, though."
"R-right. Then what?"
"Then you...pull her forward..." Steve does exactly that, drawing him close slowly and with care. Their hips press, then their chests, and all Howard can feel is heat and the steadfast strength of the person who'd become a symbol of his country and the Allied forces. Except his face is anything but steadfast; he looks so nervous for reasons, Howard finally decides, that have nothing to do with being in an intimate position with another man rather than with a woman.
"Okay, Howard," Steve whispers shakily. "And then?"
"Well...knowing Peggy she'll-" Steve starts when Howard lets go of his wrist to place his hand on his chest and slide up to the broad shoulder. "She'll probably...do this."
He then moves his hand to the side of Steve's neck and then to the back of his head, feeling muscles move as Steve swallows nervously. Howard pushes up an inch or two on the balls of his feet to compensate for the height difference, bringing him up closer to Steve's mouth. In fact he can feel tiny puffs of air against his lips and he realizes just then how close they are, especially with Steve unconsciously tilting his chin up with the hand against his neck.
"And then?" Steve asks softly. His large, warm hand slides over Howard's hip to the small of his back, keeping him steady.
"You kiss her," Howard says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Not that you have to, but-"
Steve kisses him.
It's a closemouthed press and Howard's had much better but his eyes are already closing as he relaxes in Steve's arms. All too soon the pressure disappears from his lips and the heat moves away; he opens his eyes and frowns at Steve, who's looking more than a little stunned.
"I-I'm sorry," he stammers. "I didn't mean to-I, uh, oh gosh I'm not even drunk-"
"Why'd you stop?" Howard asks and his jaw snaps shut. "You don't stop."
"But I...you're okay?"
"Perfectly okay." He looks at those plush pink lips and moves his hand, slides it forward and forms it to the curve of Steve's face. He brushes the pad of his thumb over that bottom lip, tracing its soft swell, and Steve shivers, breath hitching. "Let's do it again."
"Do what?"
"Kissing. Gotta show you how it's done."
Funny enough Steve doesn't say another word. He just leans in and kisses him again. Again it's tight-lipped and a little less confident than the impulsive press a second ago. Should work on that, Howard thinks as he opens his mouth just enough to suck on that bottom lip. Steve starts, hand pressing hard into his back, and Howard caresses the wonderful curve of his jaw line with his thumb, calming him.
"Relax," Howard murmurs. "Keep jumping like that and you won't get far."
He nods, though he stiffens and inhales sharply when Howard flicks his tongue out and strokes it along his wonderful bottom lip. His lips part as if of their own accord and Howard takes the opportunity to find out what he tastes like. He rises up a half-inch more and tilts his head to get a better angle, puts his free hand on Steve's chest to keep himself steady as he licks inside that mouth.
Steve tastes like rainwater. Interesting. Howard dimly remembers that he only had water at the pub, which might explain the sweet clean flavor. There's a muffled noise, something that's both a surprised squeak and a moan, and then Steve is pulling him closer, fingers curling against his back. His mouth is slick and hot, and Howard maps it with his tongue, stroking and sliding and tracing its shape the way he kept tracing Steve's outline with his pencils. It's an incredibly heady sensation, better than all the kisses he shared with all the others who crossed his path over the years.
Too soon he has to breathe and slowly pulls back. Steve's eyes flutter open and he looks...well...breathless and breathtaking, face flushed and lips kiss-swollen and not a strand of hair out of place. But behind the enhanced perfection there's the earnest, honest soldier and man who tries so hard to do the right thing, even if it means learning how to kiss from another man.
The thought is incredibly depressing and his perspective shifts; suddenly this isn't funny, risky, and risqué anymore. He tries to step back and put a little distance between them because the heat and the bar's smoky scent still clinging to their clothes is making him a little dizzy. He can't, though, because of the hand at his back and because of the hurt look crossing Steve's face.
"What is it? What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Howard lies. "Just figured that, well, now that you know how to kiss we don't have to continue."
He forces himself to take a step back but Steve follows. Another step and he hits his desk hard, knocking something over. He doesn't take his eyes off Steve, though, nor does Steve look away. There's a look on his face echoing the one when he and Peggy approached Howard about flying behind enemy lines to rescue their lost soldiers except it's focused on him.
