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“Friend Rogers?”


Steve scrounges up a smile and looks up to Thor. His huge frame blocks almost all the light from the doorway. “Hey, sorry.”

“For what are you apologizing?” 


Steve actually doesn’t know. He’s still nursing the beer from hours before, and he’s been sitting for a long time now in the dim light of the Tower, looking listlessly at the empty takeout boxes. He has nothing to be sorry for, he realizes. He just doesn’t really like taking up space these days.

“Nothin’. I don’t know. I should get to bed.” He hasn’t slept in a while. He doesn’t sleep a lot. He keeps the windows open and the door unlocked, when he does. He knows it’s a bad thing to do, especially in someone else’s home. He doesn’t care. He does it anyway. “Did you need something?”

Thor looks at him for a moment. Then he strides over and sits on the couch beside Steve, like earlier. “Something troubles you.”

Steve experiences a number of terrifying things, consecutively: first he’s gripped by an icy horror, because nobody, no one, can know about Bucky. It’s too dangerous. But Thor doesn’t know. Thor, for all that he’s some kind of god, can’t know. There’s just no way. Nobody else on the team does except for Nat, and it’s going to stay that way. Then Steve feels ashamed, and then he is devastated. He gets this way a lot, thinking about Buck.

“Nah,” Steve says. “I’m fine.”

Thor keeps looking at him. “Friend Rogers,” he says, more gently, “You need not lie; nor should you feel obligated to reveal the truth. If it is a secret worth keeping, you are right to keep it. But you should not bear what weighs on you alone.”

“I’m just —“ Steve looks down at his hands. The bottle of beer is green, and Steve thinks of pubs and bars in Europe: the late nights, and Bucky’s sweet low laughter, against his neck, into his mouth. Jesus. Jesus, he needs to get it together. “It’s nothing. I’m — I’m missing someone. That’s all.”

“A friend from before?” Thor hazards.

“Yeah,” agrees Steve, quiet. “Yeah, a friend from before.” He sets his beer on the table and scrubs his hands over his face. His throat is tight. He really should sleep. He knows he looks awful, all red around the eyes, and trying in vain to drink himself to unconsciousness. He gets like this. He hates it.

“Friend Rogers,” Thor says, “Steven.”

“Steve. Just Steve, Thor.”

“Steve. Will you permit me something?”

“What’s that?” Steve asks.

Thor takes Steve’s face in his big hands and kisses him on the mouth, chastely. Steve knew exactly what he was going to do — Thor kisses people when they’re sad. It’s the same thing for him as giving somebody a hug, or words of encouragement. But humiliatingly Steve’s spine melts, and before he can stop himself he knows he’s leaned too far into it, his mouth opening. Steve jerks away; he’s got no right to abuse a cultural practice or an act of friendship, and he just has. Thor has a girl. Christ.

“Sorry,” Steve blurts. “Jesus, I’m sorry. I’ll just, I’ll go. It’s been a long — a really long day for me.”

He makes to stand up, but Thor grabs onto his elbow. Now Steve couldn’t move if he wanted to. “You needn’t apologize when you haven’t done any wrong.” Quit sayin’ sorry, Steve hears, in Bucky’s voice. Annoyed, authoritative, worried. Steve tries to swallow.

“Steve. You may tell me, if you wish.” Thor’s voice is quiet and deep, and their faces are too close. Suddenly Thor seems to have an idea. “Would it help if I were to continue?” he says.

“Continue what?” asks Steve dumbly.

Thor cups Steve’s face in his hands again, and again, Steve knows what’s going to happen. When Thor kisses him this time he doesn’t even bother pretending. Thor’s mouth his hot, and his beard scratches all along Steve’s jaw and his chin and his lips. Steve makes a noise he doesn’t mean to make. It just feels so good to have hands on him, big hands. His mind goes quiet. But he feels sick with himself, because it’s not like Thor can be doing this, and it’s not like Steve really should be, either.

“We gotta,” Steve says, and pushes back. Thor’s eyes are concerned and blue in the dark light, and brow is furrowed, and strands of hair fall out of the band and into his face. He’s big enough that he’s taller than Steve, even sitting down. “We can’t do this. You have your girl —“

Thor is confused. “The Lady Jane and I operate under no such confinements.”

Steve blinks.

“Our souls,” explains Thor patiently, “Are bound as one, and no force in this universe could separate us. The hunger of the flesh holds no sway over that. We spend much time apart, the Lady Jane and I. It is of no matter to us what the other does when we are not together.”

