Author Note:
Both the Bath Shop mentioned and the "Austrlian Tea company" mentioned actually exist under the demenours of Lush and T2. Their products are abseloutly divine, and if you don't know them, then you're missing out. Google them.
Also, how Steve has his baths, highly advocated, i've done it before, it's totally amazing.
Now to the story
Disclaimer: I've "borrowed" the charecters, they belong to Marvel.
This is rated M for language and suggestive content. Suggested Steve/Tony Slash.
Summery:
Truthfully, it was the sound of jazz that pulled him in. Steve is in the most tranquil state he's ever been in, and he wonders why it took him so long to discover this. Unfortuntly, tranquility doesn't last long when you leave the door unlocked.
It was a wet and cold Wednesday when Steve first happens across the shop. Truthfully it's the sound of Glenn Miller that pulls him in and he gravitates towards the shop, the jazz tones of the Moonlight Serenade cutting low under the headache inducing sound that is called music of the other shops. It a slight relief to hear music that he likes, associates with, knows and understands. This new world, the future, is strange and confusing; it's a relief to hear something familiar, to be able to say, "I know who this is', rather than a bewildered attempt to yet again catch up on 70 years of history he slept through.
After the music, the second thing that grabs him and reels him in is the smell. He's not sure what it is, but it smells good. Not like food, or perfume, or the slightly powdery/flowery scent that he really should not associate with dames anymore - but still does; it smells a bit like soap and scented things that he's never actually smelled before. It was a singularly unique scent. He's walked through the entrance before he's really catalogued what kind of shop it is exactly and he's a little relived to find that it's nothing rude like women's under-garments. It throws him a bit off kilter when he realises the shop is full of shower and bath products.
He doesn't recognise any of it: the soap doesn't look like soap; he's not quite sure what the heck a 'bath ballistic' or a 'bubble bar' is, except there are lots of them, all shaped differently, all differently coloured, sporting funny names like 'Dragon's egg' and 'Mr Whippy' and all smelling divine; the 'bath jelly' looks vaguely squishy and probably not edible; while the rest of the shop is full of bottles and jars full of what Steve assumes are more bath products. He wants to back out feeling all the more out of place, a man in what is all most certainly a woman's store, but he hasn't heard Glenn Miller since before he was frozen and some of the bottle's have labels that indicate that they're 'for men'. He stays, peering curiously at the products and reading the labels to gain clues as to what they are and how they work. He gets as far as finding out that the shop uses only fresh ingredients in their products before a shop-assistant comes out from a beaded curtain and asks if he needs help, and has he used Lush products before?
Steve blushes slightly and is forced to admit that he has never been in the shop before, and he has no idea what half of these things are. The half that he gets is the soap, and that's only because he read the labels on them.
"That's okay," Says the shop girl, whose name tag pronounces her as Julie. She looks about 19, perhaps 18. "Have you come to buy something as a gift, or for yourself?"
Steve considers telling the truth, before deciding that a lie might just save his pride a little. "A gift. For a friend's birthday." The lie feels a little awkward and bulky, but Julie appears to take it at face value.
Julie nods. "I'll give you the tour then, the most popular gift ideas are our Bath Ballistics' and Bubble Bars, is your friend fond of baths?"
Steve can only nod because there is no friend, only him, and through he hasn't had a bath in a while, a long while, there is a bath in flat S.H.I.E.L.D has given him. Besides, to say no would make Miss Julie's job harder, and she only wants to help. He listens in with curious interest because frankly her accent is a little strange, it's slightly British, but tempered by a different accent that's certainly not American. It slides a little, from the Queen's English that is so reminiscent, here his heart gave a little lurch, of Peggy to something that is a little less highbrow and more gutter before rolling back to the perfectly pronounced vowels again.
In the end Steve picks out a ballistic, it's purple and has gold powder on it and smells a little like cinnamon, and a bubble bar that smells like chocolate. The Glenn Miller music playing has changed to 'In the Mood' by the time by the time he's paying for the bath products he's picked up. Julie hums a little to the music as she presses buttons in the till he's definitely not familiar with, and Steve's not brave enough to ask about her accent but he does make a comment about the music.
"I didn't know that people still listened to Glenn Miller."
Julie flashes him a quick smile, "Some people don't, but he's one of my favourite musicians."
Steve nods and his voice is a little rougher than before, 'Yeah. Mine too."
"Well, have a good day, Sir." Julie says, and Steve is caught by a little jolt, he hasn't heard the term 'sir' used like that since before he was frozen, apparently it's outdated and that people no longer used it in conversation.
'You too, miss." His reply is automatic, ingrained in him by habits and customs he's yet to change.
