Author's Note: I do not own Captain America, Colonel Philips, or Howard Stark, much as I would enjoy owning that fine man. . . This is slash. If you don't like it, don't read it. I had fun trying to find pairings in that movie beyond the obvious, and I like this one. So, yes. Read and review. 3
I Can't Touch Him
Sad to think the only reason he could not go after Stark for dropping Rogers behind enemy lines was because the man was too rich to touch. Of course, there were other reasons Howard would never see punishment for the idiot act he had performed. Some of them had to do with his services to the U.S. military and his incredible wealth, but most of them revolved around a simple fact very few people knew. Phillips had an idiotic, reckless, dangerous, stupid crush on the smooth-talking man. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. He was a colonel and had real problems to worry about, but what could he do? Last time he checked, emotions and things related to them or like them were typically hard, if not impossible, to control. And he had an especially hard time controlling his. With the day-to-day issues he had to deal with, being part of the war effort, he knew he could not afford to waste time on thinking about Stark, but he could not stop his thoughts, either.
Every now and then, the flighty weapons contractor would appear at the camp to discuss some new weapons available for shipment. Phillips knew there was no way in hell Howard was showing up at every camp but chose not to ask why he came to the camp in person every time. Always talkative, lost in the description of another weapon he had created that would surely win them the war. The Nazis might have had advanced technology, but Howard's mind could catch up with theirs overnight, and it showed in the intricacy and delicacy of his designs. It was one thing Phillips liked about him. The amazing run of his thoughts. The way they had a rhythm to them that mirrored a song. It was phenomenal.
But of course, he was not supposed to be thinking about that. Had much more important things to do than think about what he wanted to do to Howard Stark or what he wanted Howard Stark to do to him. It would do no good wasting his days fantasizing when he was never quite sure what his brothers in arms or Agent Carter saw when he drifted off. Was it obvious he was lost in the thought of how he would gag the inventor to keep him quiet so the others would not hear them? He hoped not. God, he hoped not. How would he explain to his men that he was falling in love with the man making sure they did not end up losing the war? He pushed them so hard to be real men, to strive to be the best, and here he was, acting like a damned woman.
To be fair to himself and his fluctuating emotions, though, Howard Stark was a beautiful man in every sense of the word. Smooth, dark skin. Thick, lush hair. Wide brown eyes. It was obvious he had been made to tempt everyone around him. Even Rogers acted a little screwy around Howard, but then again, Rogers was a virgin who could hardly control his blushing around people he found slightly attractive. So be it. And besides, Phillips was half-convinced that, if Rogers had feelings for any man at all, it would be the one he asked about before disappearing into bumfuck nowhere on a rescue mission. Nevertheless, Howard Stark was gorgeous, and Phillips had fallen into the same trap so many women had. The only difference between him and them was that he had a semblance of self-control, and he knew he had to keep his hands to himself. It would not do to forget he was not allowed to put hands on the weapons contractor just because the man was the epitome of male beauty.
And there went the naughty thoughts again. Phillips massaged his temples dully and lifted his head, not entirely surprised to see Howard talking amongst the men. Since he was not in any trouble for dropping Rogers behind enemy lines and leaving him there, the inventor had decided to stick around and make general trouble for everyone. Doing a damned good job at it, too. Ever since Howard had joined them, the troops refused to do much more than mill around shyly, attempting to find the courage to speak to him as freely as he spoke to them. They provided the perfect audience, and as Phillips and most of the United States knew, Howard loved to talk. Phillips cocked his head, vaguely making out a description of a new gun Howard had perfected only the week before. Go figure.
While he was still lost in fairyland, caught between imagining Howard naked and wondering how he was going to explain to Senator Brandt that Captain America was dead, someone tapped him on the shoulder. Startled, he turned his head and found his eyes locking with those of Howard Stark. Those bright brown eyes were brimming with a laughter he knew could be contagious, but a life of not getting the bare things he wanted kept Phillips from smiling in return.
"He still hasn't come back," Howard stated plainly, sitting on the edge of Phillips's makeshift desk with a thoughtful expression on his face. "You know, he's not dead. I know you think he walked into his own suicide doing this, but I don't think you know Steve. He's not dead."