Steve thinks of Peggy’s red smile, and of Bucky’s slew of girls, and even some their guys down at Red Hook. “Sounds familiar.”

Thor strokes a hand down Steve’s face, and Steve has to fight like hell not to lean into it. “If you consent, and if you would like it, I shall continue.”

“You don’t gotta,” Steve manages. “You got no obligation, just because I’m blue.”

“What?”

Steve realizes, and chuckles a little. Thor’s hands are still on his face, and he smiles back, curious. “Blue, it means — well, I don’t know if it really does, anymore. But where I come from it means being sad, or in bad spirits, I guess.”

“Then it would be my absolute pleasure to endeavor to lift your…blue.”

It makes Steve laugh, and then he realizes Thor knows exactly how to use that word, and only said it in the hopes of making him smile. Steve warms up a little, on the inside. But then he sobers up again. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to,” Steve repeats. “It’s just been a while since —“ a while since anybody touched me without trying to kill me? Jesus. “— Well. A while.”

“My offer was in earnest,” Thor tells him. He brushes his thumb over Steve’s cheek. “It truly would be my pleasure. You are a decorated warrior, and a most excellent friend, and also very beautiful.”

Steve feels himself go all red. The way Thor says shit like that — so easy, factual, like it’s something everyone should see and know and agree on. “Sure,” Steve murmurs. Their noses are touching. “Yeah, okay. Come on.”

Thor kisses him, and opens Steve’s mouth with his own. Steve fists his hands in the front of Thor’s soft gray shirt. The rhythm is so sweet. God, he’s missed this. Sex. He’s missed it. Thor is so good at this, and it’s been such a long time — frankly Steve’s glad he’s sitting down. Thor cups Steve’s face, and his neck, and the back of his head. He latches his teeth onto Steve’s lower lip and sucks and worries at it. He scratches his blunt fingernails at the base of Steve’s neck and it makes his belly turn liquid-hot. He’s apprehensive to ask for more, and besides he doesn’t want this to stop. He presses closer, and Thor licks under Steve’s upper lip, just a little filthy. He kisses Steve lush, and consuming, and keeps scratching at the back of Steve’s neck, and sucking his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You can touch me,” says Steve dizzily. “Touch me.”

Thor was waiting to hear that. He rubs his face against Steve’s jaw, and Steve tilts his head back. The scratch of Thor’s beard makes him shiver, and it makes his nipples go tight. Thor slides a huge arm around Steve’s waist, hauling him closer. He plants kisses on Steve’s neck, and his jaw, and then hot and sudden he swirls his tongue in Steve’s ear, and tugs at his earlobe with his teeth. Steve moans out loud, unable to help himself.

“Do you like that?” Thor asks.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “Yeah, I do.”

“What else do you like?”

Steve can’t help himself and smashes their mouths back together. It’s something about the feeling of the beard, rubbing his face raw, and the intensity: at first Thor was easily restrained, but now it’s like he has to really try and keep himself in check. Steve doesn’t want Thor to keep himself in check. He wants Thor to rough him up, and to hold him down, and to do whatever he wants with him. So instead of answering Steve grabs one of Thor’s hands and slides it up under his shirt. Thor catches on fast and rolls one of Steve’s nipples between his thumb and forefinger, and while he does it he dips down, and runs his teeth gentle along the shell of Steve’s ear. Steve grabs at his shoulders. Thor kisses him again, and Steve bites his lip.

“Oh,” Thor chuckles.

“Oh, what?” Steve asks, a little breathless. But Thor has already grabbed him by the hips and lifted him bodily, effortlessly, and deposited Steve onto his lap. Steve pushes his hands through Thor’s hair and Thor’s hands, massive, really massive, grip his waist. Steve grinds down on him hard, not even meaning to, and a noise falls out of his throat that he didn’t really want to make.

Oh,” Thor repeats, “I see,” and he grabs hard at Steve’s ass through his jeans with those strong hands and makes Steve move his hips against him. Their mouths slide slickly together, and Steve gives a hungry, quiet little sound in his throat: Thor won’t stop kissing him, not for a second, and he won’t let up either, forcing him to keep a steady, slow, hot rhythm, using Steve however he wants. Steve is hard, Steve’s been hard, Jesus, he’s not dead, but now he can feel Thor, who runs even hotter than Steve does, and Steve is burning everywhere Thor’s mouth is on him. And Thor is getting hard too, and grabbing at Steve like he wants to be inside him, greedy, possessive, a little wild in his wanting.

