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 7 **I haven't said as much before, I don't think, but if anyone feels like crafting anything in the way of fanart, I would be beyond thrilled to see/read/watch/hear it! **
Harry groaned and pressed his flushed face against the cool tile of the shower wall. That had been just what he'd needed. He took a moment for the bones in his legs to metaphorically solidify again and straightened, rinsing off with the help from a loofah and a bottle from the stand in the corner. Once done he turned off the water and stepped out onto a plush mat, letting his toes sink in and curl between the fluffs on softness around them. He wasn't entirely sure what this mat was made out of, but at least something was having sex with him, though only his feet got
to enjoy. (1)
He strode out of the washroom naked and not caring at all. The tepid air drew gooseflesh on his arms but dried his skin quickly. He grabbed a pair of low-slung trousers from the foot of his bed and quickly stepped into the soft fabric, sighing in contentment. It was still early for him, not quite midnight, but he wasn't tired enough to sleep, even with the beating he'd inadvertently invited upon himself that evening. With a lack of anything he really felt like, he snatched up a book from the bookshelf beside the stairs and flopped into his worn overstuffed armchair. There were many more chapters to this ancient runes textbook he had yet to drudge through.
The rest of the week passed without incident: Harry relaxing in his store and selling a book here or there and Steve running out on missions for Fury before returning home to sketch out more pictures of Harry. Fury kept an eye on both men with the help of Agent Hill, and Bruce continued to analyze the sweater thrown onto his work table. Coulson met up with Harry once; he purchased a book on French cuisine and then discussed some of the recipes with the blonde super soldier later the same day while returning from a particularly exhausting mission abroad; the constant time-zone changes were beginning to wear them down.
It was a few weeks before Steve had a moment of peace in which to enjoy his newly acquisitioned book; S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers had been called to break apart several violent protests and terrorist attacks from all over. Steve would have been happy to never see that much sand again, though he doubted their work in the Middle East was over. He'd begun carrying his small sketch pad with him more often on missions, tucking the little book into a pant pocket or behind his vest. He hadn't been this full of inspiration in years, not since meeting Peggy. His heart still gave a twinge at the thought of her, but the pain had dulled quite a bit since he'd been thawed out. He'd also made a point of not thinking too deeply on the subject of the small brunette that was quickly filling his sketchbook. Harry was simply interesting, that was all. No life-altering sub-text or improper thoughts at all, none.
Alright, so he wasn't even fooling himself anymore.
He hadn't been this fascinated with a person since he'd become involved with Peggy. There was something about the firm confidence in the smaller man's shoulders, and the shy smiles that would slowly bloom from an errant comment.
Harry was peculiar, and Steve was curious.
He'd nearly finished the book after two solid days of reading, though he'd had to claim he was sick with the stomach flu to really get any peace. Steve didn't like to lie, but doing so was better than strangling Stark or insulting Coulson. He'd finished the book and lay where he'd planted himself, lengthwise along the living room couch. The book lay closed on his chest, slowly rising
and falling with each breath. The tips of his fingers rubbed absently at the corner of the pages while his mind whirled with thoughts. He hadn't expected the novel to be so enthralling and motion inducing. Though the wars had been fought twenty years apart, what he'd experienced in the Second World War and what both the character Robert Ross and his own father had been through were still similar. He'd found himself choked with emotion on more than one occasion, knowing the panic and the dread that had filled his stomach on more than one occasion. He'd been lucky, no matter what anyone else said. He'd pushed past his fear, sure, but that wasn't the reason he'd lived through the battles and the eventual sinking of the ship carrying the Tesseract.
Steve sighed and ran his hands down from his fringe and across his face, wiping away imaginary signs of fatigue. He was exhausted physically from the past weeks of running and fighting, but emotionally he felt refreshed and light. He glanced over the top of the couch at the digital clock on the oven. It was barely noon, plenty of time to get out and do something with his day. He glanced down at the book for a moment, debating, before gently setting it on the coffee table and sitting upright. He stretched, groaned, and stood. It didn't take long to change out of his baggy sweatpants and t-shirt, shower, and redress in soft light jeans and a red-plaid button-up. He tucked his phone and wallet into his pockets and left the apartment, closing the door quietly behind him. He'd keep the book rather than trading it back to Harry for something else. He was far too attached to the story and would like read it again in the near future.
