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.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Steve had to admit, missions that took him into the jungle were a whole new world for him. Europe didn't have a whole lot of them, and that was where he'd spent all of his time during the war, so a mission like the one they'd just completed was one more thing to adjust to. Good thing that he was quick on his feet, and he had plenty of backup to rely on most of the time. Natasha hadn't been signed out on this assignment, so it had been Steve and the STRIKE team -- but they'd still infiltrated and took down the base they'd been ordered to target, and made it home with no lives lost.

Even Steve had to admit that the leeches were a problem, though. They seemed to really enjoy him in particular, maybe because his blood tasted different from a normal human's. The only good part was that Steve's strength was such that he could yank them right off of his skin with his bare hands, even if they did leave angry red welts in their wake. Those would fade soon enough, thanks to his healing factor.

He'd just finished disposing off all of the leeches and was planning to take a shower when a friendly scuffle broke out right next to him, and Rumlow got shoved in his direction. Steve usually didn't pay too much attention to what else went on in the locker room around him, but when it came to personal space being invaded--

It was an accident, plain and simple, but Steve's back still went stiff and straight as soon as he was touched. Rumlow pulled away as quickly as he could, and apologized as would be expected, but the compliment that came after caused Steve to laugh nervously and then look back into his open locker, as if he could shove himself into it and hide there. He wasn't nearly as self-conscious these days, sure, but that didn't mean that he handled this kind of thing well. He wasn't shy about people seeing him stripped down to his underwear or naked, even. It was the compliments, even if they were tongue in cheek, that made things awkward for him.

Besides, it was always a little tough to tell if Rumlow was being serious or not.

"Thanks, I think." Change the subject, change the subject. "We should probably get some of these guys sent down to medical." A few men on the team had been injured. It was nothing too serious, but Steve preferred to be safe than sorry. They had the resources, why not use them?

It amused him to no end that Steve Rogers, the Great and Fabled Captain America, was the biggest 90-year-old virgin. He actually didn't know (nor did he care) if his Captain was rubbing balls on anyone else, but the way that Steve acted was so very much like one of those awkward kids in school who had no idea how to take a compliment. He supposed that growing up a skinny little shit wouldn't boost one's confidence and Rogers was painfully modest.

Sometimes he wanted to whack his knuckles on the other man's nose until it bled in response to that kind of good-natured modesty.

He neatly set his harnesses and belts inside, shucking his clothing to form a pile at his feet due to its desperate need to be laundered. He glanced over at the comment about medical, not that it was necessary. He took stock in the injuries of his men before they even stepped off the quinjet.

"Rollins, make sure the three stooges get to medical," he called to his second. Rollins was always first into the locker room, first to the showers and first out. He was always last, and that's the way he liked it. Together they managed their team well and easily, and it was oh so a pleasure when Steve was apart of all this manly camaraderie. "None of them are serious to deny a man a shower first. The medical staff will appreciate it too."

He tugged off his grey undershirt, revealing a long scrape down the side of his ribs. "You know, the rest of us look like we crawled out of a Manhattan dumpster, so how the hell do you remain shiny somehow?"

Steve had no intention of denying anyone anything. He realized how it felt to be coddled, and he went to a lot of effort to not come across as doing that with the team. Even so, it made sense to get everyone who'd been hurt looked at just in case, especially given that plenty of them had been latched onto by leeches. Who knew what kind of diseases that could spread?

The way Steve saw it, he didn't really have to worry about himself anymore. (Not that he had ever done much of that in the first place. Bucky had worried for him.) He could put that energy into other people. As captain, it was his job to make sure that everyone was healthy and accounted for.

Of course, Rumlow did a lot of the actual work. He'd been with the team longer, they trusted him more readily (even if Steve was Captain America, that should never get him a free pass). That kind of responsibility probably explained why Rumlow didn't say anything about the scrape down his side. It just didn't seem important to him compared to everything else. Steve understood that much.

The question caused Steve's shoulders to shake with a laugh as he shook his head. "Believe me, I get beat up as much as the rest of you guys. I just heal a little faster." An understatement, of course, but Steve liked to understate sometimes.

And, well, teasing came pretty naturally to him too. "Don't worry, I'll wait for you to catch up," he shot over his shoulder as he started for the showers. He meant in regard to the healing, but it could probably be misinterpreted as an invitation too.

His mission was to keep tabs on the Captain and make certain that the man unknowingly did some of HYDRA's good work. He was to make certain that STRIKE could operate well with the man, support Rogers but also keep the guy on just enough of a leash so that the whole thing didn't blow wide open. His team was good, but even they had to dance well with Rogers watching them.

