Steve had always suspected that Phil was something of a greasemonkey—after all, no one else was allowed to touch Lola—but he had his suspicions confirmed in a way he hadn't expected.

He'd been gone on an op over the weekend, but on the day he returned, he knew it was on one of Phil's rare days off. Hoping that the agent hadn't been called in for anything unexpected while he was away, Steve makes his way into the Tower and proceeds up to the level that he and Phil share. Disappointment socks him in the gut as he finds the floor empty, but then, maybe Phil's simply somewhere else in the Tower.

"Hey, JARVIS?" he calls.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Is Phil anywhere in the Tower?" he asks.

"Agent Coulson is presently in Garage 3," JARVIS answers him. "Shall I inform him you're looking for him?"

"That's alright, I can go find him myself," Steve tells him, already heading out the door. "Thanks, JARVIS."

"My pleasure, Captain."

Steve figures the agent is probably tinkering with Lola or giving her a wash and wax or something of the sort. He's right in that Phil is working, but what he's working on isn't Lola. It's Steve's bike. Phil must hear him coming, because he pushes back, drawing up from his hands and knees before he turns and offers Steve a bright smile.

"I hope you don't mind. I know you don't like other people touching her, but you'd been complaining about not having any time to give her a tune-up and, well… it seemed a shame to waste a free day," Phil explains.

He pulls a rag out of his back pocket and wipes his hands as he speaks. For a few moments, Steve can only stare. He's seen Phil dressed casually before, but this is another level all together. Ripped jeans, beat up sneakers and an old band tee aren't the kind of casual he's used to seeing with Phil. Neither is being covered from head to toe in dirt and grease.

"Steve? You okay?" Phil asks, a worried look beginning to form on his face.

"Fine," Steve blurts, his voice cracking on the word.

"Are you sure?" Phil asks, drawing forward. "If it's because I touched your bike, I promise I won't do it ag—"

Steve maybe feels a little guilty for jumping the agent, but Phil—bless him—hardly seems to mind all that much. He chuckles against Steve's lips as the soldier crowds him, stepping into his personal space and melding it with his own. Steve herds the agent backward until he's pressed up against the work bench, his hands sliding up under Phil's t-shirt to roam across skin that's tacky with sweat. The agent's scent is an intoxicating mix of his cologne, sweat, dirt and oil and that really shouldn't be the kind of combination to turn him on, but it does all the same. Only when Steve lifts Phil so that he's sitting on the workbench does the agent give any form of protest.

"Steve, we really shouldn't… if someone walks in…"

Steve almost laughs at the noise Phil makes—like he meant to say 'fuck' but got stuck on the 'u' and just gave up—when he nips at the spot on his neck under his left ear that Steve knows he loves. Phil abandons any form of protest right then and there. In fact, he seems about as eager as Steve to put as few players of clothing between them as possible as Steve sweeps the tools aside to clear a spot for them.

After, as Steve half-lies on top of him, both of them dirtier than when they'd started, Phil can't find it in him to want to move. He knows he should. They both should. He's lying on his back, one leg dangling off the edge of the bench, the other still wrapped around Steve's waist as the soldier nuzzles his neck, mumbling contentedly, and a workbench is hardly the place. Well, it's hardly the place for what they'd just done either, but it was too late for that one.

"That was so unsanitary," Phil sighs.

"Mm."

"Anyone could've walked in on us," Phil adds.

"Mm," Steve hums again, glancing up at him with a bright, dopey smile and sounding thoroughly pleased with himself as he says, "But it was good."

Phil hums a long, low note in agreement as he lazily cards a hand through Steve's hair. "It was that."

After another few moments, Phil gently taps the top of Steve's head.

"But we should move," he reminds him.

Steve groans, sounding about as happy with the idea as Phil is, but pulls Phil up with him as he straightens, laying a kiss on Phil's lips once he's sitting upright. It's a joint effort to collect articles of clothing and pull each other together, but they do a fairly decent job of it. Phil makes the wise decision to request that any security footage from the garage be erased and once JARVIS happily agrees to do so, they set off towards the lift. It's less standing and more leaning against each other as they ride the lift up to their floor, shoulders knocking and fingertips brushing, but Steve waits at least until they have the privacy of their floor to latch onto Phil again.

"You know, you're pretty dirty," Steve says, tugging on the agent's t-shirt.

"Should probably shower," Phil agrees, looking down at himself.

"Yeah, you got grease just about everywhere," Steve says, touching behind his ear. "Might take a while to get it all yourself."

"Well then, I guess we'd better shower together then. Getting clean seems like a two man job," Phil says. His smile stays light and innocent as his hand dips below Steve's belt and he cups the soldier through his jeans. "Maybe I'd better spit shine this part. Just to be sure."

"You're gonna be the death of me," Steve groans.

"Says the man who just laid me out on a workbench in one of Tony Stark's garages," Phil counters.

"Oh, shut up and strip."

"Bossy."

"Tease."

Tony pauses with his coffee mug half-way to his mouth as he stares at the screen before him.

"Hey JARVIS?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Why am I missing two hours of footage from Garage 3 today?"

"A minor technical malfunction, sir. Already taken care of."

"Huh. Well, next time, can you let me know when it happens?"

JARVIS considers replying that he'd need to run it by Agent Coulson and Captain Rogers first, but considering he rather enjoys their company, he decides to keep that bit of information to himself.