spaces_between | Whoa, big guy. (For assembles)

Whoa, big guy. (For assembles)

Who: Steve Rogers & Brock Rumlow
When: Pre-TWS
What: Because some sleeping dogs just need to be called 'big guy' with a wink and lewd suggestion. It may as well be Rumlow to do so.
Warnings: Rumlow being Rumlow. Shameless flirting. Maybe dirty sweaty man sex.

Rumlow was still flicking slugs off of his armour when they disembarked from the quinjet. If he ever had to go back to Loreta, Columbia, he was sleeping in the trees with the damn jaguars rather than in the tent with the slugs. Damn things made a mess of everything.

Of course, the next mess was juggling twenty-four guys in a confined locker room who all were intent on getting out of their disgusting body armour and uniforms and leaving after a quick shower. He was one of the last ones in the cramped quarters, but really, compared to the quinjet they just disembarked from, it was pretty much home sweet home. At least there was less chance of getting slugs up the trousers or leeches in ones boots. Actually... as he looked around, there was plenty of opportunity for both. Home sweet home, indeed.

He pushed members of STRIKE Echo out of his way, but he simply wiggled passed members of his own team. People were making their way to the showers, which thankfully left him room to get to his locker. Captains were on the far end, including Rogers apparently, and he had a clean line of sight as he jostled his way to his locker to start stripping off his gear. Of course, he had to go passed Captain Rogers, which was always a goddamn treat. Only man who looked that good in underwear.

"Out of the way, Jenkins," he ordered, elbowing the lesser from loitering too close to Rogers. Kid just wanted a picture every single time. "Showers because you stink," he added, sending the youngest member of his team off but without a playful shove from the other guy. Just as planned.

He stepped backwards and bumped into Steve, his right hand going backwards as if to catch himself but really, it was so he could set it right on Rogers' right ass cheek. Damn fine. He pushed off as if correcting his balance and pretended to glare at Jenkins who was now hurrying off, leaving this area relatively alone.

"Sorry about that," he said, though he didn't mean it one bit. "Nice ass, big guy," he said with a wink as he reached out to open his locker and started to shrug out of his gear.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's not that Rumlow's daring move back in the shower room has been forgotten, but Steve still doesn't know what to make of it. It may have been nothing more than a friendly gesture, because for some reason that's how some men show platonic affection for each other, and Steve doesn't want to jump to any conclusions. It's a lot easier to just set it to the back of his mind for now.

"Not on the front, no, but sometimes we had leave in one of the liberated cities, so then we'd get alcohol," Steve explains. Depending on where they were, they had been pretty well-received, especially when word got around that Captain America was with their garrison. Then they got all the beer they could ask for, even if it wasn't usually chilled. "Anyway, a lager sounds good, thanks."

Steve can hear Rumlow rooting around in the fridge but he doesn't think too much of it. He lasts maybe a few more seconds before he reaches out to have some of that chip and dip. Even then, he remembers his manners, making sure that he's done chewing before he responds to Rumlow again. "Home, huh? And where's that, originally?" Steve's sure he must have read that detail in Rumlow's file when they STRIKE team had first been assigned to him, but he would rather hear it directly from the man himself.

Ah yes, the liberated cities and all, huh? He knew that Rogers fought with the various companies in all sorts of places. That had been recorded rather well, given the fame of the man, and it was a shame that those days were over. Now it was just small teams using and abusing international borders and dropping in men to clean up a mess. "Right, lager," he said and grabbed one of his favourites.

He shut the fridge door with a soft sound and padded to the living room, holding out the sealed and chilled bottle to Steve. "I've got more where that came from, so enjoy," he said before he came around to seat himself on Steve's right hand side.

At the question of his origin, he smirked and cracked the cap off of his own lager. "Queens, Brooklyn-boy," he announced with pride. "Why the sudden interest, huh Cap? We aren't going to have to start a rivalry, are we?"

Steve grabbed for the beer when it was handed over. The bottle might have a cap that actually needed an opener to get off, but Steve still managed to twist it off with his hand. Sometimes the super-strength really did come in handy. Beating up bad guys, saving himself a trip to the kitchen to grab a bottle-opener -- he could hardly complain.

When Rumlow took a seat, Steve shifted over just slightly to make sure he had enough space, then had a swig of the beer. He grabbed for another chip, which he drenched in cream cheese before shoving in his mouth in one bite. Even then, he wasn't messy in the way he ate, managing to not get any crumbs on the floor or food particles on his face.