Then he's out the door, feeling vaguely embarrassed about the bag clutched in his hand. Steve wouldn't have brought anything, but he had made her go through the effort of explaining the bath bars and it would have been rude to leave without buying anything, besides he'd enjoyed the jazz music.
When he gets back to the cramped flat that he refuses to think of as home, he dumps the bag on the table and forgets about it until almost a week later.
It's a Tuesday and it's almost 9 o'clock. Steve just manages to not break the front door as he comes in. It's been a poorer day than others, the out-of-time and out-of-place feeling is worse than ever and he's in a bad mood, fractious and annoyed and depressed all at once. Quite frankly, he just wants to punch something or get drunk, despite the fact he's done enough punching today and he can't get drunk. Damn serum.
He's dirty and sweaty; his muscles are a little sore, but only that. The serum stops him from feeling what he should be feeling, that is, he should be unable to walk from the sheer amount of over the top exercise that he's done today. He's been in the gym since the morning, he'd broken about ten punching bags in the space of an hour, perhaps less, and then he worked out – not that he needed it fitness wise- until his mind was a blank haze of bruised knuckles, split skin pain and the product of as much extreme physical exertion that he could achieve. He'd wanted to spar with somebody, but no one who would, could match him evenly. They were too weak, too easily defeated too easily damaged or hurt, despite them being highly trained agents.
Instead, he'd kept to himself in the gym that SHEILD has given him. There was less chance of hurting people that way, and no matter how much he wanted to fight someone or something, to fight them when they did not stand a chance would make him a bully. Above all else, he did not want to ever be a bully.
He scowls heavily and refrains from kicking the couch, know he might as well just send it through the wall. He needs to calm down, he needs to get the grime off his skin, and he needs to do something that was nothing. It's at that point that his eyes rest on the bag he's left on the table since he visited that bath shop. He remembers the strange scents of the shop and the jazz playing that came from an era he was more comfortable with. He remembers Glenn Miller on radios, he remembers the 'sir' on the end of the goodbyes, and the softly spoken Queen's-English accent. He aches for the past and his throat swells for it.
"Oh hell." It's a milder swear than he would like, but he doesn't want to dirty the memories that, although unwelcome at the moment, are infinitely precious.
Steve runs himself a bath. For a second he hesitates, then shrugging, he goes back for the bath products.
He's not sure why, but he puts both of them in, crumbling the bubble bar into the running water, and dropping the ballistic in once the waters stopped running and there are mounds of chocolaty smelling bubbles. The ballistic turns the water a bright, violet, purple. Steve's a little embarrassed about how womanly this is, after all, men, especially soldiers, do not have bubbles that smell like chocolate and purple water in their baths. Any misgivings are quickly erased the moment he steps into the tub.
His mind, his anger, his wildly fluctuating emotions soften and smooth out.
The water is hot, perhaps a little too hot, but it soothes his muscles and cleans the grime off his skin. As his feet dangle over the edge- he's a little too tall to fully immerse himself- and soft bubbles surround him, Steve realises that he's suddenly relaxed and at peace. He has a sudden desire for low, slow, bluesy jazz and the realisation that there's still something missing, before he lets his mind drift into a peaceful state that almost mediative in oblivion. It is probably the most tranquil state he has ever been in, and when he finally steps out, dripping water and stretching luxuriously, he wonders why it took him so long to discover this. He allows himself the thought that perhaps the future isn't so bad.
His dreams that night are soft and warm, like chocolate and cinnamon. There is no blood, or death, or loss.
He goes back to the shop the next morning and picks up another six balls, two are the same ones and the rest are different. There's still jazz playing, but it's not Glenn Miller.
"Benny Goodman." Julie explains with a smile as she tallies up his purchases. To her credit, she doesn't comment on the fact that Steve's back barely a week after he was last there, making only a small comment about his 'friend'. "I like your choices. And by the way, if your 'friend' likes baths, use some candles, it's what I do. It's nicer, there's one just around the corner. Have a good day sir."
"You too, miss." Murmurs Steve as he shoves the bag in the canvas messenger bag he's appropriated for just this purpose. Then he goes off in search of a candle shop.
When he does find it, he buys a packet of 25 tea lights and about five larger freestanding scented candles. The sympathetic comment of "your girlfriend's got you whipped too, man?" from the guy behind the counter has him flushing red and ducking his head to hide it. Steve is now more grateful than ever for the bag as he shoves the candles in along with the bath things. He's not entirely sure what the guys comment means, it sounds a little dirty, but then it could mean something entirely innocent. He can never tell with this sort of vernacular, whatever it was, judging from the sympathetic tone, it wasn't good. However, it was obvious that the cashier did not think that he was buying them for his self. That's a good thing, saves his pride just a little, despite the comment.
