Author: Salios

Fandom: Harry Potter/Avengers Crossover

Pairing: Harry Potter/Steve Rogers (Cpt. America)

Rating: T-M

Warning: This story will contain male/male relationships, including intimacy ranging from light kissing to possible sex. Swearing, and descriptions of violence and gore also possible.

Disclaimer: I do not own either fandom or their associated characters; this is a fan piece and not written for profit.

Earl Grey and Apple Pie

Chapter 5

'Oh sweet baby Jesus. That man's toes are absolutely adorable.' That really was the thought that flashed across Steve's brain matter as he stared down at the delicate digits, curling and uncurling against the chilly wood flooring. Like any other person, he had his unspoken interests. Something about a set of itty-bitty, delicate toes just made him want to snuggle the attached human like a kitten to their favourite stuffie. Really. He watched Harry unzip the sweater and pull it from his shoulders, and before the brunette could toss it to the ground behind him, he took it from those smaller hands with a mumbled, "I'll hold it." The fabric clasped between his fingers was still warm and he caught himself gently squeezing and stroking the red cotton exterior and cream wool interior. He had the sudden urge to lift the garment to his face in order to have a whiff of his smell, but held off. That would be both creepy, and far too into the realm of 'Gay' for even he to deny.

"Are you sure you don't want my help? I could even take a different novel." He was flattered that Harry was going to do something possibly stupid just to find him a book, but he still didn't want the shorter man to get hurt.

"Nope! I've made my decision already and I'm too stubborn to give up now." He said this as he rolled his shoulders, flexed his arms, and cracked his knuckles. The vintage green shirt he wore was tight enough to give a glimpse of the leanly muscled body beneath. The fairly low-riding jeans didn't do much to draw Steve back from the precipice of the dreaded 'Gay Zone' as they hung precariously on slim hips. Steve attempted clear his thoughts with a shake of his head and paused.

'Wait… Wasn't he on a ladder when I came in…?' He narrowed his eyes in consideration. 'Yes… Yes he was…. So where is it now….?' He distracted Harry by asking for a fresh cup of tea, obviously stalling, and moved back towards the front of the store, checking the aisles as he went. Harry had only been five aisles back when he'd entered, at most. But there was no sign of the elusive ladder. He'd initially thought the brunette was simply forgetful and a little unwilling to admit that he'd forgotten about something as important as a ladder. But even with some searching, Steve hadn't been able to find the elusive wooden contraption. Had Harry scaled the shelves then as well? The blonde's head was spinning as he retreated back to the counter and the waiting cup of hot tea.

What the poor man didn't know, of course, was that Harry had indeed been using a ladder when stocking the shelves earlier. It had been transfigured from a piece of string that he kept in his pocket, and then reverted to its original state upon the arrival of Steve. Having grown up with an obsessive-compulsive neat-freak like his Aunt Petunia, he couldn't stand clutter. Harry wasn't used to working this closely with a customer, or having one this curious; otherwise he would have simply summoned the book or transfigured himself another ladder. He didn't much enjoy the idea of a muggle noticing a spot of magic. He may not be under the thumb of the British Ministry any longer, but that didn't mean he was keen on sharing what he could do. Moody had made sure he was too paranoid to chance being uncovered. Thusly, he readied himself for the possible humiliation of falling on his head from a bookshelf in his own shop.

Lovely...

He rubbed both forearms, one at a time, and cracked the knuckles on each hand. He rotated his ankles while evaluating his route. He wasn't afraid of heights; he would have made a poor Quidditch player had they bothered him, but he really didn't enjoy the thought of greeting the floor with his face. He was also very un-eager for another dose of Skele-grow.

Steve stood from the counter, sipping his tea. "You aren't really going to climb that, are you?"

The shelf Harry was eyeing stood about twelve feet high against a nearly fourteen foot ceiling. Due to the age of the building and the... eccentricities... of the previous owners, the ceiling of the shop was high and vaulted. As far as Harry knew, the place had been used as some kind of art gallery beforehand, which would explain the open height of the shelves, compared against Harry's whopping five foot seven inches, was almost comical. And maybe a little bit worrying. So much so, that Steve gulped down the rest of his tea, grimacing at the bitter dregs, placed the cup back onto the counter, and stepped up behind the brunette.