So Rumlow was from Queens, huh? Steve raised both eyebrows and then shrugged when a rivalry was brought up. "Is there really even a contest here? I mean, come on. When someone thinks of New York, they don't think of Queens." Steve smirked, the lightness in his tone signaling that he didn't really intend on getting into a fist fight over something like this. In all seriousness, he had never spent enough time in Queens, not in 1941 or 2014. He still had to put more time into relearning his own city, but the relocation to DC had made that tough.

He twisted the cap off of his own bottle expertly, setting the cap on the side of the table to be cleaned up later. He grabbed the remote from the table and set it on the arm of the couch as the pre-show came on for the game. It was commentary not worth listening much to, since the team was going to play however they were going to play and a pair of soft men couldn't dictate the game.

He reached out and grabbed a chip of his own, only taking a small amount of the dip. That stuff would give him a heart attack if he ate too much of it, and unlike his companion, his metabolism was definitely slowing down.

"Ohh, you are such a little bitch talking smack like that," he said with a scowl on his face, though he took no offense. There were parts of Queens where people wanted to live and raise a family and be successful. And then there were the parts of Queens like where he had grown up that he wouldn't recommend to anyone. "But I getcha. I wouldn't live there anymore. You gone back to explore Brooklyn much?"

Steve didn't have much interest in the pre-show either. It was different when there was commentary over the game. He found something like that a lot more soothing, somehow, maybe because it could still take him to a different time and place if he closed his eyes. But all of this speculation and discussion of different player stats was more likely to make his eyes glaze over.

When Rumlow decided to call him a "little bitch," Steve pulled a face. It had less to do with Rumlow overstepping his rank (that didn't matter much when they were off the clock) and a lot more with the choice of insult. Steve didn't like the idea of using bitch as a pejorative, as if being a woman was a bad thing. He considered saying something, but then Rumlow asked a question and he reluctantly decided to let it go. For now.

"I've tried to, yeah. I mean, I lived there for a while, back when I first woke up." So he'd gotten the chance to relearn at least parts of his neighborhood, to see just how much everything had changed, and to find the few pockets that had remained more or less the same. Then the Battle of New York had come along, and while Steve had been there for a few months to help with rebuilding efforts, he'd been transferred to the Triskelion not too soon after that.

"I'd go visit, if I had the time. It's not like it's that far." It was as close to home as Steve could ever get these days, and there was a wistful hint in his voice as he talked about it.

He noted the face that he was given, waiting for the barbed self-righteous bullshit to start to spew from Rogers' mouth. He was almost disappointed when it didn't happen, since he had had his argument long set up before this moment. He respected a man who knew when and where to pick battles, and yes he respected Rogers considerably.

That wouldn't stop him from eventually having his final say in their relationship. He just knew when and where to pick his battles.

"Yeah, I heard about that... of course, then the Chitauri showed up and reduced much of New York to rubble," he said and then took a swig of beer. "You didn't stay too long after that. I bet Fury had been working on you the entire time to come on with SHIELD where you could continue to do work for the benefit of all." And Steve just didn't know which all that would be. It was laudable.

"You do realize that SHIELD give you three weeks paid vacation, right?" He didn't use his unless he absolutely had to. "What do you do anyway? Like, I hear you're good with a pencil and such, but surely our Captain has plenty of interests."

"It's not like he had to try that hard," Steve said in regards to Fury, shaking his head as he reached forward for yet another chip. He was barely thinking about it, which was the dangerous part. If he wasn't careful, he'd end up going through the entire bowl that Rumlow had set out. But it was true, what Steve said. The future had been pretty daunting at first, and working with SHIELD was the one familiar thing, a piece of structure in his life that he had desperately needed.

Rumlow had a pretty good profile on him now, which wasn't difficult since there were countless biographies that had been published in the time when Steve had been thought dead. Just about anyone could read all about him, and that alone was pretty frustrating sometimes. Compared to that, this was nice, because it meant that Rumlow could get to know him for who he really was, rather than who he'd read about. It was just hard sometimes, to open up enough to let that happen.

Steve was going to ask Rumlow for his story, but he managed to beat him to it. The mention of vacation caused him to shrug his shoulders as he turned his gaze back to the TV. "Well, even if I have the time to take, that doesn't mean I actually have the time to take. If that makes sense." It did to him.