Ah,” Steve moans, out loud, his mouth hanging open. Thor has one hand shoved up his shirt, his massive palm hot, rubbing at him, at his nipples. “Oh, God.” Steve wiggles around and knows he’s blushing and can’t even care. Thor’s cock is there; Steve doesn’t even think he’s hard all the way, but he’s so big, Christ, even through their clothes, that Steve’s hips stutter when he grinds down again, because he’s afraid he’ll just keep going and get himself off pressing into that hard wonderful line if he doesn’t dial it back.

“I admit,” Thor says, misinterpreting, “It can be intimidating.”

“Christ,” Steve gulps. He suddenly laughs into Thor’s mouth, helpless chuckles. “Jesus. M’sorry, it’s not you. I’ve just never heard anyone say it like that, is all.”

Thor is laughing too, a different laugh than Steve’s heard before; quieter, not that booming sound. Just as happy, though. “We state things plainly on my planet. I find humans tend not to.”

“Honestly, buddy, I don’t think us humans are all that evolved.”

“You’re smiling,” Thor accuses, smiling too. “I’m glad to have made you smile, Steve.”

Steve doesn’t have the first clue what to say to that, it’s so fucking kind. Instead he ducks his head and feels himself flush and lets Thor kiss him, soft, and then harder, and purposeful. “Yeah,” Steve murmurs. “Yeah.”

“Am I correct to think you wish me to penetrate you?”

“Christ,” Steve huffs, chuckling again. “Sorry. God.”

“Again, we state things plainly in my world. I hope I do not not overstep.”

“No, you haven’t,” Steve says, and then, “Yeah, I want – I want you to fuck me.”

This time Thor laughs, pulling back again. “It’s a relief to find you use that word as we do. I confess I wasn’t sure. I didn’t wish to be crude.”

“Yeah, we sure do,” Steve tells him, and kisses him this time. This is fun – when was the last time he had fun? “We sure do. I don’t imagine you got stuff? Uh, supplies?”

“In fact,” says Thor grandly, and fishes for a moment in his pocket, “I do. It is, you understand, magic.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, alright. Not presumptuous or anything?”

“Certainly not,” Thor replies. “An unforgivably rude allegation. My intentions were entirely pure.”

“How’d you know what I’d want, huh?” Steve murmurs. He cups Thor’s neck in one hand, and looks down at him. “You a psychic?”

“Hardly. I could only hope that you lusted after me as I for you,” Thor replies. “And then you were so sad, friend Rogers. And I thought perhaps I could help you.”

“You’re un-fucking-real,” Steve says.

“Now, I confess we don’t use it that way,” Thor replies. Steve’s head falls back when he laughs, and when he looks down again, still chuckling, Thor kisses his open mouth. And kisses him, and kisses him. He pushes his hands again under his shirt and this time pulls it over Steve’s head, dropping it to the floor. Suddenly Steve’s heart hammers in his throat: this is happening. But he doesn’t even get longer than a half-second to think of it, because Thor has braced both his hands at the back of Steve’s waist, wrapping him in his arms, and he’s leant forward enough that Steve has to bend away, arching his back, and he’s ducked his head down and kissed Steve’s left nipple, and sucked it between his teeth. “Jesus,” Steve hisses, and clutches at Thor’s hair. Their hips are still pressed hard together, nearly fused. Thor kisses and gives a little nibble and Steve has to grab back at Thor’s knee when his head falls back, goosebumps all over, hot to his core like a gasoline fire.

Like nothing, again, Thor picks him up enough to kneel down off the couch and spread Steve out on the floor. Steve goes, easy as anything, propped on his elbows while Thor kneels between his legs, peeling off first that big red jacket, and then the soft gray shirt. His arms, Steve is pretty sure, are the size of Steve’s whole chest. All he can do there in the face of all that is lay under him with his legs open and try to catch his breath.

Then Thor’s hands are on Steve’s belt. He cups Steve through his jeans, and Steve, hard, sensitive as hell, about ready to come anyway, has to bite down hard on his lip, his brows furrowing.

“You want this,” Thor says, in a low, low voice. “You want this very much, I can see.”

“Yes,” Steve breathes. “Please.”

Thor undoes Steve’s belt and his zipper and tugs it all off in one go, pants and socks and boxer briefs too, down his legs and thrown to the side in a little crumpled heap under Stark’s zillion dollar coffee table. Steve is suddenly naked, and exposed as anything, his dick curving up just under his bellybutton. He feels himself flush all the way down to it.