Unfortunately, despite his plans, he does not get to try out his new purchases because Nick Fury approaches him in the gym.
It's almost a relief to be needed again for something. He'd always felt the need to be useful, and he'd felt so damn obsolete that it was really getting to him. All the same, he's a little unsure of wether his usual approach, his usual way of dealing with these sorts of things, has also been left behind in the past. He's seen the 'super heroes' of today, they are much more advanced in their style than him, and Steve wonders if he's the right man for the job. All the same, it's nice to be needed.
At first he thinks that the Avengers is a terrible idea, Steve feels out of place, and even more out of time. But his dislike of Stark- the disappointment that he is nothing like his father- quickly transcribes into respect. The man is worth something more, is something more, than just simply a suit. He is Tony Stark, a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, and (despite first impressions) a decent guy. Somebody who Steve is proud stand and fight beside, a respect that starts when Tony flew into those Helicarrier routers, and only solidified when he took the nuke through the wormhole. There are many men that that Steve kno-knew who wouldn't do the same, and only a rare handful who would. Steve has to admit that he was wrong about Stark, and he's not unhappy about it.
He's got respect for the rest of the fledgling team too; Bruce and Hulk, who are one and the same really, rage and anger tempered by purpose and direction; for Thor who is thunder and lightning, but so staunch that Steve can see some of Bucky in him, some of his old team in his laughter and bright manner; Hawkeye or Clint as his name actually is, who never misses a shot, and despite being shaken from Loki's mind control, still fights; Then Natasha, beautiful deadly Natasha, who is the strongest and most dangerous woman that he's ever met, Peggy included. He likes and respects them all, and despite the fact that they have only fought together once, Steve felt a fluidity and sort of team work that he'd felt only with his old team, the Howling Commando's. It is a sort of connection that is rare; and Steve knows that the Avengers are the start of something exceptional, something that will fit him as comfortably as it fits the others. He knows that even if they do part ways, it will not be for long. This is only solidified when Tony makes the offer over Schwarma for them to come and live in his tower.
"When it cleans up of course. It's a little messed up at the moment. I'm thinking a little renovating and rebuilding. Big, green and awesome messed it up when he tossed Loki about like a rag doll." Tony grins at Bruce to show that there are no hard feelings. "In the meantime, you guys can stay at my mansion or what not. Plenty of space- labs and a gym and stuff. You too Thor, once this whole business is sorted out."
So they do that; the whole team moves in, they have movie nights and Sunday breakfasts, they go out places and do things that may or may not be just a little strange and crazy. They eat doughnuts on the roof together and watch sunrises, roast marshmallows and get drunk together. They battle bad guys and make nuisances of their selves. It'd be a lie to say that they got on all the time, but usually they do with only a few arguments that are quickly smoothed over and resolved. Tony and Bruce are 'science buddies', while Thor and Steve are sparring partners, and Clint and Natasha have war-games that span multiple levels of the house. And Steve is happy. Well and truly happy. He doesn't long for the past as much, his team seem to have taken it upon their selves to teach pop-culture and modern-day things that make him feel less out of place and less out of time. It's a nice feeling.
And when it all gets too much, or he needs to relax, rewind, or have some space, Steve has a bath. It's something that he does at least once a week; he takes it with bubbles and colourful scented water, with candles, frozen berries, with tea and jazz -Steve had quickly taken advantage of JARVIS's music playing capabilities as soon as he'd figured out how to work the AI.
There were, of course, a few raised eyebrows at how Steve went into town every other week and came back seemingly to have not brought anything, always had to have a supply of frozen berries in the freezer and kept a shit load of differently flavoured tea, that, although they never saw him drinking it around them, disappeared surprisingly fast. When Tony found out that Steve tended to stock and drink 'stranger' tea flavours, he imported a tea brand all the way from Australia, just for Steve and despite the protestations about the cost; Steve fell madly in love with the range of flavours that they held.
The rest of his friends quickly learn that if Cap's playing jazz in his room with the door shut, then they shouldn't bother him.
Unfortunately it doesn't stop Tony from doing just that.
It's been a nice day, and Steve decides to finish it with a bath, before going off to sit in bed, eat cookies and sketch. He's lounging in the bath that, like the rest out Tony's house, is insanely large and luxurious. He has Glenn Miller playing, candles arranged around the bathroom, tea steaming gently from his teapot and teacup and frozen berries in their dish, he also had the mandatory two-bath-products-per-bath, which mean he's surrounded by mounds of fairy floss smelling bubbles and blue glittery water. It's decidedly feminie, but Steve can't really bring himself to care. Of course, just as he's giving a contended sigh and slipping deeper into the water, Tony takes that moment to burst through the door because, of course, Steve has forgotten to lock the door.