As he'd predicted, Coulson met him the foyer of the Stark Building and escorted him to another black SUV. Steve was dropped off at the same corner as his last visit, and quickly walked to the shop. The tinkle of the bell as he opened the thick door made him smile, which only grew wider at the muffled greeting Harry threw his way from the back of the store. This was quickly followed by a loud thump and several expletives that had Steve's eyebrows climbing under his fringe. He shut the door behind him and made use of his long legs, quickly coming upon the pile of cardboard and grumbling Englishman.
Harry didn't acknowledge his presence, instead continuing his grumbling. He quickly stacked a number of thick cookbooks from the pile on the floor and made to stand. Only, of course, to find the cardboard stuck around one leg. There was a moment of tense silence in which Steve desperately tried to keep from laughing. The moment passed when Harry began to kick his foot out in a desperate attempt of dislodging the stubborn cardboard. When one or two kicks did nothing, Harry's motions increased and soon he was using both hands to rip at the thick brown
paper product. His grumbling had increased to hisses and yowls of frustration, and Steve could no longer hold in his laughter.
The blonde was bent over at the waist, hands clutching his stomach as tears of mirth streamed from his eyes. He really shouldn't be laughing, but there was something in Harry's frustrated struggling that reminded him of a kitten pitted against a sticky-note. That thought actually dropped the blonde to his knees where he then fell over onto his side and continued to laugh between gasps for air.
Eventually, Harry was left standing among a pile of shredded cardboard, huffing. His face, neck, and even ears were red from exertion, and his fingers twitched as though they were looking for another victim. His hair stood up in odd directions and his sweater was hitched up on his right hip while it sloped off of his left shoulder, baring an expanse of the black shirt underneath. After a moment to catch his breath, the brunette turned and looked at his customer and possible-friend, who was still a giggling puddle of blonde American; Steve was certainly giggling, there was no other way to describe the high-pitched spurts of mirth that were escaping his curled form.
Harry, feeling his Marauder blood flush to the surface, felt his face melt into a vicious smirk. He turned to face the blonde and stepped quietly through the remains of his arch-nemesis until he was looming over the downed man. If Steve had been in control of his facilities at that moment and taken the initiative to watch the brunette, he could have prevented what happened next.
Harry pounced.
Steve squawked.
Harry, though much shorter than Steve with a far more lithe frame, was devilishly fast. His fingers found the other man's ribs and began to play him like a set of ivory keys. He followed Steve's flailing movements to and fro as the blonde attempted to dislodge his attacker, and had he not been so out of breath from his previous stint of debilitating laughter, he would have likely had the upper hand in this bout. But Steve was not in control of his facilities, and was left to the not-so-tender mercies of Harry's quick digits.
Steve was a large man, broad and made up of thick slabs of muscle rolled into an eye-pleasing silhouette. While he was capable of great speed and strength, he wasn't able to keep up with Harry's quick strikes and dodges. Though he gave the brunette no small amount of resistance.
Soon enough, Steve's wiggles had Harry resorting to playing dirty.
The brunette, giving up all pretense of playing fair, because who in their right mind would play fair in a tickle-fight, climbed astride the blonde's stomach. He braced his legs on either side of the lean waist, knees planted just below the plume of Steve's rib cage, and hung on for dear life. Steve's hands batted at his own, managing for a second or two to actually grasp one of the slim appendages or the delicate wrists, before he was grasping at empty air, Harry having managed to slip out without any effort. Apparently super soldiers, not that Harry knew Steve was one, had no resistance to light fingers. For a few moment more they jostled and grabbed, tickling and being tickled, and all around gasped for air, before Steve had an actual idea and thought to flip them over.
