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 8

Steve moved first, blood thrumming with adrenaline. Still holding Harry's wrists and the other man's legs locked around his waist, Steve pushed off the ground and propelled them into a sideways roll. Once between the stacks he scrambled to his feet, pulling Harry up as well by their joined hands. Aside from their harsh breathing he couldn't hear anything, but gently tugged Harry behind him regardless. Steve didn't notice the frustrated glare that Harry directed at the back of his head. Steve's hand hovered over his right thigh, missing the familiar weight of his sidearm. He was regretting leaving it at the apartment. He hadn't needed it for a social visit but that now left him at a disadvantage if the enemy was armed and waiting. He couldn't climb the shelf and surprise the assailant from above, the shelves wouldn't likely hold his weight and his currently position wasn't nearly close enough to where Steve expected he needed to be. That led him to considering how to safely move Harry to safety without drawing attention to the shorter man. So focused on what to do next, Steve gave a start when Harry prodded him between the shoulder blades. He turned and glanced down to meet Harry's curious gaze. The brunette didn't say anything but raised one dark eyebrow, eyes flicking towards and front of the store and back, 'what next?' He didn't have time to reply before a voice rang out.

"Steve! Are you alright, do you need help?" Steve's shoulders relaxed and a whoosh of air left his parted lips. It was just Bruce, nothing to be concerned with.

"I'm fine, Bruce. Sorry to startle you." As he spoke the American turned to Harry and smiled apologetically. Harry merely shrugged and squeezed their still joined hands. Steve glanced down and had to repress a grin. Harry's cheeks were flushed, though whether from the tickling or the adrenaline rush Steve wasn't entirely sure. He took a second to admire the tanned skin peeking out from under Harry's customary sweater which was askew and hanging off one shoulder. Steve coughed and looked away. He gripped Harry's hand tightly once more before letting go. He really needed to speak to Bruce, but was reluctant to retreat from the comfortable bubble of companionship he was sharing with Harry.

Said brunette rolled his eyes and, with both hands, shoved Steve out from between the stacks. With all the grace of a newborn giraffe he stumbled, yelping, and barely righted himself before he collided with the wall. He turned a half-hearted glare back at Harry, who was snickering into his hands. Steve stuck his tongue out in answer and strode towards Bruce.

"Sorry about that," he called, meeting the scientist by the door. Bruce was crouched and carefully picking up pieces of a broken mug. He looked up as Steve came down to eye level and Steve could see his cheeks were flushed in embarrassment. "Apparently, you have a talent for breaking things no matter where you go." He gestured at the shards of ceramic and spilt liquid with a grin. Bruce scowled and shoved him with his free hand, causing Steve to burst into laughter. He and Bruce had worked at their friendship after what could have been the end of the world. While they initially had little in common the two men had eventually reached an understanding that while they didn't always have something to talk about the company was often enough. "So what brings you here? Did Stark run you out of your lab again," Tony Stark had a tendency to do just that, "or did you miss my glowing personality?"

"Actually, you brute, I hit a wall with my research and was dying of boredom." Bruce pointed his nose in the air and sniffed as though affronted.

"So... Did you literally hit the wall with your research, is the wall still standing?" Steve laughed and dodged Bruce's swipe this time. He and the scientist had got along well and often bantered back and forth. It was a bright spot on his usually lonely, boring days. A scuff of footwear behind him had Steve looking over his shoulder at Harry who watched them with one eyebrow raised. "You know, if you keep that eyebrow up all the time, it will eventually get stuck there." He was rewarded with another scowl and a roll of the eyes.

"Good to know you care about my dashing good looks." Harry tugged his jeans up slightly at the thighs and squatted down beside the other two, beginning to pick up pieces as he introduced himself to Bruce. "So now that you've broken the ice for me, or should I say the glassware, I should probably introduce myself," Harry grinned at Bruce who flushed a deeper red, "I'm Harry, owner and proprietor of this store, pleasure to meet you." He held out his free hand to shake. Bruce juggled the sharp fragments, still slick with liquid, and succeeded in jamming a particularly large piece into the palm of his hand.

Steve tensed, watching Bruce and expecting the worst. A small cut wasn't enough to force a change, usually, but it must have hurt quite a bit if his expression was anything to go by. Sometimes a great start or unexpected pain could cause a kind of lapse in Bruce. This usually meant he would lose his temper, momentarily, but not change; which left him with all of the anger and destructive tendencies but without the increased strength. Aside from a hiss of pain and a glare at the offending ceramic protruding from his palm, Bruce looked like any normal human who'd just stabbed himself. No veins bulging from his neck, green-tinged skin, or luminescent eyes; just a very annoyed, sluggishly bleeding human.

"Alright, my jokes are bad but they shouldn't be bad enough to cause self harm!" Harry collected the pieces in Bruce's other hand and tugged the man to his feet. Steve had to snicker at the different in height. "Give me those, yes there we go; now go sit at the counter down that way and I'll grab the first-aid box." Harry gently pushed Bruce in the right direction and glanced down at Steve who was still crouched, sitting back on his heels. Harry nodded his head towards Bruce and Steve replied in kind before standing and following his friend. Harry tossed out the broken bits and quickly strode past them and out of sight.