No rough-housing to the point of bloody battles. It was a damn shame to lose that. It wasn't so bad to gain a shiny national icon though. Nice ass.

"And you apparently shed dirt and grime like you heal your wounds," he replied, pretending to be disgusted as he picked at his darkened underwear from dirt and sweat. He glanced over with a lazy interest at Steve's invitation, throwing his Captain a coy smirk in return. "Aren't you just a sweetheart, big guy?"

He stripped, curious and driven, and then he padded after Steve to the showers, which were full with men trying to get in and get out again. He was small enough and had nasty enough elbows to jostle a few guys out of the way, but most moved just to watch him work on Rogers. He settled in to actually share the spray of water with Steve, since the men gave way to Rogers and he was just there to take advantage. "Thanks for saving me a spot. You're a real pal."

Rumlow could say what he wanted, but Steve hadn't avoided getting caked with dirt and dried sweat. Maybe Rumlow wanted to flatter him, maybe he was just messing around, but as soon as Steve got under the hot spray of water he could tell just how gross he'd been. The water that washed over him went down the drain with a slight tint of grey to it, and Steve scrubbed at his skin until it ran clean instead.

Normally he didn't take all that much time in the showers. He figured he should make room for the other guys, and he honestly got the feeling that his very presence there was distracting. Steve had come to realize that his physique was something that drew attention even from the people he worked with, and while he couldn't blame them for wanting to study just what a super-soldier looked like, it was a little awkward.

Steve hadn't saved a spot for anyone, but it didn't take a genius to see that Rumlow had more or less forced everyone else out of the way so that he could come stand next to him. It was forward in a way that Steve didn't quite understand. Maybe Rumlow had something that he needed to discuss, some private issue that he didn't want to be heard, so he was using the sound of the running water to cover that up.

With eyes narrowed, Steve glanced over, even as he ran some shampoo through his hair. "No problem," he replied, a little uncertainly. "Was there something you needed to say?" He kept his voice down, just in case, though Steve wasn't a very big fan of secrets.

Rumlow had about as much shame as a two-cent whore, and he wasn't afraid to push his way around even his own men to get what he wanted. They all knew that he was ruthless and tended to make room for him when he was in the mood to flex his generally smaller shoulders. They all knew he'd knife them later if they didn't let him go about his business when he chose to do so.

His elbows bumped on Steve as he maneuvered in the spray of water, his own skin shedding its fair share of dirt and grime. He used soap liberally as men began to clear out slowly, taking his time to remove the dirt, sweat and foliage that had collected from sleeping in wet uncomfortable places.

He glanced over at the question, and of course Cap thought that he couldn't just bask in the guy's gleaming presence. He looked back but the other men were cleaning up and ignoring them pointedly. Good. He looked at Captain Rogers again and let his eyes crawl over the other man's skin from the top of Steve's head right down to those wet toes.

"I've been thinking," he said as he applied shampoo to his hair. "You seem like you spend way too much time alone, and that's a damn shame. What do you say to coming to my place and watching a baseball game?"

Maybe Steve was just imagining it, but it almost seemed as if the other guys were clearing out purposefully to leave them alone. If he didn't know better, he might see it as some kind of threat, but Rumlow and the rest of the team were as close as he could get to friends in a professional sense. Steve had a tendency to keep people at an arm's length, and it was something he should probably work on, but it wasn't always that easy.

He couldn't dwell on the people that he'd left behind in 1945, he knew that. And he had an entire team that he'd grown close to here, the Avengers. But other than Clint and Natasha, Steve hadn't seen the rest of them in months. Sometimes he had a movie night with Natasha, or they went out for sushi, but other than that? Steve would head back to his apartment, or go to the gym. His life was fulfilling enough, he did things within SHIELD that made a difference, but there were definitely plenty of days and nights when he felt lonely.

This wouldn't be the first time that Rumlow had suggested they spend time together while off the clock. They didn't often get the chance; usually one of them was on assignment, at the least. This happened to be a special occasion where they actually did have some downtime, and Steve had to squash down the urge to refuse automatically. After a lifetime of being rejected by girls, he had to admit that most of the time he had difficulty taking this kind of thing seriously.

Rumlow appeared to be sincere, though, and the suggestion of baseball was a nice touch. He'd done his homework, apparently. Steve ducked his head under the water to wash the shampoo out, taking that moment to stall as he thought it through. There was no rule against it, and he had never stood by protocol in the first place. Maybe it was worth a try.