“Beautiful,” Thor repeats, and smooths one huge palm from between Steve’s pecs to his belly, the inside of his wrist resting against the damp head of Steve’s cock. “I fear you will not believe me, but I think you a masterpiece.”

Christ. “Get your hands on me,” Steve asks. He can’t take it.

Thor does. Thor presses his heavy weight down on top of Steve, Steve’s cock flushed between their bellies, enveloped tightly in heat, and kisses him. Steve wraps his legs around Thor’s hips on autopilot, and he rests his wrists by his own head, prone, letting Thor kiss him, and keep kissing him. Of all things, Thor like his thighs – he’s touching both in his hands, holding Steve’s legs tight around his waist, massaging the muscle and skin. It makes Steve feel wide-open and hot and – and – soft, or, or feminine, he doesn’t know, he won’t think about it, but he is aware that he likes it, that he loves it, hands under his thighs, on the insides, stroking there at the soft and sensitive skin, forcing his legs open wider.

“C’mon,” Steve murmurs, hotly. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.”

Thor chuckles. “Impatient.”

“Hell yeah, come on,” Steve says.

“I don’t think we want to find out what will happen without preparation,” Thor informs him, and pops open the lube, and gets it on his thick fingers. And just like that he’s pressing one inside, and teasing at Steve’s rim, and getting him to relax, and getting him to take it.

“You can rough me up,” Steve gasps, after a second, with Thor pressing another big finger up inside him. He’s going out of his fucking mind like this, one of Thor’s hands pressing at his hip, the other busy. “Rough me up, God, hold me down, just do it. I like it when it –” Steve has to swallow hard. “When it hurts.”

“I intend to be very forceful with you,” Thor says. He pulls away, his fingers too, and settles back on his heels, and opens his pants. “But I must also be careful. Don’t get hasty.” His cock is pretty much what Steve’s been expecting, which is to say: it’s gonna be a good way to go. There’s honestly no way Steve is surviving this one with all his brain cells intact. Just looking at it is making his mouth water, really water, like he’s been in a desert without real food for seventy years. He wants to laugh at himself, but he can’t; he’s too turned-on to really do much of anything except lay there and shake a little and wait for Thor to give it to him.

“I will be forceful,” he repeats, “And I will take my time.” His voice is so commanding. Steve isn’t even sure if that’s how Thor means to sound, or if it’s just how he is. Either way –

“Yes please,” Steve says, probably too fast. He only gets this polite when he’s really wanting it, Christ, that’s embarrassing – but he can’t help it. He can’t. He watches Thor slick up his cock, fully, really hard now, red and curving and insanely, intimidatingly thick, and then he presses against Steve, and kisses his mouth, and begins to press inside.

Steve can’t even make a sound, it’s so much. The head of his cock, the biggest part, is the most, the most, the best, fuck; it aches, it even hurts, and all Steve can do is arch his back and try not to squirm too much, all he can do is relax and take it. Thor kisses him, gentle, and kisses his cheek, and his eyebrow. He stops and Steve pants, and so does Thor, affected, finally, truly, his blue eyes gone dark, staring at Steve’s mouth, hungry. Steve’s cock leaks against his belly and the pearls of liquid slide down his hips, wet, cool. Steve tips his head back, shifting and restless. He bites hard on his own bottom lip and drags it through his teeth. Thor isn’t even halfway in him and he’s, he’s, fuck – his nipples are drawn tight, and he can’t stop moaning, his toes curling up.

“I’m, I’m,” he gasps, grasping desperately at Thor’s shoulder’s, his sides. “Oh, Christ, you gotta –”

“Come,” Thor tells him, breathing hard, almost groaning. He moves his hips the tiniest bit, again, again, a shallow rhythm, enough to get Steve off: “Go ahead.”

Steve does after just a second, his hips jerking, spilling all over himself between them, hot and sudden, with Thor grasping at his waist, massaging there hungrily, his face and his hot breath in Steve’s neck, trying like hell not to move too hard, not to hurt him. It hits him again and again, not tugging deep, not really, but making him shake, and shiver, and moan out loud, and want it hard.

“Humans,” Thor manages, sounding low and overwhelmed, “You’re so slight. So small.”

Thor likes how tight he is. Christ; Steve is right, and he’s gonna fucking die this way.

“Sorry.” Steve’s thighs are shaking. It feels so good. “Oh, God.”

“Don’t apologize.” Thor, God, Thor wants him. He can hear it in his strangled voice. It makes Steve breathless. “May I?”

