AN: This is just a quick drabble for the tumblr anon who prompted 'Steve/Trip, history'. For some reason this feels like the crackiest Marvel ship I've written yet, though I don't know exactly why. Despite that, I genuinely ship these two beautiful (pants-meltingly hot) men together!
"How was today?" Trip asks, coming to stand next to Steve at the window. On the other side of the glass, Bucky sleeps soundly with a drip in his arm as Simmons watches over him, periodically checking his vitals.
"He's had better," Steve says. Simmons had warned him that the road from Winter Soldier back to Bucky Barnes was going to be a rough one. She wasn't wrong.
"Yeah, I'll say," Trip says mildly, his gaze catching on the half-healed defensive wounds on Steve's arms. He leans a shoulder against the glass and crosses his arms. "Everyone okay now, though?"
'Okay' feels like it would be overstating things a little, so he just says, "Simmons has him on enough tranquilizers to knock out a rhino, so at least he'll get a good night's sleep. And tomorrow is a new day." That last part sounds lacklustre, even to his own ears.
"Try not to sound so optimistic," Trip chides, his mouth quirking gently, and Steve can't help but smile and look at the floor, because he deserved that.
"When was the last time you ate?" Trip asks.
Steve can't recall whether he had anything for breakfast, but the question makes him realise that he's been ignoring the gnawing feeling in his stomach for a good twelve hours or so now.
"If you have to think about it, it's been too long," Trip says. He slides a warm hand over Steve's stomach and tugs on his opposite hip until Steve is facing him.
This is how it had started between them: Trip coming by to talk to Simmons or Fitz, stopping on his way past to ask Steve how he was doing. Before long it had progressed to Trip bringing him a 'spare' sandwich he just happened to have, or pressing a coffee into his hands when Steve refused to leave Bucky's side, no matter how heavy his eyelids got.
It had been an unexpected delight to learn that he was Jones's grandson, a point of light during Bucky's worst week before or since, though in the end it was Simmons who had told him.
"Why didn't you say anything?" Steve had asked.
Trip just shrugged and smiled his easy smile. "Didn't want you to feel obligated to talk to me, man."
"'Cause talking to you is such a hardship," Steve had replied with a quirk of his mouth.
It was after one of Bucky's particularly bad days—he'd broken Steve's arm and half of Simmons' equipment all before ten in the morning—that Trip had taken him aside and murmured softly that he knew how some of the Commandos used to comfort each other during the war, and that he was there if Steve needed him. Steve had been just lonely and desperate enough to accept.
Things between them had remained informal, but more often than not now their time together included a meal or a movie as well.
"Here's what we're going to do," Trip says. He leans in close and lowers his voice, not that Simmons is likely to overhear them through the glass, and not that she doesn't already know about them anyway. "I'm taking you back to my place where you are going to eat your weight in Chinese take-out. Then I'm going to give you one of my signature blowjobs." Steve chuckles because Trip isn't even trying to make it sound sexy. He could just as easily have said, 'I'll run you a nice, hot bubble bath.' "Then you're going to plow me into the mattress," Trip continues, "and then we're going to sleep like the dead."
Trip takes hold of Steve's hand and starts walking backwards, drawing Steve away from the window. "Sound like a plan?"
Simmons is already giving him a finger wave and a badly concealed smirk.
Steve concedes with a smile. "Sounds like a plan."
AN: I'm always super grateful for reviews! Thanks so much for reading :)