He did have interests, though. Hobbies. "I still sketch sometimes, yeah. I also spend a lot of time with my bike." Riding it around, tuning it up, he always wanted it to be in perfect condition. "And I'm still catching up on all of the history and pop culture, so I try to work that in too. How about you?"

This all felt so normal, it almost looped all the way back around into abnormal.

No, he had heard from Pierce that it hadn't been difficult, and the old man had been as pleased as punch to have a partial thumb on Rogers, even if it was from the shadows. That had been when he had been personally handed the mission to keep an eye on Rogers, and he was doing what he could to live up to that expectation and learn what he could about the guy. Books hardly captured the real thing, but there were interesting tidbits all the same in those pages.

Rumlow sat forward to grab a chip himself, saucing it up with dip and chewing on it as he sat back and got himself comfortable on the couch again. He took a swig of beer and sighed as if this was one of the greatest things in the world. "Nope, makes no sense whatsoever, Rogers. You might have to explain that one in more detail for me," he drawled. "You're Captain Rogers, and you get three weeks holiday same as everyone else."

Maybe it was supposed to be strange that someone who was so famous participated in activities that allowed the man to be completely alone for. Then again, was there really anything else? "You and your bike, huh? I guess hanging around the Triskelion gives you all that you need for human companionship," he said before pausing to ponder his own hobbies. He finally shrugged and grinned ruefully. "I train a lot, read the paper... do some stained glass work."

Honestly, Steve could probably get more than three weeks if he really wanted it. SHIELD wasn't going to fire him just because he took more than the allotted vacation time, and he knew that. Not that he ever planned to abuse his rank and his fame to get what he wanted. Granted, he didn't think he really wanted a vacation to begin with. He wouldn't know what to do with himself. Working with SHIELD kept him busy, and being busy meant there wasn't usually a spare moment to think.

"There's always something going on here. Some emergency, some mission to pick up, some training course to help out with," he explained, his eyes set on the TV rather than anywhere near Rumlow's face. "Even if I technically get those three weeks, it's not like I ever have the chance to get away from the job." A lot of that was self-imposed, he knew, but maybe he liked it that way.

That dig about social interaction caused Steve to sigh and roll his eyes. "You sound as bad as Natasha," he grumbled as he leaned forward for a carrot and drenched it in ranch. Which more or less ruined the health factor, but Steve wasn't too worried about that right now. All the running he did usually made up for the food he ate. "Stained glass, though, really? Or are you just pulling my leg?" It didn't at all fit Steve's image of Rumlow and what kind of person he was off the clock, but that was the whole point of this, wasn't it? To learn something new, to be surprised by how little he actually knew about his coworkers.

"That's why you plan your holiday hours and turn off your phone," he drawled with a care-free wave of his hand just above his head. Of course, he wasn't really one to talk, since some of his holiday time was a front for him working for HYDRA on very specific missions. "I'm also kind of sure that because we kept the world from falling completely to hell for the seventy years you were chillin', we can keep it safe for a week or two for you to take a road trip."

He shifted into the couch as the pre-game show gave way to the pre-game commercials which no one cared about. This at least meant that the game would be starting soon, and he was only nursing his beer because he liked to drink during the game and not commercials.

"Sorry man, but I don't have anything compared to Romanov," he said with a suggestive wink. "I don't even eat men for breakfast like her." He didn't mind her, but he had to be on his A-game when she deigned to notice him and the team. There wasn't much that slipped by her after all. "Nah, it's in the other room. I don't have a lot of time for it, but it keeps me out of trouble." It also meant he could legitimately stab people with glass.

Rumlow made a good point, and Steve found that he couldn't argue with his logic there. The world could get by without him, but that didn't help any with the guilt he felt when he wasn't working as hard as he could to help make it better. He'd already slacked off for those seventy years, so it felt like he had to do double time now. Whether or not he actually planned to take Rumlow's advice, though, he needed to get him off his back. "I'll think about it. What do you usually do with your time?"

It helped that the game would be coming on soon, as it would give them something to comment on in between their conversation, a way to fill in the lulls and prevent any of it from getting awkward. It was going a lot better than Steve had expected, though, and he had to wonder what he had been so scared of.

A lot of rumors got passed around about Natasha, and Steve only shook his head in mock dismay. She didn't eat anyone for breakfast, although he could understand why people got intimidated by her. She wasn't the easiest person to approach, but Steve felt pretty comfortable around her by now. When Rumlow mentioned the other room, though, Steve glanced over his shoulder as if he might be able to see it from here. "Maybe you can show me later? I mean, you don't have to." Art was a tricky thing that way. Sometimes people didn't want to share, and Steve respected that. He really hadn't pegged Rumlow for the type, though, which was what made him so curious.