"That may be, but he's not here. And I have to tell the senator something," Phillips pointed out, forcing his eyes to stay on Howard's, not wanting them to roam. God, he could only imagine the problems that would arise if anyone, namely Howard Stark, found out his little secret. Especially when there was so much unease already floating around thanks to Rogers not being back yet.
Howard hummed in agreement and drew one leg up, resting his heel on the edge of the table and resting his cheek against his knee. "You look tense. Something wrong besides this Rogers business?"
"Nothing," Phillips said, aware he was answering too rapidly and not caring if Howard could puzzle out why he was beginning to panic. At least, in the beginnings of panic, he had the ability to keep a calm face. Thank military training for that skill at the very least. "It's war, Stark. People are dying. Kids are out there getting shot and stabbed every day, and they all come here thinking they're going to be big heroes. And now, our golden boy has strutted off into God knows where and might not come back. And on top of that, the guy who made him? Dead. The serum that changed him? All gone. The chance we might get to make another Steve Rogers? Slim to nil. I have a lot to worry about, but it's nothing new."
"You need to do something to work some of the stress in your life out," Howard suggested, the corners of his lips lifting into a hint of a smile. Good suggestion, too, not that Phillips had the option of working out stress considering he was leading this little battalion.
Of course, he was more than willing to humor Howard in order to get a few more precious moments of having the inventor's attention solely on him. Very womanly indeed, but at the time, he could not bring himself to care. Rogers was dead. People were getting killed. But he had Howard's huge, puppyish brown eyes focused on him, and he found he could have a moment of peace if he had Howard near him. "What would you suggest?"
"An easy one would be to get your love life together," Howard said, and the words made Philip straighten so suddenly the inventor laughed softly. "What? You think I didn't notice? Give me some credit, Chester. I'm a lady's man, and part of that involves being able to tell when people are attracted to you. And you are most definitely attracted to me, aren't you?"
"What of it?" Phillips asked, unable to hide his sigh of relief. Okay, so the secret was out. Howard knew, and instead of having a spastic moment or spreading it all over camp, he was still sitting in his odd position on the desk, half-curled into himself, smiling softly. So welcoming. So inviting.
A nimble pink tongue darted out to moisten soft, full lips, and Phillips made the mental remark to himself that standing any time in the next two hours was no longer part of his schedule. "So, why don't you do something about it? Telling me would have been an excellent idea considering the fact I've been more or less stalking you the last couple of months. I've been here damn near constantly, giving you chance after chance after chance, and I go home after every trip disappointed because you haven't said a word to me other than weapon orders. I'm a Stark. Give me some credit. We always go after what we want, and I'll be damned if I don't get it."
Phillips would have replied, but before he could manage a word, he was being kissed.
Never in his life had he kissed another man, but as soon as Howard's lips touched his, he took control and wrapped a hand around the back of Howard's neck to hold him still. He was vaguely aware of the camp falling into an eerie silence around them, but how could he find time to care? For the first time, he was experiencing the fantasy he had had locked in his mind for a few years now, and surprisingly enough, the reality was just as good if not better. Howard's lips were soft and pliant and yielding, and the quiet little whimpers drifting from them between kisses made Phillips growl almost possessively in return. Those sounds made Howard vulnerable, and Phillips would be damned if anyone was going to harm the inventor while he was here, right here, this close to him—
"Sir?" Agent Carter's voice shattered the moment, and Phillips regrettably drew away from Howard, catching the spark of laughter in Howard's eye and grinning in return. Oh well. At least Carter kept her voice polished and professional. "There is a war party heading in this direction, sir. Good news as well. It is being led by Captain Rogers."
Well then. Maybe he should have sorted his love life out before he had dictated a letter about Rogers being dead. Damn good thing he had not sent it.
"You're drifting again, Colonel. Come on. Let's go tell Steve hello," Howard said, darting off the desk and out into the clearing.
Phillips smiled to himself and followed. What else could he do, after all? The Starks always got what they wanted, and he was not in a mood to object.