"Do you want to stop?" Steve's mirroring him, tracing his lips with his thumb, tickling his moustache. "Because I really don't want to."
"Well, when you put it that way-"
Steve tilts his head up and kisses him fiercely, tongue slick and sweet as it slides against his mouth. Howard lets him in, relishes the newfound confidence as Steve sets out to memorize every inch of his mouth. They bump into the desk again as they try to compensate for the height difference; neither of them are willing to let go for the few seconds it takes to readjust themselves and so Howard sidles up onto his desk, drags Steve closer until the soldier is standing between his legs.
An eternity later they come up for air and Howard hoarsely says, "You know, there's other places you can put that mouth on."
"Yeah?" Steve's hair is all over the place and Howard makes a mental note to offer him a comb to brush it over before they leave the lab.
"You really don't know?"
Before Steve can say something about it Howard leans up and grazes that taut line of his neck with teeth, latches onto a spot on his neck and sucks hard. Steve shudders against him, raking fingers through hair at the back of his head. Howard brushes his lips over the fast-fading mark on his neck - Thank God and Erskine for that serum, he thinks - and skims down to the Adam's apple to lick off the salt. A few centimeters down is the stiff collar of Steve's uniform, hiding the hollow at the base of his throat, and Howard's fingers twitch, wanting to start unbuttoning things to find it.
He gets as far as resting both his hands on Steve's shoulders, as far as sliding them down to the brass buttons, and then freezes as something slides off a work table and falls to the floor with a muffled clang. As one they turn to look at the shield, which is lying facedown. Steve laughs nervously and steps back, rubbing the back of his neck and making worse his already tousled hair.
"Must've-I, um, didn't put it back right...I'll go put it away right now."
Howard smiles as he watches Steve stumble while trying to avoid a table laden with firearms, then slides off his desk and straightens his shirt. The moment is passing, slipping away with every step Steve takes to pick up the shield, and so Howard sighs, pats down his hair, and walks behind his desk to start searching through his belongings. He resurfaces with a broken comb, a canteen of stale water, and a small stack of photographs when Steve awkwardly clears his throat.
"So, uh...."
"Here." Howard hands him the comb and canteen. "Should do something about your hair."
"Oh! Right. I'll just...go over there..." He walks to the only drain in the lab and pours water over the comb, starts taming his hair. Howard shakes his head as he flips through the glossy photos, looking for a certain face.
"Here," he says when Steve returns, hair damp but not a strand out of place. He holds out a photograph of just Peggy, smiling and gorgeous and with eyes full of fire. "Best one I got."
Steve takes it gingerly, holds it up and traces her smile with his finger. "Thanks." He looks over it at Howard. "For everything."
"It's nothing," he says, waves it off, and starts gathering his things to shove them back into the suitcase sitting next to his feet.
He stills at the hand on his shoulder and lets Steve slowly turn him around. He didn't even notice him walking around the table to his side.
"I mean it," Steve says carefully, putting his full weight behind each syllable. He lifts his free hand and curves it around the side of Howard's face, tilts him up to press a soft kiss and holds it for a long time. His lips feel fuzzy when they pull back and he doesn't think he can breathe.
"See you tomorrow, then," Howard says very quietly. "Eleven o'clock, sharp. Don't be late; wouldn't want to miss any of the demonstrations."
"I won't," Steve says. "Good night, Mr. Stark."
He lets Howard go, tucks the photograph into one of his many pockets, and turns to leave. Halfway across the lab to the door he stops and looks at the shield, gleaming under the yellowed light. Howard hears him take a deep breath and open the door.
It closes with a ringing sound that echoes in the expansive but cluttered space. His knees finally give out and Howard sits down on his chair. He stares at the pile of sketches on the desk, at the three slugs piled in a corner next to the pencils, and then at the suitcase at his feet. He leans down to pull out a smaller canteen of Scotch, and twists the cap open.