He was well-aware that Roger was going to do whatever the hell the guy wanted to, and he really didn't care much about that as long as it didn't get in his way. Logic just happened to work on most people. He paused from taking another swig from his beer bottle at the question, glancing over at Steve. He dropped his voice to a husky level as he said, "try to take over the world." He then winked and laughed. "It was a... kid's show. Pinky and the Brain... you seen it in all your endeavoring to catch up?"

He liked it when the truth was still pretty much a silent spit in Captain America's eye.

Rumlow knew to be careful around the Spider, but he respected her in the same way that he respected Steve. He'd still enjoy putting them both down like yappy dogs, but that was for another day. He followed the glance and nodded his head. "Sure thing, Cap, whatever you want. In exchange, you have to someday show me some of your sketches, yeah?"

It was pretty obvious just from Rumlow's tone when he said those words that he was just joking, although in this case Steve didn't catch the reference. He hadn't exactly prioritized children's shows during his catch-up (except for Disney, that is). "Pinky and the Brain?" he echoed. What a strange name. "A kid's show about world domination?" Not exactly an encouraging thought, but it probably wasn't as bad as it sounded.

At this point, the game was finally starting, with someone Steve didn't recognize taking the stand to sing the National Anthem. Tempting as it was to put his hand over his heart, he was pretty sure that Rumlow would laugh him right out of his apartment if he did that.

So instead he focused on Rumlow's request to see his art sometime. It seemed like a fair trade, and Steve wasn't as nervous about showing off his work as he had once been. He nodded. "Sure, I think that can be arranged. I don't have anything on me right now, but I can bring my sketchbook to HQ sometime so you can have a look."

He was going to have to explain that one, wasn't he? Yeah, he definitely was. "Yeah, it was about two mice who tried and continually failed to take over the world," he said with a smirk. "It was all tongue-and-cheek, I think. As if anyone small and assuming could make it that far, right?" Yeah, yeah, as if anyone could slip into any place like a little rat and do that much damage to world infrastructure.

Rumlow leaned forward to grab a small handful of chips as the game started, though he actually paused for the national anthem. He was at near rigid attention for it, though he didn't salute or hold his hand over his heart. He was paying attention to it, and the only reason he didn't stand for it was because Steve was there and knew the guy would immediately stand with him. That would be awkward. With Insight so close, he wanted to have scenes like this memorized because they wouldn't be around too much longer.

"I doubted you would bring a sketchbook in an overnight bag," he agreed as he went back to chewing through his handful of chips. "Shall we bet on who is going to win? Just a friendly thing, or do you not do that?"

Small and unassuming, huh? Steve knew plenty about what an underdog could be capable of. Not that he'd won many of the fights that he'd gotten into before the serum, but that didn't necessarily mean that he'd lost them either. There were times when his message had gotten through the thick heads of the bullies he challenged. Not always, not even frequently, but sometimes. "I guess I'll have to look it up," he said, somewhat distracted. YouTube would probably have a few clips so he could get an idea, at least.

Steve switched over to eat some of the veggies, carrots and celery alike, and watched as the two teams took their places on the field. The game was about to start, and that meant that if they were going to bet, they needed to get that settled here and now.

Just a friendly thing didn't strike him as harmful. Hell, Steve had played poker with the Commandos back in the day, and he had a poker face that had won him plenty of rations. "Sure, we can bet. Who're you gonna take?"

He figured that it wouldn't be a show that Steve would enjoy all that much, since the humour wasn't that great and the plot was mediocre at best. He supposed that kids would like it if they were around that age. "I'd suggest youtube because it's not worth downloading or buying," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. The real show would come in a few months.

He relaxed completely with his beer, his handful of chips and his current company as the teams were taking to the field. He figured there wouldn't be much conversation aside from 'great stats on that guy' and 'what a shitty pitch' and 'bet you could do better, Cap', so they may as well get it out of the way.

"I'm taking New York. They're kind of the team I've always rooted for," he said and looked over at Steve. "What do you wager for a win, Rogers?"

Of course Rumlow would take New York. Steve had given him first choice, though, which meant that he should have expected this. It was still a little rude to be forced to side with a team not from his home state, but that would have happened either way, given that they're both from NYC.

