“Why do you hide yourself?”
Steve’s sunk so deep into post-orgasm lassitude that it takes a concentrated amount of effort to even open his eyes. He’s pleasantly, deep-down sore in the way that means he’ll be hiding a hitch in his step when morning comes. He cracks open an eye and looks at Thor, laying on top of the blankets with one hand tucked behind his head and the other splayed on his belly.
“What do you mean?” Steve cocks his head and rolls loosely to his side.
“We couple most nights,” Thor says, reaching up and skimming his knuckles over Steve’s cheek bones. “We have for many months. And still each time I take you, you hide your face. Why do you do this?”
Steve opens his mouth to chuckle, and nothing comes out. Thor looks at him with honest curiosity. “I don’t know,” Steve manages, scrubbing the heel of his hand over his eyes and looking everywhere except at Thor.
The thing, the first time -- this happened, Steve could have spun it as a comfort thing. Every soldier has nightmares, even ones that don’t face down aliens and monsters and all the things that are supposed to live under the bed and inside the closet when you’re a kid, and die off one by one the older you get. He’d had a bad night and then Thor was there, impossible and solid and comforting. If anyone else on the team understands what it’s like to be completely displaced in the world, it’s Thor.
When it happened again? That was choice.
“Does this shame you?” Thor shifts to his side, closing up the few inches of space left between them. Steve ducks his head, looking at Thor through his eyelashes. It’s hard enough explaining one version of Earth, much less another that everyone else left behind seventy years ago.
“No, of course not,” Steve hedges. Which isn’t technically a lie so much as a deliberate misrepresentation of the truth. It’s not being in bed with Thor, it’s -- it’s liking being in bed with Thor as much as he does. Because when you’re a skinny little nothing, always standing as the perpetual sidekick beside your best friend, it’s pretty damn easy to say you don’t go dancing with the girls because none of them are looking your way, and you’re waiting for the right partner.
Hell, the world’s moved on, but Steve missed that, and it’s harder to make himself move on.
Thor smoothes his hand up Steve’s side and plants his palm on Steve’s shoulder. Steve shivers, a little. He’s so strong now, ever since Erskine’s serum, but he’s nothing compared to Thor. Not big, not strong, not sure, and it probably says something about him that he’s missed being the little guy, a little bit. Thor pushes on his shoulder and Steve rolls onto his back less easily than usual. Thor follows, easing on top of Steve and sitting back with his knees on either side of Steve’s hips.
“I find great pleasure in your pleasure,” Thor says. “I would have you hide from me no longer.”
“I’m not hiding,” Steve insists, swallowing hard.
“You do a fair impression of it,” Thor counters. He runs his hands up Steve’s chest, big and solid and strong and Steve throws an arm over his eyes on instinct at the first flare of warm low in his belly. “You betray yourself,” Thor says.
He circles his hands around Steve’s wrists, and Steve’s breath hitches in his chest. “Thor,” he says, not really knowing even to himself what he wants to ask. And with great gentleness and still the sense that he won’t be denied, he stretches Steve’s hands over his head and holds them there. Steve feels more exposed than he ever has in the beds that they’ve shared. He flexes his wrists, just to prove to himself what he already knows.
“That is better,” Thor says, smiling. “I can see you.”
“Thor,” Steve says. “Thor--”
Thor kisses him like he’s staking a claim and means to leave a mark. It’s not easy at all to bruise Steve in a way that will last, but Thor does, he always does. Thor kisses Steve still holding his wrists above his head with one hand, the other cupped around Steve’s skull. “In Asgard, it would be a thing of great pride to go to bed with me,” he says. “I am honored to be in your bed and I will not be shamed for this, Steve Rogers, and nor shall you be.”
He rolls his hips and Steve gasps, squeezing his eyes shut against the flare of heat that sparks down his spine.
“Open your eyes. Look at me.”
Steve obeys. Thor looks down at him with such terrible, wonderful, inexplicable affection. Thor rolls his hips again and it takes a hell of a lot more strength than it ever took to run toward Hydra agents for Steve to keep his eyes open, to not look away or turn his head, to just meet Thor’s gaze.
“What do you desire?” Thor asks. His hand pushes down, between them, and wraps around Steve’s cock.
“Oh, God.” Steve gasps the epithet through gritted teeth.
Thor kisses him again. “You make yourself so small in bed, when you are not that at all. Tell me what you desire and I will give it you, anything. I will always give you what you desire.”
His hand strokes slow and tight around Steve’s cock and Steve shudders, jerking against the hold of both Thor’s hands. “I want--” he murmurs and Thor rumbles a noise, sucking a mark to the soft skin on the underside of Steve’s jaw. “I want--” Steve repeats, sounding so incredibly, awfully loud in the dark of the room. “I want you.”
“You have me.”
“I know, I know.” Thor strokes his cock again, and sucks at his skin. He leaves behind patterns that fade after a few hours, but they’re always there for a little while. Thor is the only person who can do that and Steve feels so small beneath him. “I want you inside me,” Steve cries.
Thor lifts his head and kisses him fiercely. “You are magnificent, you know. You shall have me.” He sits back and says, “Leave your hands where they are.”
Steve honestly doesn’t know if it’s just him, that this never stops being so completely overwhelming. He kissed a few boys back in the day, in the dark when no one was looking. He was small, was the thing, and somehow that ended up meaning it didn’t really count. This counts; Thor opening the drawer of the bedside table and taking out the little bottle that conveniently appeared one day -- Steve chooses to think it was Jarvis, because the alternative is Tony -- and slicking his fingers.