* * *
They never spoke of that night. What was there to say? They got to talking at the Whip and Fiddle Pub, and finished the conversation at Howard's lab while looking over the specialized equipment he's been working on for Steve's team. The next day Steve and his team - "The Howling Commandos," Morita declared and Falsworth rolled his eyes. - looked on while Howard and his assistants walked each of the members through their new gear; Howard had a few minutes to slip Steve a few more suggestions with regard to Peggy before General Phillips sent word that they were shipping out in a few days to start hunting down HYDRA bases.
Howard rarely saw Steve after that, busy as he was building better weapons and studying the mysterious element while being slowly drawn into discussions about an Operation Neptune. SSR agents kept him informed of Steve and the Howling Commandos' progress, however, especially Peggy; many a night she came down to his lab with an offering of brandy and they stayed up for hours talking about her missions, his progress, and reports from the front line. She was the one who invited him to watch a few of the reels sent in from the war front, so he was there when the camera panned over to Steve, who opened his compass while studying a map with the Commandos; he smirked at the perfect shot of the cutout of Peggy's face glued to the inside of the compass's cover and Steve's mortification as he quickly snapped it shut.
There are three bases left and they know the location to only two of them. The Howling Commandos are back in London to catch a breather and exchange their gear for upgrades. Howard is supervising an assistant with dissecting a HYDRA motorcycle when Steve and Barnes walk in. They know which station holds which person's equipment but after a few words only Barnes goes to his table while Steve walks over to Howard.
"Something wrong, my friend?" Howard asks casually while the assistant - William, the Oxford kid - scampers off.
"Uh, no, actually." Steve stares down at his recently polished boots for a moment, then takes a deep breath and holds out a folded piece of paper. "I just wanted to give this to you."
Confused he takes it and starts to unfold it but Steve quickly adds, "In private."
Howard doesn't question it. With a nod he tucks it into his pocket and turns back to the partially dismantled motorcycle. He's finally starting to see the bigger picture - and thank god Schmidt never shared his secrets with Hitler or they'd be screwed - but with Steve here his focus is already starting to wander. "So, did you see Peggy? I know she's on base for a spell, same as you."
Steve laughs nervously. "Well, no, not exactly. Ran into her on the way here, actually, but she was doing something for MI6 so we didn't get to talk. Uh, she didn't see that footage, right? The one where I was using my compass?"
"She reviews all the footage with General Phillips and a couple other agents. Why? You didn't plan it out, did you?"
"No!" Steve yelps and half the lab raises their heads. "I mean I didn't but the boys-" He glances sideways at Barnes, who's busy reassembling his new sniper rifle. "-they wouldn't leave it alone. Was I...was I being too obvious?"
Howard recalls the rosy blush on Peggy's face after the lights turned back on, the embarrassment when General Phillips' secretary, Private Lorraine, asked her about it and Steve. She looked quite happy, actually, and Howard tells him so.
"Oh, okay," he says, a smile slowly spreading on his face. It's like the sun, brighter than anything Howard's ever seen. He wonders if he'll ever see anything else as brilliant and then thinks, No, never will.
"Hey, Steve!" Barnes calls out. He's on the steps leading to the door. "You coming or what?"
"I'll be there in a minute," Steve says.
"All right. See you at the mess hall."
The motorcycle, Howard decides as he forcibly turns his attention back to it, can finish being dismantled on a table now. He glances at the pile of sketches and notes on his desk remarking on its many improvements over an older model that was caught a few weeks ago. HYDRA is quick, which is both frustrating and an engrossing challenge. He can't put a finger to their secret, because nothing comes to mind that can explain HYDRA's ability to build and put out such mechanical marvels without error.
"Hey, you mind helping me take this down?" he asks.
Steve obliges all too willingly, not even bothering to take off his jacket.
Howard starts wondering when Steve, instead of leaving after setting the vehicle on a work table, follows him to his desk, where he stands with hands shoved into his pockets and rocks back and forth on his feet. Howard pretends to be completely focused on a few annotations he has to change but the pencil doesn't touch the paper. Instead he tucks it behind his ear and leans on the table, looks up at the super soldier and asks, "Is it Peggy?"
"Ah, um, uh, sort of. Yes."
"Anything in particular you wanna ask?"