"Yep, I'm not afraid of heights. Besides, I don't much feel like spending a day or more digging through my basement to find a ladder of dubious condition." He turned on the ball of one foot to come eye level with the blonde's impressive pectorals.

Harry may have squeaked. May have. If confronted he would never admit it, but the possibility was there. Regardless, he sincerely hoped that Steve had not heard the non-existent noise. Steve did, but the only acknowledgement he gave of the brunette's reaction was a slight widening of his smile. The zipper of the sweater, white and glossy, was only done up mid way, just above the sternum. The gap gave Harry an intense close-up of the pale, creamy flesh smattered with nearly transparent blonde hairs. The Brit's cheeks warmed and he forced his eyes from the glimpse of taut muscle. As he met Steve's amused eyes, he tried his damndest to control the hot flush across his nose.

"Would you prefer if I retrieved the book?" The offer was soft and slightly tinged with mirth. Harry's eyes had dropped to Steve's mouth as the blonde's pale pink lips parted.

"Uhh... Well..." Harry swallowed thickly again tore his gaze away. "No, no. Thank you for the offer, but it wouldn't be right of me to force you to do my job."

"You wouldn't be forcing me; I did just offer." Here he paused slightly, as if considering his next comment. "I am, after all, a fair bit taller than you. I could reach better." He knew almost immediately that had been the wrong thing to say as the brunette's shoulder tensed and his spine straightened rigidly. Steve swore he could actually see Harry's hair bristle indignantly. "Wait, wait, that came out wrong, I meant - " He sputtered and flushed only to have Harry cut him off as a huff of warm air tickled the bare skin of his exposed chest, the flesh spurned into a fit of goose pimples. The petite brunette turned again on one foot and stroke between the stacks.

Obviously, Harry's lack of height was a sore spot. His embarrassed anger gave him speed and he began scaling the shelves. The book was on the very top shelf, against the outer wall above where Steve stood watching. It was also wedged tightly between two old, hardback, military encyclopedias from the early nineteenth century. Many of the larger books, as in the past there was no uniform size for works of literature and thus giving way to many awkwardly sized and shaped works, hung over the lip of the shelf. He had to carefully place his hands and feet lest he dislodge a book and have to scramble for purchase. He still wasn't keen on falling, anger or no. As he reached the height of his goal, Harry scowled; the book in question, aside from being at the far end of where he hung, was part of a shelf devoted to the larger and more ungainly tomes. Thus, there was no place for him to put his hands or feet that would be easy or safe.

And so, he again did something stupid: he reached.

Just as his fingertips wiggled the book from its resting place, squashed more thoroughly by the two encyclopedias than he had expected, the foot holding the majority of his weight lost its grip. With a startled yelp and no small amount of flailing, Harry plummeted from the top of the shelf. Luckily for him there was a broad and sturdy body below him to break his fall. Steve, having thought ahead as he was used to similarly stupid plans from Stark, had positioned himself where he expected the brunette to fall if he actually did. Only he hadn't expected the petite looking man to weigh as much as he did, which threw the blonde forward as Harry landed in his arms. Steve grunted and stumbled before landing flat on his behind with Harry pressed against his chest. To add insult to injury, the two encyclopedias promptly thumped the smaller man on the crown of his head, one after the other. Steve was treated to a number of creative and slightly hissed curses and endured the points of several slim fingers as they flexed instinctively into the flesh of his chest.

They sat for a moment and caught their breath before Harry groaned and sat back. He was kneeling between Steve's spread legs with most of his weight still against the blonde's chest. One hand remained where it was as he pushed himself back, the other coming up to touch the crown of his abused skull hesitantly. Steve bit back a breathy laugh and caught the hand.

"Hold on there, let me take a look." His pitched his voice low and soft, hoping to appeal to Harry's common sense instead of pride, still regretting his poor choice of words. Even if they had been the cause for having the smaller, lighter man in his lap now.