The thing is that Thor’s impression of incredible size isn’t at all just about his presence, the way the echo of lightning seems to follow him. He is just that impossibly big in his height and breadth, his shoulders and hands and cock.
The very first time, laying on his stomach with his face pushed into a pillow, Steve kind of thought he was going to die. And for a good couple minutes he could not at all fathom why anyone ever would agree to it. Then something shifted, they somehow slotted together like they were meant to. Steve’s not entirely sure whether he believes God exists in these kind of moments between people, but he’d had to guess what a religious revelation felt like? That’s what he would have described.
Steve fists his hands into the sheet to keep them above his head as Thor slicks his fingers. He hooks one of Steve’s legs on his shoulder. With his fingers pressing against Steve’s entrance, Thor pauses just long enough to kiss Steve’s knee. “I would hear you,” Thor says, and slides his first two fingers inside.
“Jesus God almighty,” Steve gasps, arching his shoulders off the mattress. “Thor!”
Thor has the capacity for gentleness, but he’s not kind, and he doesn’t particularly care to waste time. He uses his fingers only for so long as needed in preparation and he looks at Steve all the while, steady and sure. “Tell me once more,” Thor says, pushing his fingers deep inside. “Your pleasure is glorious, allow me to hear it.”
“I want you to fuck me,” Steve gasps, stuttering over the curse like the good Catholic boy he used to think he was. “Please, please.”
Thor wraps his hands around Steve’s hips and pulls him back. He bends down and kisses the flat of Steve’s belly, with the dark thatch of hair starts between his hips. Steve’s cock is hard and even that so faint sense of pressure makes his hips flex. Steve hates to beg, hates to need and somehow it doesn’t matter. No when Thor’s mouth is hot and steady on his skin. And not when Thor pulls back and pushes inside him.
Steve’s learned a wealth of new vocabulary painstakingly traversing the Internet, once Tony taught him how. And he knows with the same conviction with which he believes he will never catch up on cultural references, that he’s probably using half the words wrong and misunderstanding the nuances of the others. He knows there are words for this, for needing to feel like you’re splitting in half when someone takes you.
Some days that makes him feel better, and others it just leaves him feeling like the only difference between now and then is that now there’s a computer screen offering up a thin facade of normality.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” Steve babbles.
Having found his rhythm, Thor suddenly pitches forward so they’re connected at hips and belly and chest. “Look at me,” Thor says, in a voice pitched low with command and desire. Steve jerks his head back and meets Thor’s gaze, eyes wide open and meaningless words falling from his mouth instead of being bitten back.
Thor fucks him like Steve can’t break and Steve wraps his legs around Thor’s waist.
It’s a small revelation to see what Thor looks like in this moments without the scrim of his fingers piecemealing the image into disconnected fragments. With the only light coming from the moon through the open window, Thor is cast in indistinct blue light and shadows. He looks like a god with his muscles straining and his breath coming in low, controlled huffs.
Thor fills Steve so completely, so totally, and Steve craves it. He pushes Thor deeper with legs around Thor’s waist and pushes his hips in tandem with Thor’s. “More,” Steve groans. “Please, Thor. More, more.”
He’s said these things before, but always with his mouth pressed against his forearm so the words lost all shape and became babbled syllables. Steve knows he can telegraph want with his body, and his responses, but he’s never asked before. He’s never seen the look in Thor’s eyes. It’s one thing to know that he wants this, it’s another thing entirely to realize that Thor wants it equally as much.
“Yes,” Thor says, and his words sound like a goddamn roll of thunder.
Maybe it’s something he does with his hips and maybe it’s no more than sheer force of will, and Thor’s genuine pleasure at seeing Steve, but somehow he manages to push deeper and consume that place deep inside Steve that makes him feel like he’s being electrocuted. Steve can even begin to manage syllables, much less words. All that comes is sheer noise at the overwhelming pleasure of it, staring into Thor’s eyes like there’s no other choice.
Maybe there isn’t.
When Thor comes, he’s the one who closes his eyes and throws back his head. Steve has never seen that before, just heard it. Thor is -- he’s beautiful, really, even if Steve can’t quite bring himself to say that out loud. Steve uncurls one hand from the sheets above his head, and uses it to pull Thor down into a kiss.
“You are,” Thor murmurs to Steve’s mouth. “You are a gift.”
Still inside, he curls his hand again around Steve’s cock and it barely takes much of anything at all, just a few pulls of Thor’s hands and Steve’s coming with a low cry, digging his heels into the mattress with Thor’s mouth worrying at the marks he already left. And then he carefully pulls out and rolls off Steve, moving with the ease he only ever has in these moments.
Steve watches him, heart still pounding in his chest. It takes genuinely effort to uncurl his other hand from the sheet and he’s shocked at the flare tight, aching pain that radiates down his fingers. Thor sees the grimace on his face and gestures. “Come,” he says and Steve shifts over so his head is on Thor’s shoulder and Thor can wrap his arms around him.
For a moment, they lay together. Steve can just barely hear the throb of Thor’s heart. “That was--” Steve starts and can’t think how to finish it. He chuckles, and cranes his neck to look at Thor. “Was that what you wanted?”
Thor raises an eyebrow. “I want your pleasure, and your happiness always. Was it what you wanted?”
Steve closes his eyes. “Yeah, I think so.”