"Well..." Watching America's golden boy fidget and blush will never stop being amusing. "What else do I do? We're going to be here for two weeks before shipping out again and if she's going to be here for a few weeks, too..."
"What I'd do," Howard says, pushing aside one sketch to look at another underneath. He frowns at the small doodle in a corner of the page and discretely hides it with the palm of his hand. "I'd take her out to dinner. Dress up, look smart, give her a good time. Preferably somewhere where people can see you. You have been writing those letters, right?"
"Of course. Just like you said."
"Then there's nothing to worry about," Howard says, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Find her when she's alone and ask."
Steve goes completely still under his hand and Howard suddenly realizes that this is the first time he's touched him since that night. Several loud heartbeats later Howard finally slides his hand off and shoves it into his pocket, clears his throat and shrugs. "That's all I have."
"Yeah," Steve says in a hoarse, distant voice. "Thanks, Howard."
"No problem."
He watches Steve leave, fingers pressed together in his pocket, trying to memorize the living heat underneath them. After a moment he fishes out the piece of paper Steve handed him earlier and, with a sweeping glance around him to make sure nobody needs him at the moment, unfolds it.
"Huh," he says under his breath, wondering when Steve found the time to sketch him holding up the vibranium shield as if to study it.
Steve returns later in the evening when nobody else is in the lab. There's a rebellious strand of hair curving diagonally across his forehead, otherwise his uniform is impeccably clean and pressed. In fact, Howard guesses as he walks over from where he'd been tinkering with Dugan's shotgun, he looks like he'd been getting ready for a date.
"Had to cancel at the last minute," Steve starts nonchalantly, because he's convinced he can hide the hurt in his words. "We were about to leave but Private Lorraine stopped us and said General Phillips needed her-"
Howard backs him into the door. Or rather, Steve lets Howard back him into the door with just an index finger on his chest. The door groans with the sudden stress of Steve's weight but holds; Howard waits a second and then rises up on the balls of his feet to brush his mouth against Steve's.
"Always a next time," he says against the parted, perfect lips. "Ask her tomorrow."
Large hands, strong enough to bend metal, cup his face carefully as Steve says, "I did. Show me how to kiss again?"
Howard smiles. "Anything for you, my friend."
01 on the kind of night where you want to be out | 03 through the dark blue waters where you cast your spell
Chapter: 02 and you feel like something is about to begin
Fandoms: Captain America: The First Avenger; Earth-199999 (Marvel Movieverse)
Characters/Pairing: Howard Stark, Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter, Tony Stark, Phil Coulson; Howard/Steve, Peggy/Steve
Rating: T
Spoilers: Captain America: The First Avenger + the secret trailer
Word Count: 3639
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Summary: In teaching Steve how to woo Peggy Howard falls in love.
Author’s Note: Written for the prompt "Steve's not the most experienced guy or just isn't a very good kisser. So I'd like one of the Starks (I'd be perfectly content with Howard or Tony) to help him out by offering to teach him a thing or two" at capkinkmeme.
Of course I had to go all-in for a simple kissing lessons prompt. Apologies for any anachronisms or possible historical errors I might've made due to the setting being the 1940s and not, say, 2011.
"Why don't we take this to my lab?"
"Are you sure?"
"I have something to give you, remember? Besides, someone has to teach you the finer points of kissing. Women love a man who knows how to kiss. And you, my easily embarrassed friend, have potential."
He contemplates pulling out his secret stash of Scotch to finish what the beer started while watching Steve look at all the half-finished equipment laid out on the table. He can either get drunk and work through the inevitable hangover tomorrow morning or he can sober up and reconsider the offer he made earlier tonight.
Teach him how to kiss, he muses while Steve looks at several modified firearms on one of the work tables. How do I do that?
The way Steve strokes along the curve of the half-painted shield with such care as him shifting uncomfortably against his desk. He swallows hard and wonders if Scotch will be any good for a dry throat. Probably not. He considers saying something - "What do you think about the paint job?" "You sure you don't want to take a second look at the other shields?" - but his mouth won't work. It's when Steve wanders to the other side of the lab that he realizes that they're both avoiding each other. It's about as bad as whatever was going on between Steve and Peggy earlier this morning.