Harry merely grunted and let his head be drawn forward to rest against Steve's chest while the blonde inspected his abused skull. Nimble hands parted the slightly damn hair, 'Those books broke the skin then, that must have hurt,' and surveyed the damage. The injury was small, merely a small split in the skin that looked to be quickly scabbing. Steve realized the brunette was healing a bit too fast, but knew he wasn't one to judge. If Harry had secrets he wished to keep, as his obviously abridged history broadcasted, Steve would not be the one to force him to share them. He parted more hair to make sure there were no more wounds, ignoring the droplets of blood that were staining his fingertips. After a moment he hummed and wiped his fingers on the hem of the sweater without thinking and adjusted the brunette so that he was sitting upright instead of resting comfortably against Steve.

"A few cuts, but nothing you'll die from, I promise." Steve grinned at Harry and shuffled awkwardly to his feet, pulling the brunette up after himself. He stepped around Harry and plucked the three offending pieces of literature from the ground, noting the slightly crumpled corner on the thicker tome and wincing. He pointedly ignored the jerk of Harry's head turning away from him, or the slight flush that painted his cheeks. To acknowledge the flutter Harry's actions caused would be another step into that feared Zone. He placed the two large books on the counter and turned to Harry with the much thinner volume.

"I hope this is the right one." He smiled and held out the slim book.

Harry took it with a small scowl and a petulant protrusion of the tip of a very pink tongue. He hopped back onto his stool and pulled open a ledger from the drawer beside him. He made a few notations in small chicken-scratch and then handed the book back to Steve. The soldier looked down at the barely worn book and smiled, the cover of "The Wars" by Timothy Findley staring back up at him.

"It's a first person narrative about the Great War." Harry's soft voice pulled Steve from inspecting the cover and he looked up to meet vibrant green eyes. "It's...hard to read in places." Steve frowned slightly. "He goes into such detail about all the close-calls and the deaths around him; it can be a bit much to read all at once. I suggest you read this one slowly and enjoy the emotion he put into the writing; it was his life after all." Harry smiled sadly, looking like his mind was elsewhere.

"I'll be sure to, now how much do I owe you?"

They bartered quickly over the price; Harry wanting to sell it to him for next to nothing and Steve wanting to make sure that Harry got what he was really due. Afterwards they sat and sipped another cup of tea, neither man quite willing to leave the other just yet. It wasn't until Steve glanced outside and noticed, among the darkening sky and lack of rain, a large black SUV parked across the street. He sighed and stood, regretfully finishing his tea in another gulp.

"Sorry to cut this short, Harry." He ignored the slight cough the brunette made at his own name, and made to unzip the sweater.

"No no, you keep that on!" Steve blinked, no one had ordered his clothes to stay on before. "Ack! What I mean to say is that it's yours now, you can have it." Steve raised his eyebrows at that. "Look, it fits you quite well, whereas on me It's almost like a child wearing a parent's dress or robe. And besides... It looks nice on you." Steve smiled at that, and left the slightly lowered zipper where it was.

"Alright then, but you should probably not make it a habit to give out warm and comfortable sweaters to every customer; I might become jealous." 'Dear God, where did that come from? Did I really just say that!?' Harry sputtered something and stood to let the blonde out, collecting his now dry clothes and passing them over in a bundle of warm fabric.

"Read that and let me know how you find it, that way I can keep an eye out for more of the same."

Steve promised he would and stepped out the door. The SUV had moved down the street to his left and that's where he headed, waving a goodbye to the slim brunette. Once out of sight he climbed into the back seat and sank into the surprisingly comfortable cushions beside Coulson. Phil grinned at him.

"Well? Was I right?" Steve rolled his eyes and barely held in a grin. He and Phil had become friends once the shorter agent had gotten over his hero worship, and had been the one to recommend Harry's store to him. Steve merely passed over the novel and was quickly drawn into a discussion on late twentieth century literature versus the modern twenty-first works. Before long they parted ways in Stark Tower, Phil getting off at a different floor to visit Director Fury while Steve continued on to his apartment. As the only Avenger without any other property to speak of, Thor having taken up residence in New Mexico, Banner living in the country, and Hawkeye and Black Widow housed by S.H.I.E.L.D., the blonde found himself with an entire floor of Stark Tower outfitted to his tastes. As the building had been designed and built by Stark, there was more technology than he was comfortable with, most of it being far beyond his understanding. There were moments where he felt like a fish out of water but they were coming less and less often. His furniture was a mix of soft fabrics and buttery leather done in varying shades of red and cream. The appliances were basic, or as close to basic as he could get, and he all but ignored the high-end laptop in the far corner of the room. He slipped into the apartment and closed the door gently behind him; sometimes he had to remind himself that he possessed super-strength, even with his gentle nature.