What would the harm be?

"You mean tonight?" he asked eventually as he turned his back to the spray to wash the remnants of soap and shampoo off. "Shouldn't you spend that time healing up?"

It wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a no.

He cleaned up well with both an air of efficiency and nonchalance as if the fact he was sharing the spray with Steve and maneuvering around the super-soldier was a perfectly normal occurrence. For him, he just made sure this sort of thing turned into a normal occurrence because it was far easier to worm his way deeper once he got the initial crap about getting under Rogers' skin first.

Brock was only a little miffed he hadn't convinced Steve out before this, but he had decided awhile ago to be persistent. There was no point sitting around wallowing in depression all the time, not when Rogers could spend time with him and then live to regret it later. Oh, he was hoping Pierce would put him in position to make Rogers' eat a bullet; he wanted the national monument to see it was him too. He wanted that enhanced blood all over his hands, under his nails, soaking his clothes, maybe even a good spatter across his cheek, dribbling down, down, down...

Shit, he better stop daydreaming about that or he would definitely give himself away. He turned his back on Steve and tilted his head to rinse out his hair and then, when certain all was in order, he turned back again.

"Well, at this point in the season, there's a game on most night. It just might not be a team anyone cares about," he said with a shrug before glancing at Steve. "Really, your options right now are coming over tonight or I show up unannounced at your place with cheap beer and cheaper popcorn. Choose wisely... one of them involves me dressing horribly and with the express purpose to draw attention to you."

Anyone who took a few seconds to think about it could probably guess at who Steve's favorite baseball team was. Granted, that was a sore spot these days considering that the Dodgers had moved to the west coast, and Steve still hadn't completely decided whether he wanted to remain loyal to them or throw his support in with the Mets. It felt like it would be a betrayal, but then again, the Dodgers had betrayed all of Brooklyn by moving to Los Angeles.

Maybe it would be safer to watch a game that involved teams he didn't care about.

Not that Rumlow was giving him much of a choice either way. He even threatened to show up at Steve's apartment, and while he might just be blowing hot air, there was also a chance that he actually knew where Steve lived. They did work for a spy organization, after all, and as much as Steve worked to keep his personal life separate from his professional one, he was sure that his address was listed somewhere in his file. (Or Natasha could have told Rumlow, though Steve doubted she would do that.)

"All right, all right, twist my arm, why don't you," Steve gave in with a sigh as he reached out and turned off the water, relatively certain that Rumlow had finished up too. "I'll come to your place, but I'm gonna need the address." It was possible that he would end up seriously regretting this, but maybe if he told Natasha that he'd gone over to Rumlow's she might get off his back about the dating thing.

Not that this was a date. It was a baseball game enjoyed between colleagues. Or at least, that was how Steve interpreted it. Still, he was making the effort to be social and that had to count for something.

The only problem with Rogers' place was he had to watch his P's and Q's while there, since he knew that there were bugs there. No one let a National Treasure live alone without taking precautions, and they were an agency of spies too. National Security was their motto, and Rogers was definitely someone that all of SHIELD wanted to keep track of and protect and utilize when it was best to do so. He was in that line like everyone else, but his reasons for doing so were a little more on the selfish side.

"Come on, big guy, does it look like I have the strength to twist your arm?" He'd personally prefer to see how a sledgehammer did against them, but that would be for another time. Maybe some rope to start, just to watch Rogers squirm a bit, pretending not to be as strong as they knew the guy to be. "Sure, let me get a felt pen and I'll write it on your hand," he said with a smirk.

He rubbed his hands through his hair to mess it up but also to spike it as he walked away from the shower, reaching out to swat at Rogers' ass again and without apology either. "I hope you know how to disguise yourself. I think my elder neighbour is a huge Cap fanboy."

Rumlow had such a dry kind of delivery that sometimes it was difficult to tell when he was being serious and when he was just kidding around, which was one of the reasons that Steve had never been big on the idea of spending time with him in a social environment. Maybe he just needed to let loose a little, though. Steve could joke around with the best of them, but it didn't always feel right to do it in a professional setting like this.

Which didn't stop Rumlow from smacking him on the rear again, and this time it definitely wasn't an accident. That sent an entirely different message, and Steve had to reevaluate if he'd just unwittingly agreed to go on a date with a subordinate. It was something he'd have to feel out once it was actually happening, but he reminded himself that he could always put his foot down and end it if it went too far.