Fantastic.
Howard finally decides that maybe he should break out the Scotch and pushes off the desk. It squeaks and Steve starts, turns around to him. Howard forgets the Scotch and he's still tipsy enough to keep staring at the super soldier who continues to epitomize the word "flustered".
This shouldn't be so awkward. He shouldn't be so awkward. He's Howard Stark.
"Come on," he says, gesturing. Steve straightens his uniform and walks over quickly like a soldier should. Howard looks up at him, contemplating how to go about it without staring at the perfect bow of his lips. "First of all, don't wander away and lose any chance at this. Now say someone's interested and interesting enough for you to kiss. What do you do?"
"Um..." Steve's turning red again. "Grab her and kiss her? Well, you, uh, you..."
Showing, Howard decides impulsively, is a better idea than describing. Much better. He grabs Steve's left hand and pulls it and him forward, presses it on his waist. The heat and weight of it quite literally takes his breath away.
"Mr. S-Stark?" Steve stammers. "What are you-"
"Howard, remember? And I'm showing you how it's done. Relax, you won't hurt me." The temperature's gone up but he doesn't ever think of opening the door to let some air in. "You put your hand on her waist like this, and the other hand like so..."
He keeps his eyes on Steve's as he takes the other hand and slowly places it against the side of his neck. His palm is calloused in places, reminds Howard of his own hands. The fingers curve against the slope of his neck automatically, thumb resting against the curve of his jaw. It's getting harder to breathe.
"I've...never seen Bucky do this," Steve confesses. His eyes are stormy, his face flushed.
"He's good, if a little coarse," Howard says and his voice is thick with tension, with the questions in his head. He's taken risks - it's part of his job - but this is beyond risky. He could lose so much if he keeps going... "Don't think Peggy would want that, though."
"R-right. Then what?"
"Then you...pull her forward..." Steve does exactly that, drawing him close slowly and with care. Their hips press, then their chests, and all Howard can feel is heat and the steadfast strength of the person who'd become a symbol of his country and the Allied forces. Except his face is anything but steadfast; he looks so nervous for reasons, Howard finally decides, that have nothing to do with being in an intimate position with another man rather than with a woman.
"Okay, Howard," Steve whispers shakily. "And then?"
"Well...knowing Peggy she'll-" Steve starts when Howard lets go of his wrist to place his hand on his chest and slide up to the broad shoulder. "She'll probably...do this."
He then moves his hand to the side of Steve's neck and then to the back of his head, feeling muscles move as Steve swallows nervously. Howard pushes up an inch or two on the balls of his feet to compensate for the height difference, bringing him up closer to Steve's mouth. In fact he can feel tiny puffs of air against his lips and he realizes just then how close they are, especially with Steve unconsciously tilting his chin up with the hand against his neck.
"And then?" Steve asks softly. His large, warm hand slides over Howard's hip to the small of his back, keeping him steady.
"You kiss her," Howard says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Not that you have to, but-"
Steve kisses him.
It's a closemouthed press and Howard's had much better but his eyes are already closing as he relaxes in Steve's arms. All too soon the pressure disappears from his lips and the heat moves away; he opens his eyes and frowns at Steve, who's looking more than a little stunned.
"I-I'm sorry," he stammers. "I didn't mean to-I, uh, oh gosh I'm not even drunk-"
"Why'd you stop?" Howard asks and his jaw snaps shut. "You don't stop."
"But I...you're okay?"
"Perfectly okay." He looks at those plush pink lips and moves his hand, slides it forward and forms it to the curve of Steve's face. He brushes the pad of his thumb over that bottom lip, tracing its soft swell, and Steve shivers, breath hitching. "Let's do it again."
"Do what?"
"Kissing. Gotta show you how it's done."
Funny enough Steve doesn't say another word. He just leans in and kisses him again. Again it's tight-lipped and a little less confident than the impulsive press a second ago. Should work on that, Howard thinks as he opens his mouth just enough to suck on that bottom lip. Steve starts, hand pressing hard into his back, and Howard caresses the wonderful curve of his jaw line with his thumb, calming him.