“Yes,” Steve says, still gasping from it, around it. He’s still hard. He feels filthy. He knows this body; he’s going to stay hard. “Yes, yeah, yeah, come on.”

The night is so quiet around them, the Tower dead, the city bright through the window at the other side of the room. Steve has to focus on those things for a minute, and then he gets a little uncomfortable remembering all those things, the world out there, the people in this Tower, and so he kisses Thor, and Thor kisses back, and moves again to press inside, inside, inside, hot, massive. “Fuck,” Steve gasps, and when he squeezes his eyes shut feels wetness leak out. It hurts, it hurts, it’s wonderful. “Oh, please.”

"I haven't injured you?" Thor murmurs, concerned.

"Feels good," Steve manages, watery. "Feels good, promise, I --" he gives a shuddery gasp when Thor moves again, and rushes out, "It feels good, it feels good, please, you gotta --"

“Yes,” Thor rumbles, and finally their bellies press slickly together, and he’s in him all the way. Steve feels unimaginably full, so filled up he can barely breathe, and certainly can’t think. He grasps at Thor’s sides and sweats and feels the muscles in his own thighs shiver.

Thor pulls back and thrusts up inside him, testing it out. Steve makes a breathy, tiny noise, his blunt nails digging in. Thor does it again, harder, deeper. Steve, embarrassed, sweating, whimpers. “Beautiful,” Thor insists, in a low grunt, and presses his huge hands against Steve’s hips, pinning him to the floor. Steve can’t even move; he’s actually a little afraid to. So he arched his back and tries to get closer and Thor kisses his throat, and then grabs Steve’s wrists, pinning them above his head.

“Hold very, very still,” says Thor.

“Uh-huh – ah,” Steve gasps, when Thor moves inside him, again, again, forceful thrusts, intent thrusts, but steady, slow. “Oh God,” Steve gasps, and arches into him again. He turns his head away into his own bicep. He can’t even make real moans, he’s just gasping, inhaling, inhaling, inhaling, tiny hurt sounds, tiny high sounds of need. Thor thrusts into him again and again, his hair hanging around Steve’s shoulders, pooling when he leans down to bite his neck, kiss his chest. Steve can’t help himself anymore. Thor is getting deeper and deeper on each thrust, trying to get Steve to loosen up. “You’re so big,” Steve slurs, his toes curling. “Ah – ah – Thor – Thor! – you’re so – you’re so –”

Thor makes a hot noise in his throat and doubles down on Steve’s wrists. They hurt. They ache. They’re bruising. Steve’s aching and bruising everywhere. He loves it, Christ, he loves it.

Thor is shaking very finely all over, those huge muscles shivering. “You test my – my patience, my – control.”

Steve’s a wreck, hearing Thor say that. He drags his teeth over his own bottom lip at the movement of their slick torsos together, muscle dragging across muscle, his cock smearing wetness between their bellies. “Come on, come on, come on, I can take it, I can – please – Thor – please.”

Thor, tentative, gritting his teeth, thrusts closer, faster. And again, and again, and again. Steve’s head rolls back, his mouth falling open. He feels his own chest heaving, skin prickling in the cold air from all the sweat between them, drying under his back, too. He’s never been so – Christ – so open, so full, so – wet, so hurting. He can’t even think past it, past how spread open Thor has him this way, sliding into him, again and again, forceful without even trying. All he can do, all he has to do, is take it. Steve manages for a second in that spread-open, mindless place, making hot, breathy sounds he doesn’t recognize, and then suddenly it rushes up to meet him, and he cries out, honest to God, not even meaning to – he’s gonna come, he’s gonna come because Thor is inside him, punishing, massive, so sweet with his mouth, kissing at his neck.

“Yes,” Steve gasps, “Oh, Christ, yeah, yeah, yeah, please yes, please yes –”

Thor groans and snaps his hips, finally, thrusting in hard. Steve’s back arches. It doesn’t even hurt anymore; Thor’s fucked him loose. He’s burning up from the inside, curling in on himself like paper on fire, sparking. “Oh, oh, oh,” Steve moans, and Thor fucks him, and keeps fucking him, and then Steve hears himself turn needy and desperate, out of his mind from it, making sex noises, no two ways around it: unh, unh, unh, a guttural, broken record, trying not to be too loud. He’s so hot, hot on the inside, hot everywhere, hot where Thor is inside him, hot where Thor’s stubble burns his neck, and he twists under him and makes a sobbing noise and can’t help it, crying out when he comes, his cock jerking between them, making another mess all over himself. This time it’s deep, this time it tugs hard inside his hips, this time his mind goes blank and he moans and moans and moans, his chest shuddering on gasps. Thor makes a wild, wild noise, Steve’s so tight around him, and holds him down harder –

And then he’s gone, abruptly, leaving Steve gasping and clenching around nothing at all: he opens his eyes and sees Thor jerking himself off with his right hand, and Steve spreads out under him, hopes he looks pretty enough to get Thor off – and Thor does come, almost immediately, groaning jaggedly out loud, tipping his head back. Steve stares at the sweat pooling in the hollow of Thor’s throat, glistening, and moans when his come hits his belly and his cock and the insides of his thighs.

