Capt. Steve Rogers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
justabrooklynboy) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
justindulgeme2012-09-24 06:10 pm
justabrooklynboy) wrote in justindulgeme2012-09-24 06:10 pm
Nightmares and Daydreams
Maybe it's because of the ocean sounds that Steve just can't sleep soundly.
He's usually quite good at staying over in unfamiliar places, relaxing in even the most uncomfortable conditions, but tonight his usual ease is elusive. He lays awake past midnight listening to the settling of the house, to the waves and the dull sound of the girls watching a movie elsewhere in the house, of Tony working on something instead of sleeping across the hall.
He tries counting, measured breathing, lying in different positions, tossing away his pillow and then adding an extra one. Nothing helps so he sprawls onto his stomach again and tries to push aside the lousy over-stuffed feeling in his brain. Staring into the wall, the weight of a long day pulling at his body, he does finally become bored and exhausted enough to drift off, but his dozing isn't very restful.
He's always a breath away from waking, the faintest noise disrupting him, or worse, nosing it's way into his awareness without fully rousing him. He lays a while in this fitful state of exhaustion warring with hyper awareness, drifting between awake and dreaming, before the movie ends, the ocean calms, Tony crawls in to sleep, and finally, finally, it's quiet enough for Steve to fall deeply into rest.
He's out perhaps an hour before the nightmare starts.
It's a familiar moment, one he's relived more than enough times already, but every once in a while when something else is bothering him that old wound aches like new and this is what he sees when he closes his eyes. Bucky slipping away from him, Bucky shrinking smaller as he falls...
Steve's motions feel sluggish, weak, too slow, and it seems that his friend's fingers slip from his grip faster than ever...
There's a stab of pain in his wrist, a jolt as his side smacks into something hard, and Steve wakes up shouting on the floor beside his bed, surrounded by the wreckage of his toppled side table and broken lamp.
He's usually quite good at staying over in unfamiliar places, relaxing in even the most uncomfortable conditions, but tonight his usual ease is elusive. He lays awake past midnight listening to the settling of the house, to the waves and the dull sound of the girls watching a movie elsewhere in the house, of Tony working on something instead of sleeping across the hall.
He tries counting, measured breathing, lying in different positions, tossing away his pillow and then adding an extra one. Nothing helps so he sprawls onto his stomach again and tries to push aside the lousy over-stuffed feeling in his brain. Staring into the wall, the weight of a long day pulling at his body, he does finally become bored and exhausted enough to drift off, but his dozing isn't very restful.
He's always a breath away from waking, the faintest noise disrupting him, or worse, nosing it's way into his awareness without fully rousing him. He lays a while in this fitful state of exhaustion warring with hyper awareness, drifting between awake and dreaming, before the movie ends, the ocean calms, Tony crawls in to sleep, and finally, finally, it's quiet enough for Steve to fall deeply into rest.
He's out perhaps an hour before the nightmare starts.
It's a familiar moment, one he's relived more than enough times already, but every once in a while when something else is bothering him that old wound aches like new and this is what he sees when he closes his eyes. Bucky slipping away from him, Bucky shrinking smaller as he falls...
Steve's motions feel sluggish, weak, too slow, and it seems that his friend's fingers slip from his grip faster than ever...
There's a stab of pain in his wrist, a jolt as his side smacks into something hard, and Steve wakes up shouting on the floor beside his bed, surrounded by the wreckage of his toppled side table and broken lamp.
no subject
"I dunno."
He knows what he wants to do, what he'd like to think Tony is implying he can ask for. It's hard not to infer SOMETHING from that look, the lowered lashes, the faint pull of a curious smile at the corner of Tony's mouth.
And now he's staring at his mouth, fixated again on a whole new part of Tony, feeling the disorienting rush of anxiety and desire clawing at each other for space in his chest.
There, for the first time, he draws a comparison to Peggy and the nervous flutter he felt when she'd look over at him from beneath her bangs and he felt he'd had a glimpse of Peggy the lady beneath Peggy the officer. There was something in the gentle curve of her smile that just made him feel light and warm.
There's something in the quirk of Tony's lip, and the spark in his eyes that makes Steve feel just like that all over again.
The 'flutter' is more of a 'thrash' now, but Tony makes him more anxious than Peggy ever did just by virtue of being who he is...
"I guess I'm open to suggestions."
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Tony turns on his heels and shrugs, the move meant to either aggravate Steve or entice him. "I'm pretty bad at trying to teach but you seem to pick things up naturally. C'mon before I get caught leaving junk around by my hard working staff."
Yes, it's Tony's bedroom again, but Tony isn't rushing to get Steve into bed. Instead, he heads out onto the balcony.
It's more private.
"If you're going to push me away again, I'm not trying any more." Steve's already wormed his way in, though. Tony's making efforts and concessions already.
no subject
He follows Tony down the hall and then out to the balcony, hands stuffed in his jeans pockets, watching the other man move as they head through the halls.
The light is all different on the balcony and Steve steps up to the rail to lean on it, taking in the view for a long moment before his eyes stray back to Tony.
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Desire? Yes. Respect, even? Sure. But affection? For Steve Rogers.
"Are you in your right head now?"
He doesn't need this to end in sex. He was having a pretty good time making out.
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He nods, turning to put his back to the rail and conscientiously trying not to cross his arms as is his usual instinct. He doesn't want to come off defensive, and keeps his thumbs hooked in his pockets.
He takes in Tony's posture, the warmth in his smile, and can't help smiling a little back.
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He means it, too. Standing up straight doesn't really increase his height enough to tower over Steve as he might like to, but it's all right. He's gotten over the fact that the twenty-four year old soldier is just more physically impressive than he is.
Except, perhaps, for his hands.
Tony holds his own out and when Steve takes it -- or he takes it for the blond -- he weighs and examines the digits lightly pressing against his own before he tugs it, arm and all, around his waist. A kiss like this is not as sexy as one given while crawling all over each other, but it's probably a little more Steve's speed.
The man will have to learn to appreciate Tony's lack of restraint another time.
and then finally I tagged you back like a snail-boss
But it's far from unpleasant, and Steve tries to force himself to relax about it, to remind himself that liking this is alright, that DOING this is alright, and that even if it wasn't no one is here to judge him for it but Tony and maybe Jarvis...
The slower pace DOES suit him though and he sighs as Tony's fingers find purchase on his shoulder, his arm settled around the other man's waist coiling tighter to press him close. Steve's head tilts to slant their mouths together, deepening their kiss with a testing nip of Tony's lower lip between his teeth.
Steve doesn't really KNOW what he's doing, but being willing to take risks has rarely steered him wrong, especially where Tony is concerned....
no subject
Just a man that needs what all men need.
Someone else.
He's on his heels again, stepping back, his arms leaving their high up position around Steve's shoulders. He looks back out over the ocean. He clears his throat.
"What do you want?"
Countless hours drawing him. Comforting him. Sharing moments like fire walks and glass pathways with him. They have a history. Tony wants to tear his hair out about it sometimes. But he's so alone, even with Steve Rogers so close to him.
He makes Tony realize how lonely he is.
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The question posed to him is too broad for his momentarily narrowed scope and it takes him a second to come up with anything resembling a good answer.
"Right now? Could go for more of that." He brings one large hand up to wrap around Tony's jaw. "Later? I don't know..."
no subject
This is vacation, right? Last weekend of the season. Aren't they suppose to have fun on vacation?
"Let me know when you figure it out," he breathes, spending the better part of an hour like a teenager, wrapped up in the ocean breeze and a pretty blond sucking face until his lips are bruised.
That, and nothing more.
And it's delicious. Okay, and just a little sticky too.