"Relax," Howard murmurs. "Keep jumping like that and you won't get far."
He nods, though he stiffens and inhales sharply when Howard flicks his tongue out and strokes it along his wonderful bottom lip. His lips part as if of their own accord and Howard takes the opportunity to find out what he tastes like. He rises up a half-inch more and tilts his head to get a better angle, puts his free hand on Steve's chest to keep himself steady as he licks inside that mouth.
Steve tastes like rainwater. Interesting. Howard dimly remembers that he only had water at the pub, which might explain the sweet clean flavor. There's a muffled noise, something that's both a surprised squeak and a moan, and then Steve is pulling him closer, fingers curling against his back. His mouth is slick and hot, and Howard maps it with his tongue, stroking and sliding and tracing its shape the way he kept tracing Steve's outline with his pencils. It's an incredibly heady sensation, better than all the kisses he shared with all the others who crossed his path over the years.
Too soon he has to breathe and slowly pulls back. Steve's eyes flutter open and he looks...well...breathless and breathtaking, face flushed and lips kiss-swollen and not a strand of hair out of place. But behind the enhanced perfection there's the earnest, honest soldier and man who tries so hard to do the right thing, even if it means learning how to kiss from another man.
The thought is incredibly depressing and his perspective shifts; suddenly this isn't funny, risky, and risqué anymore. He tries to step back and put a little distance between them because the heat and the bar's smoky scent still clinging to their clothes is making him a little dizzy. He can't, though, because of the hand at his back and because of the hurt look crossing Steve's face.
"What is it? What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Howard lies. "Just figured that, well, now that you know how to kiss we don't have to continue."
He forces himself to take a step back but Steve follows. Another step and he hits his desk hard, knocking something over. He doesn't take his eyes off Steve, though, nor does Steve look away. There's a look on his face echoing the one when he and Peggy approached Howard about flying behind enemy lines to rescue their lost soldiers except it's focused on him.
"Do you want to stop?" Steve's mirroring him, tracing his lips with his thumb, tickling his moustache. "Because I really don't want to."
"Well, when you put it that way-"
Steve tilts his head up and kisses him fiercely, tongue slick and sweet as it slides against his mouth. Howard lets him in, relishes the newfound confidence as Steve sets out to memorize every inch of his mouth. They bump into the desk again as they try to compensate for the height difference; neither of them are willing to let go for the few seconds it takes to readjust themselves and so Howard sidles up onto his desk, drags Steve closer until the soldier is standing between his legs.
An eternity later they come up for air and Howard hoarsely says, "You know, there's other places you can put that mouth on."
"Yeah?" Steve's hair is all over the place and Howard makes a mental note to offer him a comb to brush it over before they leave the lab.
"You really don't know?"
Before Steve can say something about it Howard leans up and grazes that taut line of his neck with teeth, latches onto a spot on his neck and sucks hard. Steve shudders against him, raking fingers through hair at the back of his head. Howard brushes his lips over the fast-fading mark on his neck - Thank God and Erskine for that serum, he thinks - and skims down to the Adam's apple to lick off the salt. A few centimeters down is the stiff collar of Steve's uniform, hiding the hollow at the base of his throat, and Howard's fingers twitch, wanting to start unbuttoning things to find it.
He gets as far as resting both his hands on Steve's shoulders, as far as sliding them down to the brass buttons, and then freezes as something slides off a work table and falls to the floor with a muffled clang. As one they turn to look at the shield, which is lying facedown. Steve laughs nervously and steps back, rubbing the back of his neck and making worse his already tousled hair.
"Must've-I, um, didn't put it back right...I'll go put it away right now."
Howard smiles as he watches Steve stumble while trying to avoid a table laden with firearms, then slides off his desk and straightens his shirt. The moment is passing, slipping away with every step Steve takes to pick up the shield, and so Howard sighs, pats down his hair, and walks behind his desk to start searching through his belongings. He resurfaces with a broken comb, a canteen of stale water, and a small stack of photographs when Steve awkwardly clears his throat.
"So, uh...."
"Here." Howard hands him the comb and canteen. "Should do something about your hair."