He tossed the now folded clothing, still smelling faintly of wood smoke and tea, onto the leather couch and stretched. He held the fingers of one hand and stretched his arms high above his head, hearing numerous vertebrae pop and sighed at the release of pressure. He shivered slightly at the brush of cool air against his now bare stomach and abdomen. Steve swung his arms to stretch the muscles and just as his fingers began to pull at the white zipper tongue for the second time that day, a knock from the door stopped him. The blonde groaned softly and strode to the door, all thoughts of relaxing now gone. He grasped the handle, twisted, and pulled the wooden door open. Phil Coulson and Maria Hill stood on the other side, one wearing a warm smile, the other stony-faced.

"Hello again Steve, Fury wants to see you in his office." Phil looked slightly apologetic. Steve merely sighed and made to step out into the hall, only to be stopped by Hill.

"You don't intend to meet with the director wearing... that..." She turned up her nose at the blue sweater he wore, eyes roaming the soft-looking cotton.

"I had, but since you obviously don't approve..." He stepped back in and grabbed his short and windbreaker, intending to move into his bedroom to change.

"No time for that, you can change on the way." Hill snapped at him and held the door open.

Even Phil eyed her incredulously, but Steve knew better than to argue with the woman, whom he had learned a number of unsavoury name for during his employment under S.H.I.E.L.D., and stepped back into the hall with an armful of clothing. They were on their way even before the door clicked shut behind his heels. Steve attempted to strip out of the blue sweater quickly to avoid notice, though he still caught appreciative glances from more than one person on the way. He didn't quite know what to do with the sweater in his arms until it was pulled from his fingers by Hill. She held it at arms length as though it were diseased and muttered something unlikely to be a compliment. Slightly louder she said,

"I'll give this to the cleaners and you'll have it back before the night is over." And then she was walking off in another direction at a split in the hallway. Steve merely shrugged, for what else could he do, and hoped he really would get the sweater back, he'd grown attached. He followed Phil to Fury's office and sat through another boring discussion about politics and training regimes, ignorant to the way Fury cast glances between the blonde's hands and his computer monitor constantly.

(An hour earlier.)

Maria Hill perched comfortably in the chair before Fury's desk, watching the man think at the window. She was Fury's right hand, and took great pride in the position. The director was standing at parade rest, hands clasped behind his back and feet planted shoulder-width apart. He looked for all the world to be relaxed and thoughtful, though she knew better. His fingers twitched and occasionally tightened, his jaw set and pulling at the scars that would be peeking out just slightly from his eye patch. Something was on his mind, and soon enough she would know what.

As though knowing his thoughts, he turned and sat back into his chair, watching her over steepled fingers. She sat straighter and met his eye. He seemed to consider something for a moment before reaching into the desk and pulling out a leather folder, embroidered in gold, bronze, silver, and black thread. Without a word, he slid it across the desk for her to take and she did just that, opening it and glancing inside without a word. She swore Fury actually let out a chuckle at her wide eyes and hanging jaw.
She looked up at him and said the only thing she could think of,

"You've got to be fucking with me."

Fury only laughed harder.

Sorry for the delay folks, life decided I need a chunk taken out of my ass. Anyone who's weaned themselves off of Wellbutrin will know what I mean. This is actually going somewhere, I'm just terrible at filler. Suggestions would be welcome, and as asked by one reader in the last chapter (Submarine Highway), this is not a non-magical AU, Harry's just giving a very abridged version of his history for the little muggle's benefit.

Also, isn't it fun when you write something out, and when you go to type it from memory you somehow manage to cut out a massive part of what you've already planned? Yep, biggest issue with the sequence of events for this chapter.

Cheers!

Also, you can find me on AO3 under the name Salios