At Bruce's apologetic look, Steve chuckled and pushed him down onto Harry's stool, "it's alright; I sincerely doubt you came here just to break things and bleed all over. But now that you have," he dodged another of Bruce's half-hearted swipes, "what brings you down here?"

Bruce shrugged, "like I said, my research wasn't going anywhere and I was bored out of my skull. I called Phil first but he said he was babysitting." Both men chuckled; 'babysitting' for Phil meant watching Steve. "Since he wasn't available he told me where you were and suggested I follow you down. I didn't have any other brilliant ideas and I thought 'why not'?"

Steve enjoyed Bruce's company, but he was mildly annoyed at the intrusion. He finally had time to spend with Harry and now he had to share it. This was childish but he couldn't help but be jealous. His mind was already drawing similarities between the two men: both were quiet and reserved, very intelligent, compassionate, socially awkward, had a deep love of learning, and they had carefully guarded secrets. Steve's comparison brought a frown to his face. In all reality Bruce was a better match for Harry than he was, though he wasn't entirely sure that Bruce played for the 'home team'. It wasn't a discussion that came up, ever. The only time sexual liaisons were ever discussed between the team was when Tony decided to brag about his latest conquest. It was usually Steve or Natasha that managed to shut him up while Bruce would pale and excuse himself. The feeling of warm fingers covering the ones still resting on Bruce's shoulder drew Steve from his downward spiral. He glanced at his friend who was squinting at him intently. When faced with a particularly interesting or difficult problem he tended to squint, as though that would help him focus.

"What's wrong? Did I come at a bad time? I can leave if you'd like, I wouldn't want to intrude –" Steve cut him off with a shake of his head. "Alright then... But we should probably talk later, yeah?" The soldier agreed. Moments later Harry reappeared carrying a large wooden box. Bruce and Steve shared a glance and both men attempted to help by grabbing the box.

"Oi, hands off you lot, I can bloody well lift a sodding box of medical supplies, no need for male posturing," Harry hissed, turning so the box was out of reach of the two and setting it onto the countertop. "Honestly between Steve calling me short and you being so damn tall, I'm starting to feel a bit undervalued here!" His tone was light though he levelled a glare at both of them. They scrambled to apologize and Harry laughed. "Settle down and pass me that great big paw of yours." He took Bruce's hand and held it up to catch the light, eyeing the ceramic still embedded. "I don't think I have to tell you that it'll hurt coming out." Bruce nodded and Steve fought not to tense out of reflex. Harry's free hand stroked the flesh around the wound gently, not pressing enough to aggravate but firmly enough to distract. "Why don't I grab a pair of pliers, just in case, and – oh hell, what is that?!" Harry's head snapped up and stared at something over Bruce's shoulder. Both Bruce and Steve mimicked Harry and realized a second too late what had been done.

"Sorry, sorry, I know it hurts," Harry crooned gently. Bruce's face was screwed up tightly, his eyes slightly moist. Instead of offering a reply he merely hissed air out from between his teeth. Harry had pulled the shard out while they'd been distracted and pressed a previously white cloth to the wound instead. The refuse was tossed onto the tabletop, a good inch of it slick with bright crimson. Steve gulped and quietly shifted to stand beside Harry instead of behind Bruce. He wanted to trust in his friend's control, especially after the initial wounding, but old habits were hard to discard. He took in the pained grimace and clenched unwounded hand. Bruce still looked normal and that unnerved Steve instead of assured him.

Harry inspected and cleaned the wound before dressing it with movements born of practice. That made Steve wonder just how many times Harry had patched someone up, or himself. The thought made his stomach clench uncomfortably and Steve pushed it away. He didn't want to think about it, or why Harry's proficiency with dressing wounds made him think about the scars peeking out from the collar of his shirt.

"It's going to be painful for a while, but it doesn't need stitches, be thankful for that since I hate giving stitches." Bruce cracked a smile at Harry's poor humour. "I can't tell you how many times I've had to stitch myself up after some stupid attempt or another."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, "how stupid are we talking here: messing with kitchen knives stupid, or fighting with a jungle cat stupid." Steve was glad Bruce had asked and not him, he wasn't quite ready to pry into Harry's past though he was painfully curious. The brunette took a moment to think before he unzipped his sweater, tossed it onto the counter, and turned around.