Given that they were in a semi-public setting, he needed to do that right now. "Don't overstep your bounds too much there, Agent," Steve said over his shoulder as he went searching for a towel. He realized that the ass-slapping was some kind of weird male bonding ritual, but it could easily turn into something else. "But yeah, I can disguise myself. It'll be fine." A baseball cap and a lowered head usually got the job done.

Rumlow never understood the idea that team members couldn't have a little fun on the side, even if it was just to blow off some steam. He, of course, didn't suffer from those kinds of emotional attachments often and never strong enough that he couldn't cut it off immediately if it suited him to do so. He served a cause, not a person. However, he was human like the rest of them, and even he had social and physical needs that he wasn't shy about exploring when the want arose.

He grabbed a towel and began to dry himself off efficiently. He glanced at Steve and gave his Captain a salute that might have been serious or it might not have been. "Aye aye Captain," he said, definitely not serious. It wasn't like Rogers knew his nickname that he was aware of, so there was no need to worry about pirate jokes often.

He shrugged and wrapped his towel around his waist. "When you come, don't forget an over-night bag," he said casually. "You never know when duty will call." Or cum stains would be on someone's pants. It was always good to have a spare pair.

If Steve had been a different kind of person, he might have taken Rumlow's lazy confirmation as something like insubordination and gotten him into a serious amount of trouble. Maybe it was because during the war he'd worked with the Commandos, who he'd often joked around with much in this way, but Steve didn't take too much offense at it. So long as Rumlow followed his orders to the letter when they were on an actual mission, it was fine.

Besides, almost everyone else had exited the shower area by now, so Steve didn't have to worry about the rest of the team trying to follow in Rumlow's footsteps.

Steve also got dried off and wrapped his towel around himself, and he was making his way back to his locker to get changed when Rumlow mentioned that he should bring an overnight bag. The reasoning behind it was sound enough -- they could get called in at any minute, it made sense to have his stealth suit on hand. But Steve got the feeling that Rumlow had another idea in mind, and if Steve was reading this right, then this intentions were becoming less and less pure.

Men had definitely given Steve the once-over before, but he'd never been flirted with this overtly. He huffed out a laugh and raised an eyebrow. "I'm not staying the night."

On missions, Rumlow was the complete package of professionalism. He didn't so much as toe the line unless it was to save one of his men or to complete the mission objective when someone else failed in their duties. He was tough but fair with his men, and he could take a dressing down as well as he could take a dressing up. He admitted to enjoying working with Rogers who was all smooth orders, impossible odds, and the kind of man who brought out the best in the team be never shying away from the dirty work and following the rules just like them. Despite the chain of command, they were in some ways on equal footing with Rogers.

It would make it far more enjoyable that way when they finally made the patriotic bastard choke on a grenade. Woo-whee.

Their lockers were close enough that they could easily maintain the conversation, and now they were basically alone. It was against SHIELD and government protocol to be allowed to have listening and viewing devices in the change areas as it was a breach of privacy. That didn't mean he was going to step over that line in the sand too far, even as a joke. Besides, having an overnight bag was just plain logical; who knew with a secret cult society was going to be revealed to exist and Rogers would go off a nut about it?

"No? Come on, I happen to know my couch is very comfortable. You can ask Rollins if you don't believe me," he said but took no offense to Steve refusing to stay. It didn't take the whole night for a blow-job. At least... he hoped it wouldn't take all night or he'd be tired in the morning.

Given that they were off the clock from here on out, Steve didn't need to change back into his uniform. He had a spare change of clothing in his locker at all times, so he pulled on a shirt, a pair of jeans over his boxers, and then a loose jacket. It felt good to be clean and in some freshly laundered clothing, after a week in the muddy jungle.

He dragged his towel through his hair one last time and then set it aside, huffing out a laugh when Rumlow mentioned Rollins. The two of them worked well together and they were usually joking whenever they could get away with it. Steve wasn't surprised to hear that they'd spent some time together outside of the job.

"I'm not arguing that," he said with a roll of his shoulders as he reached back into his locker for a notebook and a pen. He opened it up to a blank page, although the rest of it was full of mission notes (and sometimes a few doodles here or there in the margins). "I just like to sleep in my own bed."

He handed both the pen and notebook over, and then nodded down to the page. "Go ahead and write your address there." This whole thing still felt downright weird to him, but Steve pushed past that. The least he could do was try out some basic social interaction with a coworker (a teammate) -- if he didn't end up liking it, then at least he could say he knew for sure.

