Stephen, name adjusted for cultural purposes, stood at the crest of one of Asgard's many gilded balconies, a goblet of wine in one hand and his blues attentively perusing the glittering, candlelit city. Six months had drifted by like ocean tides since the engagement. It felt surreal-a dream he had yet to wake from. But as the days before their wedding dwindled, the encroaching reality and pressure grew harder to ignore.
Damn that game... Damn Stark's "revels" party. He should never have accepted Barton's silly, half drunken challenge. But, then again...
Rogers cast a glance over his shoulder and through the colonnade to where Thor lay abed, alight in fire and gold; lightning and title. Had it not been for that night, they wouldn't have been "fated." They'd been seeing each other secretly for several months before that-dinners and dances, coy evenings in the Tower's pool, harmless pastimes like that. And Steve did love him. Deeply.
Besides, he hadn't belonged on Earth, far more akin to an Asgardian since his rebirth than a human. Ageless. Undying. Too strong. Too set in the past. Too old. But as much as he loved Thor, truly and madly, he did miss Earth, and the colors of its sunsets. The breaking of the waves on wide, beachy shores that smelled of salt, chili dogs, and sunscreen. Movies. Muscle cars. The scent of autumn.
He turned a gentle smile, reflecting on their time together. Stephen had no clue if he could effectively rule Asgard as its second King. But he /could/ without a doubt down to his marrow love Thor as a husband, king, and companion. Try as he might, learning matters of state and stature had proved difficult. Culturally, he hadn't quite caught on. He could only hope to study harder and prove to those who doubted him that a mere Midgardian was worthy of Mjolnir's acceptance... and Thor's heart.