"Oh! Right. I'll just...go over there..." He walks to the only drain in the lab and pours water over the comb, starts taming his hair. Howard shakes his head as he flips through the glossy photos, looking for a certain face.
"Here," he says when Steve returns, hair damp but not a strand out of place. He holds out a photograph of just Peggy, smiling and gorgeous and with eyes full of fire. "Best one I got."
Steve takes it gingerly, holds it up and traces her smile with his finger. "Thanks." He looks over it at Howard. "For everything."
"It's nothing," he says, waves it off, and starts gathering his things to shove them back into the suitcase sitting next to his feet.
He stills at the hand on his shoulder and lets Steve slowly turn him around. He didn't even notice him walking around the table to his side.
"I mean it," Steve says carefully, putting his full weight behind each syllable. He lifts his free hand and curves it around the side of Howard's face, tilts him up to press a soft kiss and holds it for a long time. His lips feel fuzzy when they pull back and he doesn't think he can breathe.
"See you tomorrow, then," Howard says very quietly. "Eleven o'clock, sharp. Don't be late; wouldn't want to miss any of the demonstrations."
"I won't," Steve says. "Good night, Mr. Stark."
He lets Howard go, tucks the photograph into one of his many pockets, and turns to leave. Halfway across the lab to the door he stops and looks at the shield, gleaming under the yellowed light. Howard hears him take a deep breath and open the door.
It closes with a ringing sound that echoes in the expansive but cluttered space. His knees finally give out and Howard sits down on his chair. He stares at the pile of sketches on the desk, at the three slugs piled in a corner next to the pencils, and then at the suitcase at his feet. He leans down to pull out a smaller canteen of Scotch, and twists the cap open.
* * *
They never spoke of that night. What was there to say? They got to talking at the Whip and Fiddle Pub, and finished the conversation at Howard's lab while looking over the specialized equipment he's been working on for Steve's team. The next day Steve and his team - "The Howling Commandos," Morita declared and Falsworth rolled his eyes. - looked on while Howard and his assistants walked each of the members through their new gear; Howard had a few minutes to slip Steve a few more suggestions with regard to Peggy before General Phillips sent word that they were shipping out in a few days to start hunting down HYDRA bases.
Howard rarely saw Steve after that, busy as he was building better weapons and studying the mysterious element while being slowly drawn into discussions about an Operation Neptune. SSR agents kept him informed of Steve and the Howling Commandos' progress, however, especially Peggy; many a night she came down to his lab with an offering of brandy and they stayed up for hours talking about her missions, his progress, and reports from the front line. She was the one who invited him to watch a few of the reels sent in from the war front, so he was there when the camera panned over to Steve, who opened his compass while studying a map with the Commandos; he smirked at the perfect shot of the cutout of Peggy's face glued to the inside of the compass's cover and Steve's mortification as he quickly snapped it shut.
There are three bases left and they know the location to only two of them. The Howling Commandos are back in London to catch a breather and exchange their gear for upgrades. Howard is supervising an assistant with dissecting a HYDRA motorcycle when Steve and Barnes walk in. They know which station holds which person's equipment but after a few words only Barnes goes to his table while Steve walks over to Howard.
"Something wrong, my friend?" Howard asks casually while the assistant - William, the Oxford kid - scampers off.
"Uh, no, actually." Steve stares down at his recently polished boots for a moment, then takes a deep breath and holds out a folded piece of paper. "I just wanted to give this to you."
Confused he takes it and starts to unfold it but Steve quickly adds, "In private."
Howard doesn't question it. With a nod he tucks it into his pocket and turns back to the partially dismantled motorcycle. He's finally starting to see the bigger picture - and thank god Schmidt never shared his secrets with Hitler or they'd be screwed - but with Steve here his focus is already starting to wander. "So, did you see Peggy? I know she's on base for a spell, same as you."
Steve laughs nervously. "Well, no, not exactly. Ran into her on the way here, actually, but she was doing something for MI6 so we didn't get to talk. Uh, she didn't see that footage, right? The one where I was using my compass?"
"She reviews all the footage with General Phillips and a couple other agents. Why? You didn't plan it out, did you?"