Rumlow wasn't about to go climbing back into his uniform either, though the black cargo pants, black t-shirt and his jacket didn't appear much different. There were no logos though, since he wasn't a brand name kind of guy and even those items of his which happened to have them were removed. He refused to be a walking advertisement.

"I'm surprised a soldier with your history sleeps in a bed honestly," he said as he examined himself in the small mirror in his locker. He quickly rubbed his hair with the towel then styled it with a bit of gel. "Half the time, I hit the floor and sleep there, but there's always something to be said about the stamina of you old timers. You guys seem to bounce back from everything."

Except maybe that whole 'sorry we turned your best bud into the most successful assassin of all time' thing. Pierce wasn't ready to use that punch line yet. He hoped Rogers didn't kick it before that came to light, if it did at all.

He took the pen and notebook, scribbling down his address quickly and without hesitation. He even was kind enough to write down the buzzer number to his apartment, so Rogers wouldn't have to look for his name on the board. He was a nice guy after all, helpful to boot. "You got any preference for drinks? Or... do you eat shitty snacks, or are you all healthy and all that?"

If Steve were to be honest, he didn't always sleep that well in his bed, but if he explained that, then he had to get into the reasons behind it. Rumlow would probably understand, he was also a soldier, but Steve didn't have the words for it. He didn't know how to explain that sometimes the mattress was just too soft, the sheets too clean, and he ended up parked up on the living room floor in front of the television instead.

Apparently his trust only went so far, because all he did was smile and shrug. "It's a talent of mine," he said, but the joke wasn't delivered with as much ease as usual. He'd gotten good at withholding the parts of himself that didn't fit in with everyone's ideal of who Steve Rogers was, but it did get tiring.

He took the notebook back from Rumlow and tossed it into his backpack, which he then pulled out of his locker and slung over his shoulder. Steve was a little surprised that Rumlow was that concerned with his eating preferences. Then again, he did what he could to not make his voracious appetite quite so obvious to his teammates. The Avengers teased him enough about it already, he didn't need to add the STRIKE team to that too.

"I'm not picky," he said. "I'll eat whatever you have on hand." And clean out Rumlow's entire fridge, if he wasn't careful. Steve made a mental note to eat a large meal before he headed over, to prevent that from happening.

He closed his locker and then leaned his side against it, turning toward Rumlow to look him over. "So, what time?"

"You are a man of many talents," he agreed, flicking his eyes over as if knowing more of them than he let on. He had read the file, seen the videos of the war, knew the sacrifice that Rogers had made with the Valkyrie and everything in between. This wasn't a man to underestimate on anything.

"I know we aren't close and all, but if you ever need to talk or shoot the shit about nothing, feel free. Sometimes it helps," he remarked with a soldierly look. He understood keeping stuff close to the chest, probably better than most actually. He also knew that Steve was guarded sometimes, but the shadows in the man's eyes were hard to miss if one bothered to look.

He grabbed his pack out of his locker and shut the door, not bothering with a lock. No one stole from fellow spies or at least did and got away with it long. "I'll stock up on my personal favourites," he mused as he rubbed fingers along his chin in thought before shrugging. "Game starts at seven, so I guess as long as you're there before that time?"

It's the offer to talk that throws Steve off-balance for a moment, though he hides it well. Soldiers and spies aren't usually the talking types, that's just a general rule that he learned a long time ago. Then again, it's not like they need to talk about anything too personal. Granted, one thing usually needs to another, and Steve likes to think that he's got enough of an outlet with Natasha. Although it never really feels balanced between them, as Natasha often plays it closer to the chest that Steve does, as much as she puts on the front of being open.

That may be something they share in common.

Steve doesn't have to immediately reply to the offer, at least, since Rumlow keeps talking, looping back around to the logistics of their plans. Before seven, that's easy enough. "Sure. Is there anywhere to park my bike around there?" At least it's easier to find a place to park a motorcycle compared to a car, but Steve's protective enough of his bike that he wants to be sure that there's a safe spot to leave it.

If not, he could take public transit, but that's always something of a mixed bag.

He didn't expect Steve to take him up on his offer, but it was there all the same. He really could care less if he was confided in, though it would be a feather in his cap all the same if it happened. It was still no skin off his nose if it didn't, and he was confident enough to keep things professional between them at work regardless of what happened anywhere else. Professionalism and the ability to fake was something he had in spades.

"Yeah, there's underground parking, so just set yourself up in one of the visitor spots," he said airily. He shrugged his pack onto one shoulder and ran his fingers through his hair again, one of the few things he was narcissistic about really. "See you around seven, Cap," he said with a wave of his hand and began to head towards the door of the locker room.

