Salmon Pink (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
salmon_pink) wrote2014-04-10 01:46 pm
salmon_pink) wrote2014-04-10 01:46 pm
(MCU) Work It Out
Title: Work It Out
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Sam/Steve
Rating: R
Words: 400
Notes: Spoilers for Captain America 2. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comicdrabbles, prompt "why me?".
“You’re not even sweating,” Sam mumbles, snagging the orange juice from the fridge. “How are you not even sweating?”
Of course, he knows the answer, but his own t-shirt is soaked and stuck to his skin, lungs burning from a good workout, and Steve looks as immaculate as when they first set out, never mind how many miles he just ran. It just makes Sam feel better to complain a little.
He takes a swig from the carton, eyes narrowed at Steve’s innocuous shrug, the corner of his mouth turned up. Steve’s stood at the sink, getting a glass of water, because Steve never drinks straight from the carton at somebody else’s home. Hell, Steve probably doesn’t drink straight from the carton at his own place.
He’ll put that glass in the dishwasher when he’s done with it too, considerate guest that he is.
Insufferably perfect, and Sam still doesn’t quite get how he ended up with this man in his life.
Maybe his put-upon sigh is a little loud, because Steve turns to him, leaning back against the counter. “I could head out, run another few miles, if it makes you feel better,” he teases, and when he smiles like that there are Goddamn dimples, like the universe is doing this on purpose.
“Shut up,” Sam grouses, crossing the kitchen, and Steve blinks down at him when he drops to his knees, stupidly long lashes framing the blue of his eyes.
“What are you doing?” Steve asks, voice a little lower, and his hips follow Sam’s hands when he tugs them, obediently arching away from the counter so Sam can slide his sweatpants down to his knees.
“Gonna make you sweat if it kills me,” Sam smirks, thumbs digging into the hollows of Steve’s hips, letting his breath flutter over the swell of Steve’s cock through his shorts. Steve looking down at Sam, who stares right back with challenge in his eyes.
Steve snorts, thighs already fidgeting a little restlessly. “Do what you gotta do, man,” he offers, and that gets a bark of laughter from Sam, fingers flexing against Steve’s hips.
Leaning in, scent of Steve’s skin making him swallow, strong thick thighs under his hands and Steve’s cock stirring in interest, filling for him, Steve’s fingers curled around the edge of the countertop.
Sam’s not gonna stop until Steve’s a writhing, gasping, flushed, and most importantly sweating wreck.
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Sam/Steve
Rating: R
Words: 400
Notes: Spoilers for Captain America 2. For
comicdrabbles, prompt "why me?".“You’re not even sweating,” Sam mumbles, snagging the orange juice from the fridge. “How are you not even sweating?”
Of course, he knows the answer, but his own t-shirt is soaked and stuck to his skin, lungs burning from a good workout, and Steve looks as immaculate as when they first set out, never mind how many miles he just ran. It just makes Sam feel better to complain a little.
He takes a swig from the carton, eyes narrowed at Steve’s innocuous shrug, the corner of his mouth turned up. Steve’s stood at the sink, getting a glass of water, because Steve never drinks straight from the carton at somebody else’s home. Hell, Steve probably doesn’t drink straight from the carton at his own place.
He’ll put that glass in the dishwasher when he’s done with it too, considerate guest that he is.
Insufferably perfect, and Sam still doesn’t quite get how he ended up with this man in his life.
Maybe his put-upon sigh is a little loud, because Steve turns to him, leaning back against the counter. “I could head out, run another few miles, if it makes you feel better,” he teases, and when he smiles like that there are Goddamn dimples, like the universe is doing this on purpose.
“Shut up,” Sam grouses, crossing the kitchen, and Steve blinks down at him when he drops to his knees, stupidly long lashes framing the blue of his eyes.
“What are you doing?” Steve asks, voice a little lower, and his hips follow Sam’s hands when he tugs them, obediently arching away from the counter so Sam can slide his sweatpants down to his knees.
“Gonna make you sweat if it kills me,” Sam smirks, thumbs digging into the hollows of Steve’s hips, letting his breath flutter over the swell of Steve’s cock through his shorts. Steve looking down at Sam, who stares right back with challenge in his eyes.
Steve snorts, thighs already fidgeting a little restlessly. “Do what you gotta do, man,” he offers, and that gets a bark of laughter from Sam, fingers flexing against Steve’s hips.
Leaning in, scent of Steve’s skin making him swallow, strong thick thighs under his hands and Steve’s cock stirring in interest, filling for him, Steve’s fingers curled around the edge of the countertop.
Sam’s not gonna stop until Steve’s a writhing, gasping, flushed, and most importantly sweating wreck.