But Steve feels empty; so empty, and he drags Thor back on top of him, and Thor catches on, fast learner, smart as hell, and he kisses Steve, soft, gentle, and presses two fingers against his hole, swollen and hot. Steve gives an embarrassing whimper of a sound. “Uh-huh,” he sighs, “Just – yeah.” Thor fits two fingers inside him easy, and takes him down from it soft.

After a bit he pulls away, kissing Steve on more time – then another – then another – Steve laughs – and he mops Steve up with his own nice gray shirt. Steve, somewhere on cloud nine, doesn’t even feel bad. They’re both millionaires, aren’t they? Might as well enjoy one of the perks.

“An adequate sport,” Thor declares, catching his breath, and he rolls off Steve, and they lay shoulder to shoulder, staring at Stark’s massive, tall ceiling.

“That’s, thats,” Steve shifts, feeling sticky and sated and bruised everywhere. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“We are quite the athletes.”

Steve snorts. “We are. We sure are.”

“I didn’t harm you?”

“No, no, I’m fine, promise,” Steve says, still a little fuzzy. He turns his head to look at Thor, and Thor is smiling at him, friendly. Steve feels himself flush, but he says it anyway. “You know, I wouldn’t have minded if you had, uh – if you had wanted to, while you were – there.”

“Oh,” says Thor, understanding somehow. “I thought of it, but I was afraid of impregnating you. Human biology sometimes confuses me.”

Steve stares at him. Thor stares back. Steve cracks first, bursting into helpless laughter, rolling away and then back again, wheezing. Thor can’t stop laughing either, but now it’s that booming sound he makes out of joy, truly amused.

“You had me going!”

“I know,” says Thor, smugly, and starts laughing again.

“Oh, Christ,” Steve sighs, wiping at his eyes. He chuckles again, and so does Thor. “Christ. You fuckin' asshole. I’m glad we’re friends.”

“As am I. You are a worthy opponent on all counts.”

Steve barks out another laugh, and Thor grins. Thor likes seeing him smile. It makes him – it makes him feel good, in a way he’s forgotten how to. Thor’s sense of humor is so fucked, so dirty hilarious, a bonafide prankster; Steve is so grateful to know him. This feels like being with a friend after a good sparring match, like when he lays down next to Nat after they’ve finished kicking the shit out of each other. Buddies. Well, yeah, they fucked, but it has the same feeling, Thor’s right, of a post-workout rest on the gym mat. Steve could seriously get used to this.

“So,” says Steve, after a second, “What excuse were you gonna use if I didn’t wanna fuck?”

“I misplaced my Midgardian identification.”

Steve can’t help it: he laughs again. “Well, you find it?”

Thor reaches over Steve and leans up and digs his hand into one of the couch cushions. He pulls out his wallet. “Yes.”

“Christ,” Steve mumbles, laughing still, and Thor stares at his mouth, and then leans over and kisses him.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Steve says, giving a stretch. “I’m hurtin’ real good, you did a number on me. I think I’ll be smiling for a week. And –” well, hell, might as well. “And it was nice. I like bein’ around you. You’re – you’re a real special kind of guy, you know that? You’re a good friend to have.”

“Excellent,” Thor says, grinning at him. “Then we must do this often. Perhaps on a bed.”

“You sure about that, big guy?” Steve asks, and then flushes.

“Yes,” Thor teases, “I am sure. I may even invite the lady Jane, if you wish.”

Steve blanches. He hasn’t even met – “You asshole,” he says, shocked. “You asshole! Again! Oh, my God. Jesus Christ.”

Thor’s laughing. “I mustn’t tease you so,” he decides, grinning. “It’s just so fun.”

Steve smacks at his thigh. “Help me up,” he says, after a second. “You can tease me all you want. I need it.”

“Yes,” Thor agrees, and stands, and reaches down to give him a hand. “You do.”