"No!" Steve yelps and half the lab raises their heads. "I mean I didn't but the boys-" He glances sideways at Barnes, who's busy reassembling his new sniper rifle. "-they wouldn't leave it alone. Was I...was I being too obvious?"
Howard recalls the rosy blush on Peggy's face after the lights turned back on, the embarrassment when General Phillips' secretary, Private Lorraine, asked her about it and Steve. She looked quite happy, actually, and Howard tells him so.
"Oh, okay," he says, a smile slowly spreading on his face. It's like the sun, brighter than anything Howard's ever seen. He wonders if he'll ever see anything else as brilliant and then thinks, No, never will.
"Hey, Steve!" Barnes calls out. He's on the steps leading to the door. "You coming or what?"
"I'll be there in a minute," Steve says.
"All right. See you at the mess hall."
The motorcycle, Howard decides as he forcibly turns his attention back to it, can finish being dismantled on a table now. He glances at the pile of sketches and notes on his desk remarking on its many improvements over an older model that was caught a few weeks ago. HYDRA is quick, which is both frustrating and an engrossing challenge. He can't put a finger to their secret, because nothing comes to mind that can explain HYDRA's ability to build and put out such mechanical marvels without error.
"Hey, you mind helping me take this down?" he asks.
Steve obliges all too willingly, not even bothering to take off his jacket.
Howard starts wondering when Steve, instead of leaving after setting the vehicle on a work table, follows him to his desk, where he stands with hands shoved into his pockets and rocks back and forth on his feet. Howard pretends to be completely focused on a few annotations he has to change but the pencil doesn't touch the paper. Instead he tucks it behind his ear and leans on the table, looks up at the super soldier and asks, "Is it Peggy?"
"Ah, um, uh, sort of. Yes."
"Anything in particular you wanna ask?"
"Well..." Watching America's golden boy fidget and blush will never stop being amusing. "What else do I do? We're going to be here for two weeks before shipping out again and if she's going to be here for a few weeks, too..."
"What I'd do," Howard says, pushing aside one sketch to look at another underneath. He frowns at the small doodle in a corner of the page and discretely hides it with the palm of his hand. "I'd take her out to dinner. Dress up, look smart, give her a good time. Preferably somewhere where people can see you. You have been writing those letters, right?"
"Of course. Just like you said."
"Then there's nothing to worry about," Howard says, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Find her when she's alone and ask."
Steve goes completely still under his hand and Howard suddenly realizes that this is the first time he's touched him since that night. Several loud heartbeats later Howard finally slides his hand off and shoves it into his pocket, clears his throat and shrugs. "That's all I have."
"Yeah," Steve says in a hoarse, distant voice. "Thanks, Howard."
"No problem."
He watches Steve leave, fingers pressed together in his pocket, trying to memorize the living heat underneath them. After a moment he fishes out the piece of paper Steve handed him earlier and, with a sweeping glance around him to make sure nobody needs him at the moment, unfolds it.
"Huh," he says under his breath, wondering when Steve found the time to sketch him holding up the vibranium shield as if to study it.
Steve returns later in the evening when nobody else is in the lab. There's a rebellious strand of hair curving diagonally across his forehead, otherwise his uniform is impeccably clean and pressed. In fact, Howard guesses as he walks over from where he'd been tinkering with Dugan's shotgun, he looks like he'd been getting ready for a date.
"Had to cancel at the last minute," Steve starts nonchalantly, because he's convinced he can hide the hurt in his words. "We were about to leave but Private Lorraine stopped us and said General Phillips needed her-"
Howard backs him into the door. Or rather, Steve lets Howard back him into the door with just an index finger on his chest. The door groans with the sudden stress of Steve's weight but holds; Howard waits a second and then rises up on the balls of his feet to brush his mouth against Steve's.
"Always a next time," he says against the parted, perfect lips. "Ask her tomorrow."
Large hands, strong enough to bend metal, cup his face carefully as Steve says, "I did. Show me how to kiss again?"
Howard smiles. "Anything for you, my friend."
01 on the kind of night where you want to be out | 03 through the dark blue waters where you cast your spell