Brooklyn, New York

[One year earlier...]

Thor's hand connected with Steve's curvaceous backside as he swaggered through their kitchen. With both of their bulk combined, they easily dwarfed the apartment.

Steve's cheeks blazed, nearly dropping his handful of blueberries anywhere but in the bowl where they belonged.

"Your blush is one of my favorite things about you."

"It's a medical condition," Steve mumbled, attacking the bowl of pancake batter with his wooden spoon and renewed fervor. If there was one thing Steve had learned about being married to an Asgardian, it was that when Thor needed sex, Steve needed to forget all about his modesty. But his Irish complexion betrayed him more often than not. Especially at the dinner when Thor's hand stole its way under the table. And in the back room of the movie theater. And the bathroom of that snazzy five star joint at the top of the Space Needle.

Overcoming his intimate anxiety was one thing. Not letting the idea of sex override all other matters was another. Thor did not make that easy. He had successfully turned Steve from a prude virgin into a veritable cum slut.

The effect Thor had on Steve went unnoticed by none. (It probably had something to do with the whole God of Fertility thing.) Natasha often caught Steve staring, his blues shrinking as lust dilated his pupils. Stark and Banner walked in on them, too. After a mission in Thebes. In one of those glorious temples Thor insisted on consummating their relationship in.

Oh, and let's not forget the wholly mortifying time Steve opened his phone in front of Fury to a secret picture Thor had snapped of Steve giving Thor oral.

Let's never forget that.

And Steve let it all happen, as though he had lost the ability to abstain.

Thor seized Steve's wrist and spun him around, leaving no room to do anything but share breath as Thor pushed Steve against the rim of the stove.

"Last night was magnificent. You are impressively flexible."

Steve stuck a spoonful of blueberry batter into Thor's mouth. And Thor licked it in a way that liquefied Steve's insides. Steve gulped. Thor swallowed.

"The timber company called. They asked if we could go down to the yard and help with the load. The shipment."

Steve knew his phrasing was a mistake before he finished the sentence.

"How serendipitous. I too have a load that needs to be taken care of."

"Thor, this is serious."

"Sundays are days of rest."

"Funny. You sure don't let me sleep much."

Thor smiled. Steve could have swooned. "I have a proposal."

"Oh no."

Thor leaned in, his robust voice husky and his presence like a space heater, and spoke against Steve's ear.

"I'll lend my strength to the lumber company. I know how much you love volunteering."

Steve could feel Thor's thick interest straining through his sweats and begging for attention, his own arousal stirring. He struggled not to pant. Batter bowl at his side, Steve waited for the other shoe to drop.

"If?" Steve asked.

"If we park on the way home."

And by 'park', Steve knew what he meant.

"The back seat is kind of tight, don't you think?"

"Who said anything about the back seat?"

Steve's knees trembled, picturing the scene in graphic detail.

Thor pulled back. "You're truly beautiful, especially when you allow yourself the freedom of thought."

Steve tried not to shrink away. Tried to hold his chin high and own the lewd wish.

"Steven." Thor touched Steve's chin and then the tip of his nose the affectionate way he did when the guilt got bad. "We are wed, you and I. It is my wish that you fantasize. And often. I certainly do."

Steve met his eyes. "Will you set the table?" he whispered.

"Yes. And more carefully than last time," Thor joked.

They met for a chaste kiss. Thor reached over Steve's shoulder to fetch mugs and plates from the cabinet.

Steve knew what this was—all of this. Thor was postponing their trip to Asgard to give Steve time to adjust to their partnership. Earth had become Steve's training ground for marriage to an alien king. Thor's tender efforts and passionate being were coaxing Steve from his shell. And Steve thought him valiant and gracious for treating him like he mattered.

Like he was cherished as a man, not a ninety five year old relic of the Greatest Generation.

"So, let me get this straight. If I can lift this, I then rule Asgard?"

"Half of it, yes."

"Well then. I will be reinstituting Prima Nocta."

"Go, Tony!"

"You got this, Stark."

"… I'll be right back."

"Are you even pulling?"

"Just represent, fool!"

They all took turns and failed. Steve, expecting no different, went last. And when the hammer came off the coffee table, singing in the metallic tone it always used, no one spoke. Steve, frozen, stared at his hands around the hilt—the hands that had done an impossible deed. Fear surged to life and crawled into his every limb.

Steve looked up to find Thor staring somewhere else: at Steve. Not as a teammate. Not as a captain. Steve still couldn't justly describe Thor's gaze, but he could name what waited within. Love. Loyalty. Undiluted pride and awe and promise. Not surprise or disappointment or horror the likes of which painted the faces of the other team members.

No one had ever regarded Steve that way. Folks looked at Captain America like that, sure.

But out of uniform, in his blue collar and best jeans? Steve was still invisible. Until Thor saw him.

Steve's fear blew apart. And it never came back.

Thor fixed the coffee as Steve worked with the frying pan. And for a short while, the world was right and things were good.