Steve could have walked out with Rumlow, but the guy took off quick enough that it would probably be awkward if he tried to jog over and catch up with him. Not that he really had much more to do in the locker room, but he lingered for another minute or two and then headed down to the Triskelion's garage so that he could drive home.

First things first was a nap, since it'd been well over twenty-four hours since he'd last slept. Steve got about two hours in before he woke up and cooked himself a healthy portion of pasta, which he wolfed down as he looked up the directions to Rumlow's apartment. It wasn't too far, and Steve didn't have any trouble getting there. He found the visitor exit into the parking garage and then took the elevator up to the floor Rumlow had scribbled down.

As Steve approached the door, he felt oddly nervous. Should he have brought something with him? That would have been the polite thing, but he hadn't even thought about it. He did have his overnight bag over his shoulder, though, packed with his uniform and some other emergency supplies.

One, two, three more seconds to steel himself, and then he rapped on the door with his knuckles.

Rumlow left and hit the store on the way home, aware that he would basically be feeding an army regardless of any meal that Rogers might have packed away. He had seen the guy eat before, had even made friendly bets on the size of a meal the man could pack away - he lost of course - but he knew the actual numbers of calories required. A little midnight snooping at Rogers' medical records would do that, though he had almost been caught on that excursion.

He went home and made up both healthy and extremely unhealthy snacks up before he hit the couch for a nap of his own. He was woken by Rollins, who he told to get bent somewhere unpleasant before casually informing the man he was having a special guest over. Rollins cursed, clearly having lost some bet or another relating to who managed to convince Rogers to do something.

He put the television on just before seven, set out the snacks, which included a single plate of veggies and some chip dip that had too much cream cheese to be healthy. His place was always spotless to begin with, so he just changed into something comfortable and casual when the door sounded and he padded barefoot to answer.

"Right on time, Rogers," he said and opened the door to all the big blond inside. "Shoes off at the door, but otherwise, the rules are simple. Enjoy yourself. Bathroom is down the hall on the right and the light is just on the inside. Kitchen is there, beer is cooling... unless you're the kind of guy who likes it room temperature?" In which case, just plain get out of his place.

The first thing that Steve notices about Rumlow's apartment is how clean it is. It satisfies a part of him that has always enjoyed keeping things neat and tidy, something that existed even before the military drilled those habits in. Most soldiers know enough to at least keep their professional space in order, but that doesn't always extend to their personal life. Steve's relieved to see that it does with Rumlow. It's not like it would have been a dealbreaker, exactly, but it would have made him less likely to make any return trips.

Right on time is more or less the norm for Steve. He doesn't like to be late, even for something as casual as this. He smiles in greeting, nods, and then kicks off his shoes, arranging them near the door before he turns his attention to the rest of the apartment.

At the mention of room temperature beer, Steve laughs and shakes his head. "That's usually all we could hope to get during the war, but I can't say I miss that," he explains. Cold beer sounds great. Even if Steve isn't able to get drunk off of any alcohol, he still appreciates drinking as a social activity, and he won't turn down the offer.

Then there's all the food. Steve moves toward the coffee table in front of the television where it's all set out. As someone who has to eat four times as much as anyone else, even the drive over here was enough to work up his appetite. He doesn't go for it immediately, though, taking a seat instead. "Thanks for having me over," he says. "How long have you been staying here, anyway?" Since they're hanging out off the clock, maybe it's about time that Steve learns a little more about who Rumlow is as a person.

Ah, he'd already earned a laugh out of the big guy? The evening was going better than expected given the previous little 'reprimand' in the shower for coping a feel. He was amused that they were back to the war already, but he admitted curiosity as well. Books and films hardly could instill the full impact of those times, and there was some closely guarded joy in him in digging for little gems from Rogers for those times before he had even been a twinkle in his father's eye.

"I doubt you even got that on the battle lines," he remarked as he padded into the kitchen to pull open the fridge to pick through his rather old assortment of beers. He wasn't a big drinker, mostly because he wasn't home much, but he liked the stuff that had been in production longer than he had been alive. "You like lager or ale? I've got both, since I didn't know what tickled your fancy."

He leaned more into the fridge to peer inside, making a bit of noise moving stuff around just because he could. He could hear Rogers in the next room, but the game wasn't on so there was no rush to hop into the seat himself. "This place? Huh, must have had it going on six years now? The view sucks, but it's as close to home as I care to get."

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.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 6

Whoa, big guy. (For assembles)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject