Steve didn't hate flowers, but they could be really fucking annoying. Every second, flowers were falling from his chest, his arms, his neck – the Hulk had entered the fray, and for some reason the Hulk counted as his soulmate, not just Bruce. That wasn't the only issue Steve had with this whole soulmate-flowers thing: why did he start dropping flowers if the Hulk was bulletproof? Who decided the rules for this?
Lost in thought, he only barely caught the fist Frakk launched at his face. He gave the guy a quick upper-cut, just enough to keep him down, and glanced around the warehouse.
One good shield throw later, the four machine guns attempting to mow down the Hulk were out of commission, and finally the tickle of flowers filling the Captain's suit abated.
That night before bed, while Bruce sat in bed in polka-dotted pajamas, Steve made a show out of turning his suit upside down and dumping the carnations into a pile on the floor.
"I don't know why you hate them so much," said Bruce. "The big guy likes playing in them once we're done. I'm not the only one who takes hits around here," he reminded him archly.
Steve groaned.
"I understand how you feel," said Clint. "I keep my distance, try my goddamn best not to get hit, and she's right up there in the middle of it." He glanced sideways at Steve. "I mean, she has to be a little more careful than Hulk, so I guess it's not really as bad."
The two men took very large simultaneous sips of coffee.
A cupboard sounded behind them in the kitchen. "Are you guys complaining about the flowers again?"
"You don't get it, Bruce," Clint said. "It really tickles in these outfits."
He shrugged. "I guess that's why the big guy strips down."