I've got a habit of of writing something, deciding it's terrible and leaving it to collect dust, only to rediscover it months later, think to myself "This isn't so bad, why didn't I publish it?", publish it and inevitably regret doing so because my original estimation of its crap quality was right on the money. I'm already most of the way through this equation. Time to sit back, relax and wait for the regret to shower over me.
And in other news, I still can't write sex scenes. All my apologies in advance. orz
It's unfair, really. Steve's military background means that he's very, very good at restraining himself, but Phil just that much better. It would figure that the agent's calm and reserved manner would translate to something like this. This little game they've been playing. Tony had been the one to bring it up. Most of them had been drinking after a job well done, were feeling loose and relaxed and perhaps a little tipsy—with the obvious exceptions of Steve, who couldn't get drunk, and Phil, who apparently could drink everyone except Natasha under the table—so the conversation had been fairly loose. Apparently it was a game; two people kiss without stopping and without touching one another. The first one to touch the other loses. The loser has to do whatever the winner wants.
Steve hadn't expected to hear about the game again, but then, he'd never expected to find that Phil has a playful side. They've played this game a total of thirteen times. Steve has lost a total of thirteen times. Phil never really demands anything when he wins. They have sex, no differently than they usually do, and that's the end of it. Really, Steve thinks that Phil just likes to win.
It always seems to end one of two ways.
His breathing will grow harsh as each of them struggles for dominance of the kiss, nipping and licking and sucking whenever they can, trying to gain the upper hand. He leans in, so close to the other man but with that impossible boundary between them, driving him mad, making him ache with want. Several of his losses come from reaching out and gripping Phil's thigh, running his hand up until he can feel the telltale bulge in those well-tailored pants. It makes each loss worth it, knowing that Phil has been sitting there, playing the game with patient reserve, but feeling for himself how the agent has gotten hard for him, how much Phil wants him.
Six of his losses are very nearly the same, a mirror image of the other seven. He'll get to the point where he just can't hold himself back any longer, but instead of placing his hand on Phil's thigh, he'll reach for the other man's wrist, guiding his hand until it's pressed against his groin. He'll push himself into his partner's hand, wordlessly communicating how much he wants Phil, showing him how much he needs to have him. The first time he does this, Phil fondles him and smiles against his lips. "You do know this still counts as your loss, Captain," he says. Steve doesn't mind.
Tonight is different. There's an air of desperation that usually isn't there. They'd started as an attempt to lighten the mood, to try to forget the frightening moment when Phil hadn't been the voice in everyone's ears. When they'd searched through rubble and debris for him. When Steve had dug him out, alive but unconscious.
Phil is fine, he reminds himself. He took a bit of a knock to the head, but he's fine. Steve can't tell if his quickened breath is from the game or his racing thoughts, replaying the day over and over.
It's with his mind elsewhere that he reaches out, but not for Phil's thigh or his wrist. He's mere centimeters away from placing his hand on the left side of the agent's chest, over his scar, when Phil stops him, wrapping a hand around his wrist in a too-tight grip and pulling away to sharply utter the word "Don't."
Just like that, the spell is broken and they pull away from each other like fighters to their corners, unwilling to look each other in the eye. Suddenly, Steve doesn't feel like playing anymore. They sit in silence for approximately five minutes before Phil clears his throat.
"I suppose that means I lose," he says offhandedly.
"Suppose so," Steve answers, though it's without any real enthusiasm. He rubs the back of this neck, blowing out a harsh breath before looking to the other man. He has something else in mind. "So by the rules of the game, you have to do what I want. Isn't that right?"
"Yes, that's right," Phil says with a half-smile.
Steve reaches out and tugs on the other man's hand. "Come take a shower with me."
Phil doesn't hesitate at that.
Undressing each other is a slow, practiced experience. By his own admission, Phil enjoys taking Steve out of his suit even more than he enjoyed designing it. For his part, Steve thinks removing Phil's tie is his favorite.
It's not long, though, before they're pressed together under the hot spray of water, washing the blood and concrete dust off each other. Phil's hands start wandering first. Steve can't help but smile when he feels clever fingers tracing every cut, scrape and bruise he's managed to acquire today. They both know they'll heal quickly—far quicker than everyone else's injuries—but that never stops Phil from taking stock all the same. He explained once that just because Steve will heal from an injury doesn't mean he has to be okay with the fact that it happened in the first place. Steve gently brushes his fingertips just below the stitches along the agent's temple—"Don't get them wet" Bruce's voice reminds him— and presses a kiss to Phil's lips when he tilts his head up.
They'd learned some time ago that keeping lube in the shower was more often than not a good idea. He doesn't think much about it when he feels Phil press the bottle into his hand.
The agent braces his hands against the slick tiles as Steve works him open with careful, practiced movements. The soldier doesn't miss the slow, satisfied hiss from his partner as he replaces his fingers with his cock. He moves gently, torturously slow, the way he knows the agent loves, the side of his face pressed so closely to Phil's that the repetition of "please, please, please" nearly feels like his own thoughts passing through Phil's lips. He wraps an arm around the shorter man's waist, pressing them back-to-chest as Phil shudders through his orgasm, pulling Steve over the edge along with him. They're both panting as Steve spills himself inside of Phil and languidly strokes the agent's cock as he continues to lazily roll his hips until they're both spent and leaning against the tiles for support.
Steve pulls out of him slowly, concerned with the other man's comfort, as always. Phil doesn't turn around straight away, instead giving him time to glance downward to watch his cum leak down the inside of agent's thighs, prodding that possessive spark in his chest until it's a roaring flame. He kisses Phil hard when he turns around, humming in satisfaction when he feels arms wrap tightly around his waist.
They stay that way for what feels like a long time, until the water begins to run lukewarm and they're prompted to finish washing up. Steve feels comfortably drowsy as they eventually slip into bed side by side.
"I wasn't reaching for your scar because I felt guilty," he says, staring up at the ceiling.
Phil shifts marginally beside him. Steve rolls onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow.
"Look, you scared the hell out of me today, Phil," he admits. "I'm sorry if that's the first place my mind goes when you're hurt, but in all fairness it hasn't been that long."
"It's been a year," Phil retorts.
"Over half of which it took you to recover," Steve says.
Phil's gaze shifts to him.
"Those are the hazards of the job, Steve. You know that just as well as I do," he says. "I was actually doing this for quite a while before you came along, believe it or not."
"I'm aware that you can take care of yourself, I'm not saying you can't or that you need me to protect you," Steve clarifies. He frowns. "Can you just appreciate the fact that I was worried?"
Phil has a retort prepared, Steve knows, but he watches the agent take in a deep breath and let it out, apparently deciding that it's not worth it. They're two stubborn bulls unwilling to back down. They don't fight, not really, because however stubborn either of them are, it's tempered by good reason. Steve appreciates that Phil doesn't like to be worried after and Phil appreciates that Steve had good reason to be worried.
The agent rolls onto his side to face Steve and pats the soldier on the chest before kissing him softly.
"I know you were worried. Thank you," Phil says. Steve grins when a small smile forms on the agent's face as he traces a star in the center of Steve's chest with his index figure. "You know, you still haven't really cashed in on your win tonight."
"Hm. I guess not," Steve notes, his fingers creeping up beneath the hem of Phil's t-shirt. "But I think I'd rather win fair and square. Best two out of three?"
That gets Phil grinning. "Prepare to lose, Captain."