He decides that thinking 'Fucking Damn' very hard to himself, is a very appropriate term, and is not at all mild for the situation.
Tony looks about the room where Steve is paralysed into a still type of shock that appears as being unmoved, while in reality he's mortified, kind of shitting his pants, and swearing very crudely to himself.
Tony manages to croak out in a stunned sort of way that's just on the edge of breaking out into hysterical laughter, "Cap, are you have a bubble bath, with scented candles?", when Steve realises this can go one of two ways.
Either, he can responded like how he really feels, that is, to flush fire truck red, show just how mortified he is and beg Tony not to tell anyone, thereby giving him a very good amount of blackmail material.
Or, he can totally mask how he's feeling, pretend that it's totally normal for Tony to barge in on him while he's in the bath, that it's not a big deal about hoSw he takes the baths and that he doesn't really care who else knows about this, meaning a lot less blackmail material, and if he throws in a suggestive comment, he might just mortify the man enough to ensure that he doesn't tell people about it.
The second option is a much better prospect.
Steve leans back in the bath in an easy, languid movement and smiles lazily at Tony in a way he's seen the man do before to women he particularly wants to sleep with. He spreads his legs slightly in a subtly noticeable action that still keeps a protective shield of bubbles where they're needed most and allows a hint of lazy challenge to enter his voice, "Why? Do you want to join, Tony?"
There is a beat as Tony gapes like a fish. In any other situation it would look unattractive, but the candle light lends it's glow to his olive skin, just like it gilded Steve's skin gold as it reflects off his water slicked skin.
"What?" Tony manages to croak out, and Steve realises that he has to drastically up the ante.
Cue his next action. And he's going to hate himself for doing this afterwards because it's going to be so fucking mortifying. The cuss word is defiantly warranted.
With a lion-like movement, Steve stepped out of the bath, purposely making the movement smoother and more elegant than he usually would, taking care to subtly exaggerate the movement his muscles. The water runs in gold rivulets down his body, gilding over his muscles and the area's where the candle light flickers, reflected on his skin. Wide brown eyes follow him as Steve gracefully leans over and picks up the bowl of frozen berries; he can feel Tony's gaze slide over his shoulders, running down his chiselled forearms and down his toned stomach, flicking very quickly over and past his moderately well endowed penis, then skimming over the his flanks and down his legs, before coming to rest on the bowl Steve is now offering.
There is a look on Steve face that Tony can only describe as 'come-hither', and the blonds' eyes are glinting with wicked seduction.
"Blueberry, Tony?" Steve offers, voice like silk and honey, "Or perhaps you like... something else?" Steve lets the offer hang lazily in the air as a crooked grin slides over his face at Tony's now decidedly much more stunned expression and the very red flush that has overtaken the billionaires face.
Steve might have just achieved the impossible; he's made Tony speechless from shock.
There is a small silence, and Steve takes the chance to slide a little closer, dropping his voice into a huskily low register. "Hmm?"
"No thank you. I'm okay." Tony finally manages to yelp out, voice strangled, before he's backing hastily out the door and shutting it firmly behind him as Steve gives a throaty laugh.
It's only when he hears the footsteps recede down the corridor does a similar flush to overtake his entire body. He locks the door and gets back into the bath, sinking low into the water, completely mortified at what has just happened and what has just been said by him.
"Oh, Goddamn fucking hell. What the fucking shit did I just fucking do?" Mutters Steve. The words are very mild for the situation and very warranted.
He's not to know it, but Tony has walked back down the corridor, red flush now given way to sheet white.
"What's up, Iron Man? You're all ashen." Bruce comments when Tony walks into the living room.
Tony turns to look at them, blinks in a shell-shocked manner, and then just shakes his head at Bruce and Clint.
"I don't think you want to know." He says hoarsely before he shambles off towards the bar, muttering things like, 'Far too innocent.' and 'didn't actually say that.' as well as "did he really just proposition me?'
Bruce and Clint decide that they just don't really want to ask.
Tony decides he needs a drink.
FINIS
Thank you for reading this, and even more for reveiwing! (Hint)
Truthfully this is the first Avengers Fanfic I've ever done, and after a super massive long Hiatus too. I do have more possibly planned for the Avengers, I also have a Harry Potter/Charlie Weasley fic in the works, as well as a Torchwood & Harry Potter crossover happening.
This is a one-shot unless I get inspiration or enough incentive to make a sequal.
Humbuggy