He clamped his biceps down on either side of Harry's thighs, having moved up around the blonde's ribs themselves, grasped the brunette's hands as best he could, and pushed upwards against the floor with his left foot, rolling them so that Harry was trapped, legs wrapped around Steve's waist, under the blonde's muscular bulk. The movement startled Harry enough for Steve to get the upper hand, and was soon running his own skilled digits along Harry's own metaphorical piano keys. Harry jerked and bucked, wiggled and shoved at Steve's shoulders, attempting to push himself upwards and then down in an attempt to get away from Steve's wicked fingers. Neither man gave thought to how it felt for their flesh to slide together. Steve pointedly focused on the choked giggled and bursts of laughter that his ministrations were eliciting from the brunette under him. He tried to push down the tight heat that pooled low in his belly each time Harry's groin came in contact with his stomach, the clerk merely jerking in a way that would theoretically allow for escape.
It didn't take long before Steve found his hands captured and held captive above Harry's head, his nose just brushing the tip of Harry's. The other man's breath, smelling lightly of oranges and something spicy, fanned against the hot, flushed skin of Steve's face. Harry's eyes were crinkled in mirth, his cheeks rosy and pink under his light tan. His mouth was set in a wide grin, displaying nearly perfect, white teeth; the only imperfection being rather sharp canines and an upper tooth twisted slightly in its socket. He distractedly catalogued that as a trophy sustained from a particularly vicious fist-fight or encounter with something particularly stiff to the face. There was a dimple at the right corner of Harry's mouth, on Harry's right, not Steve's, and the blonde tried very hard not to think about letting his tongue out to see if it really was a dimple, and not some delicious morsel of biscuit the brunette had only missed during lunch.
Harry was doing much the same as Steve in his perusal of the blonde, though he was more focused on ignoring the flush of arousal the press of their bodies caused than the actual feeling of attraction. He'd admitted to himself in their first meeting that he'd found the blonde attractive, but he wasn't about to jump ahead of himself, a wrestling match didn't mean the other man felt the same. Though he did love how Steve's pale fringe stuck to the man's pale skin with the lightest sheen of sweat. How clear his blue eyes were as they crinkled in mirth, staring down at Harry in a look of wonder and happiness that the Englishman hadn't expected to see. The American's chin was slightly indented at the point, something that he found unbelievably classy and gorgeous, for really no reason at all. He even relished the feeling of Steve's hands eagerly clasping at his own as they reached above Harry's head, their muscles straining to simultaneously hold themselves up and still at the same time. Steve smelled of warm flesh, coffee, and charcoal; a scent that was undeniably Steve. Harry couldn't help but flare his nostrils, taking in the man's enticing aroma and holding it in his chest like a precious treasure.
Harry made the first move, unknowingly letting his tongue out to smooth its way across his lips, moistening the flesh as it travelled. The tip, on its way out, just barely brushed Steve's own lips, which made the blonde's breath catch in his throat, and his hips jerk forward unintentionally. Steve's eyes flicked down to the slowly moving appendage before fluttering closed, having to take a moment to breathe deeply; which didn't help, as he was inhaling Harry's own intoxicating scent. He hadn't known that the serum had made his sense of smell so intense, had it always been that way, or was this something Harry was causing? Steve opened his eyes and his mouth, meaning to ask something, he didn't exactly know what, of Harry, when he heard a crash from the front door.
Notes: (1) I don't often leave notes in chapters, but I must admit, I have several of these mats spread about my own house. Nearly every guest has agreed that the mats feel like sex against their feet. Go to Costco and buy a crate, do it. You won't need a mattress ever again. (1.5) Also, I wasn't entirely sure if people would be comfortable with me writing out Harry's solo-scene. I'm perfectly comfortable with it, I write great smut! So, if you're interested, feel free to message me on Tumblr and I'll send the scene along. Maybe the commissions I had done for this work as well... *salacious wink*.
You can find me at salios . tumblr . com (2) I apologize for the wait, I've just been having trouble with the plot progression of this story and another of mine named Spots under "The Hobbit" category. I also apologize for the shortness of the chapter, but with this out, I might be able to make headway.