"Fine, fine, I'll take San Francisco." The Giants were a strong team, so he shouldn't complain too much. He'd had to relearn which teams were worth watching and which were struggling after his defrosting, and by now he had a pretty good hold on it, though he wasn't fanatic enough to know player names and stats beyond the really popular few.

"Wager? I thought it was a friendly bet." Doesn't that mean that they don't wager anything at all? Apparently that wasn't interesting enough, and after a pause Steve shrugged his shoulders. "I think I have five bucks in my wallet." It seemed like a small enough amount for what was supposed to be low-stress.

Rumlow had been rooted for New York since he decided he was going to take an interest in baseball. It only seemed fair given that it was generally a good team and came from around the area where he had lived. It was a good cover, and he didn't have to think too hard about it aside from punching Rollins in the face and smirking when New York won on their occasionally bets.

"Of course you will, since we both can't root for New York," he pointed out sarcastically, though he would maybe be convinced to. It wouldn't be an interesting bet at all unless they both lost. Then he could make it interesting somehow.

"It is friendly, but come on, live a little." He gave Steve a withering look for suggesting that the exchange money. That was so old school, and he would have none of it, not if he wanted to have fun. "Keep your money, pal. I make a pay cheque and so do you. No way, whoever loses has the right to dare the other to do anything. Well, within reason, no criminal stuff. Deal?"

Steve's feelings toward the New York teams can be summed up as follows: he supports the Mets and not the Yankees, but he also spends a lot of time being conflicted about the Dodgers. Should he still root for them when they've moved all the way over to the west coast? Or does he stick with those teams that actually still play out of NYC?

In the end, as dramatic as he might be about it at times, the point is to watch the games and have a good time, which is why he's not too worked up about having to side with San Francisco in this case.

He's not particularly surprised that Rumlow wants to make the bet a little more "interesting," though the suggestion does throw him for a second. A dare? It's pretty juvenile, but Steve also has a difficult time turning down any challenge. Some might consider it a flaw of his. "Within reason," he agrees. Not that he expects either of them would want to commit any crimes. "All right, it's a deal." He holds his hand out to shake on it.

Rumlow supported the Yankees because he had spent far too much time overseas being called a 'Yank', so it made sense to give the impression he cared about that kind of bullshit. Besides, he could poke Pierce for tickets if he really really needed to make an impression on someone, though he tried to keep that limited. He couldn't let anyone know he was in too close to the Secretary or it might raise suspicions.

For all that Rogers did really stupid stuff like jumping out of Quinjets without parachutes, the guy had a wariness that tainted their interactions. It was like Rogers was suspicious he was going to parade the man down the hallway naked or something. Rumlow had some class, albeit not much at this point in his life.

He shook Steve's warm hand and smiled in a charming manner. "Ah, good firm handshake. My da always said you could tell a lot about a man by his handshake." He dropped the shake and folded his hands behind his head to watch the game. "Oh and don't be sad when you lose our bet. I'll be gentle with you, since it's your first time."

From what Steve had gathered over the past couple years, the Yankees were a team that was easy to hate. A lot of people who lived in New York liked them because they were winners, plain and simple. They were good, but good to the point that they were expected to win, and they had this attitude about it, like they were the best. It became obnoxious. Simply put, the Yankees might as well be the bullies of the MLB, which was why Steve preferred the Mets. At least they were underdogs.

The comment about the handshake caused him to shrug, because he was pretty sure it took a lot more than that to actually figure out what kind of person someone was. He glanced back to the television, leaning forward for some more chips and dip before he finally settled in on the couch to watch the game.

Really, he would have been happy to lapse into silence for a while after that, but then Rumlow had to make that comment. "You're not exactly filling me with a lot of encouragement about this." Seriously -- I'll be gentle, it's your first time? That sounded like something the creepy bad guy in a cheesy movie said to that main character. Rumlow was probably just trying to be funny, but Steve did have to wonder what he had in mind, and if it was really what it sounded like.

Well, he'd find out soon enough.

He smirked at the whole suspicion about what he might dare, but come on, what was the worst that he could do in his own home without arousing the ire of those around him? It wasn't as if Captain America could disappear and someone wouldn't notice. Besides, he was curious enough of Steve that he thought that this little venture would be worthwhile for the both of them, though his 'partner' was still reserved around him. Whatever, that was the way of things.