"This one here," he lifted the back left corner of his shirt to show them a wickedly crooked scar over one kidney, "was from a monumental cock-up back when I was just out of school. A few mates and I thought it would be a lark to try some of that 'cow-tipping' business. At least I think that's what you Yanks call it. Needless to say, this idiot wasn't very good at the running away part." Steve and Bruce both winced at the thought. Being speared by a bull wasn't something either was interested in trying. "O'course we're all pissed as newts at the time, good whiskey that was, and they bloody well left me behind!" Harry chuckled and glanced over his shoulder at their horrified faces. He promptly burst into laughter and dropped the shirt corner to hold his stomach. After a moment he could breathe again and grinned at them. "I don't blame the lot of them, considering the beastie was livid and our higher brain functions had pissed off hours before." He shrugged, "I made it home and thought to myself, 'Harry, you stupid sod, look at what you've gone and done. You're bleedin' all over the carpet!' So I found my first-aid kit and somehow, don't even ask how, I managed to stitch it up. It's ugly as all sin but it did the job."

Bruce and Steve just stared at the Brit in horrified awe, jaws slack and hanging.

This, of course, sent the Englishman into another fit of laughter. He swatted at them, pointing at the furniture arranged in a lopsided semi-circle about the fireplace. He managed to gasp out, "go", before he was out of breath again. They eyed him cautiously and moved to the storefront. Bruce plopped himself down onto an overstuffed armchair and Steve perched on the armrest of the loveseat opposite. Harry cleaned up the mess and joined them a moment later, still grinning and flushed. Steve did his damndest not to think about how else he could get the shorter man to look like that. Harry flopped down onto the loveseat, legs curled beside him. He'd toed off his shoes at some point and his little toes, which Steve still thought were adorable, were clad in a mismatched pair of socks. One of which was decorated with little winged golden balls. Steve slid in beside Harry, much to the Brit's annoyance which he expressed by shoving Steve with one sock foot. Once they settled their conversation turned to literature and what Bruce might be looking for.

Steve really did try to ignore the toes tightly curled against his thigh. Apparently, Harry had 'monkey-toes' and had decided to used them to alternately 'hold' onto Steve's thigh and knead the firm muscle. To accommodate Steve's larger bulk, Harry had moved so that his back was against the armrest, knees tucked against his chest and arms pillowing his head atop them. Content to listen to the conversation instead of participate, Steve let his mind wander. Harry was just as captivating now as he was when they'd first met and the soldier was having a hard time accepting that his feelings were certainly not platonic. He'd woken several times in the time between visits from vivid dreams that often left his sheets tangled about his legs and an uncomfortable stiffness in his groin. The first few times he'd tried to play the dreams off, telling himself that it was some dark-haired woman he'd seen on the street. Or that it was such and such actress from a film he'd recently watched. But soon enough he had been forced to admit that his indecent thoughts of the Englishman weren't contained to his sleeping hours. More than once he'd been shocked out of a day dream where the green-eyed man was present. No amount of denial on the subject had helped, especially since all he had been able to sketch, for weeks, had been Harry. He'd filled that initial sketchbook with everything he could remember; fingers, toes, hair, shoulders, and back. He'd even sketched out his impression of Harry's behind, embarrassingly enough, what he imagined the brunette might look like in the throes of passion. The last one had been a shock. He hadn't realized the nature of the sketch until he'd been adding colour with chalk pastel. The flush to the man's cheeks hadn't been from laughter or exercise, but something completely different. Steve gulped and pushed that memory away, not wanting to deal with too-tight jeans at that moment.

Though, if Harry didn't stop kneading the flesh of his thigh it wouldn't be his thoughts that ended him.

Steve clued back into the conversation by a sharp prod to his ribs. He yelped and swatted Harry's hand away. There was a sharp 'snap!' as their flesh connected and he saw Harry wince. 'Shit, I didn't hold back. Oh God, did I hurt him? Please don't tell me I broke something...' Steve's panic must have shown on his face because Harry smiled at him though it was slightly strained. The shorter man shook out his hand before tucking it into the crook of his other arm.

"Sorry, shouldn't have startled you like that. But, ah – would you like some tea?" Steve noted Bruce's worried look, he'd taken his lower lip between his teeth and was nibbling at it, and swallowed.

"Ah, n-no, I'm alright, thanks. I'm sorry Harry, I hadn't meant to –" Steve's apology was halted by the shake of Harry's head.

"Don't worry about it, no harm done. Now," his smile was blinding this time and Steve had to consciously force his lungs to take in air. "Tea, did you want some?" Steve took a moment to reply, still slightly blinded. He nodded, not trusting his voice. When Harry made to stand Steve jerked a hand out to cover one knee, 'I'm touching his knee! Breathe Steve, breathe!', stopping the Brit.

"Ah, no, I'll get it this time. Think of it as an apology for the abuse." He nodded his head at Harry's hand, still tucked away. Harry gave him a look that clearly said, 'you're an idiot, but you're an endearing idiot so you get away with it this time', but resumed him comfortable seat. His toes squeezed Steve's thigh tightly. He glanced at Bruce and received a shake of the head at the unspoken question. Steve wiggled until he was free from both Harry's enticing toes and the overly comfortable armrest. Harry, the annoying little thing he was, sprawled out on the couch and took up the warm spot he'd left behind. Steve could have sworn he heard a soft sigh as he walked away.