They ate all the food without a problem, and he only got up to take away empty beer bottles to replace them with full ones. He let Steve take most of the food and the beer, since he wasn't about to risk getting intoxicated and possibly handsy. He'd never live that one down and there was a bet to consider as well as the game actually made an exciting progression through the innings. Yanks were ahead but not by much, and it was one of those edge-of-your-seats games down to the ninth inning.

He was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he watched the game avidly, his half-empty beer rolling between his hands. San Fran at the bat with a chance to not only tie the game but move ahead. He was mostly confident in the Yankees having a track record of not blowing it.

He knew that Steve would end up giving him a lame dare anyway, which would be a waste. He liked winning, but he was patient about getting his chances, and he was rather focused on the game to put on any move more than their hands brushing over the dip or knees knocking when one of them rose for something or another. Steve was pretty good in watching games with so far.

At the end of the day, a baseball game was just that -- a game. Steve realized just how fanatical some people got over it, had even heard of fans attacking each outside of the stadium after games, and it was the most ludicrous thing he'd ever heard. Sure, there was loyalty to a team, and sure, there was nothing wrong about being passionate toward something, but there was also a line.

Despite that, though, he did love the game and he could definitely get drawn in by watching pretty much immediately. It turned out that this game was a close one, something that actually held his interest through every inning even though these things sometimes dragged on for a while. Steve's eyes were glued to the TV, and eventually he wasn't really focused on the snack food or his second beer.

Bottom of the ninth, and it was up to his team (or rather, the team he'd bet for) to either make or break this game. Steve realized that it was just a silly bet at the end of the day, but that didn't stop him from leaning forward on the couch, his elbows resting on his thighs as he watched the final batter take his hit. The ball soared high up in the air, it was looking good --

But it just didn't go far enough, falling down into the glove of an outfielder and ending the game before the Giants could make any more runs. Steve let out an exasperated groan and fell back against the couch, planting his hands over his face before sliding them down. He glanced over at Rumlow and smiled. "Well, you won fair and square."

He couldn't help but inhale slightly at the hit, watching it go up and up and knew this was as game ending play. He rocked forward a little, his eyes narrowed in speculation before the tension along his shoulders eased when the Yankees didn't fail him. Or rather, the Giants couldn't hit a ball out of the park well enough at this stage in the game. Perfect, just like the rest of this day had been.

Rumlow shifted backwards and flopped carelessly again the back of the couch, lifting his beer to his lips and draining it off with three swallows. He smirked over at Steve as he eyed the other man speculatively, and he admitted to being thoroughly amused by the good-natured show of loss. "Seems like I did. Not surprising, though it shaped up better than I thought. Can't say I like blow-out games."

He pushed off his lean and set his empty beer bottle on the table and huffed at Rogers. "So, my dare then, huh? Let's see..." he trailed off and threw his gaze around the room like he was searching for something particularly embarrassing to make Steve do. He finally just look at his Captain and offered a sheepish smile. "I dare you to declare that Queens is a far superior area of town and kiss me right here like I'm the King or something," he said pointing at a spot on his left cheek.

No, Steve didn't like blow-out games either, even if it was his team that was winning. It was boring to watch -- he would rather be hanging on every play throughout the game than wincing each time one of the teams got yet another run. So he didn't really mind that he lost.

Well, there was the matter of the bet, and Rumlow didn't take long to decide what he wanted. Almost like he'd thought it all out in advance. Steve didn't think that saying Queens was the best part of New York City would really be so horrible, especially since he knew he didn't actually believe that. Words were just words in the end, and if Rumlow really needed his ego stroked that much, then fine. But then...

There was another part to it. A kiss, on the cheek. It wasn't particularly harmful, but it did add to Steve's suspicions that Rumlow's motives hadn't been entirely pure even from the beginning. Steve had been flirted with by men before, but never a teammate. Checked out, maybe, but that was pretty normal given what he looked like. This was an entirely different kind of territory, and dangerous at that.

They were off the clock, he reminded himself, and it was just a stupid dare. Steve leaned forward to set his beer bottle down on the table and then shifted to face Rumlow more directly. "Okay. Queens is the best part of the Big Apple, bar none." He raised his eyebrows. Was that good enough?

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I know pretty much nothing about baseball... I'm so sorry :/

It's fine! I only know a small amount...

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you can timeskip through the game if you want!

kk! You decide the winner, har har!

We know this can only go one way. 8)

Down the dark lonely road to hell

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