MCU Kissing Fest, 2015 edition!

[such_heights]

So in 2012 I ran a kissing comment fest and everyone seemed to have a good time. (And yes, lol, I did at that time believe I'd stop caring about superheroes by the end of the summer.) Let's try again!

Everything in the Marvel Cinematic Universe applies, so that's all 11 films as well as Agents of SHIELD, Agent Carter and Daredevil. Assume that comments may contain spoilers for everything.

THE RULES:

01. Leave a comment with two or more characters from the MCU who you'd like to see kiss. You can include a prompt if you like as an optional extra for the prompt-filler.
02. Reply to the comment with a fanwork in which those characters kiss. The kissing can be platonic or romantic, on the mouth or the cheek or the forehead or the shoulder or anywhere else that you like.
03. All fanworks welcome, including art/podfic/vids/icons/recs/meta/fic etc. Multiple fills for the same prompt are fine. Replying to your own prompt is fine. Anon commenting is fine. Coming back and posting a fill two months later is fine. Posting your fanwork elsewhere is fine.

I will link to fills in this post as they come in.

Fills:

Angie/Peggy
Angie/Peggy, home by strix_alba
Angie/Peggy, a good cup of tea by frith_in_thorns

Bruce/Natasha
Bruce/Natasha, hold by jamaillith

Bruce/Natasha/Steve
Natasha/Bruce/Steve, family by thebonesofferalletters
Bruce/Natasha, running by celeste9

Bucky/Peggy
Bucky/Peggy, test by gwyn

Bucky/Steve
Steve/Bucky, baseball by alafaye
Steve/Bucky, baseball #2 by gwyn
Steve/Bucky, soft by thebonesofferalletters
Steve/Bucky, candles by applegnat
Steve/Bucky, candles #2 by recessional
Steve/Bucky, heart by recessional
Steve/Bucky, rooftops by thebonesofferalletters
Steve/Bucky, soft #2 by recessional
Steve/Bucky, shower by recessional

Claire/Matt
Matt/Claire, daylight by pearwaldorf

Clint/Darcy
Clint/Darcy, milkshakes by topaz119

Clint/Laura
Clint Barton/Laura Barton, unexpected by kayim

Clint/Natasha
Clint/Natasha, perfunctory by recessional

Daniel/Jack/Peggy
Peggy/Daniel/Jack, drowning by sholio

Foggy/Marci
Foggy/Marci - alcohol and bad choices by sholio (TW: aftermath of an off-camera attempted assault)

Foggy/Matt
Foggy/Matt, hospital by sholio
Matt Murdock/Foggy Nelson, spin the bottle by devilc

Helen/Sif
Helen Cho/Sif, teamwork by longwhitecoats

Maria/Sam
Sam/Maria Hill, coffee by recessional

Maria/Wanda
Maria/Wand, broken by x_dark_siren_x

Natasha/Pepper
Pepper/Natasha, suits by isagel

Natasha/Rhodey/Sam/Steve/Vision/Wanda
Natasha/Rhodey/Sam/Steve/Vision/Wanda, team building by sholio

Natasha/Steve
Natasha/Steve, home by thebonesofferalletters

Pepper/Tony
Tony/Pepper, party by igrockspock

Pepper/Vision
Vision/Pepper, genderfluidity by jamaillith

Peter/Rocket
Peter Quill/Rocket, drunk by longwhitecoats

Sam/Steve
Sam/Steve, return by longwhitecoats
Sam/Steve, commanding by astolat
Sam/Steve, pool table by gwyn
Sam/Steve, bedtime story by gwyn
Sam/Steve, breakfast by monanotlisa
Sam/Steve, sharing a bed by raanve

status: Updated through page 16 on ?view=flat.

Comments

[such_heights]

Angie/Peggy, home

Angie/Peggy, home

[strix_alba]

There’s an awful lot to be said for living in one of Howard Stark’s side properties, but there’s even more to be said for living in one of Howard Stark’s side properties with her best friend. Like sitting on the green divan in the parlor, eating burnt lasagna on Mr. Stark’s fancy china, just because they can; and taking a whole day together to dust the daylights out of every flat surface and curved cranny in the house. Angie is morally opposed to dusting until the dust bunnies build up enough to start interfering with her knitting, but there’s something grand about putting on a pair of baggy pants and doing waltzes with the broom while Peggy laughs with a wet rag in her hand and tells her to make piles of the dust instead of sweeping it every which way.

“You take all the fun outta playing house, English,” Angie tell her. Peggy just throws the dust rag at her.

But the best part of this whole shindig — the absolute best — has got to be the days when Angie has a closing shift at the diner and Peggy doesn’t work late. Those are the days when she gets home at eleven at night, feet sore and feeling greasy from the inside out. If Peggy’s been at the office late, (or out beating up bad guys with chairs), then she’ll just have gone straight to bed, and the lights will be off. But other times, the lights in the hallway will still be on, and Angie can usually muster up enough energy to open the door and sing out, “Honey, I’m home!” like she’s the wholesome middle-class husband in a radio show.

Then Peggy strides down the hallway looking like murder took the day off for once — sometimes wearing an apron if she’s still making dinner, which is charming and highlights her waistline. “Oh good, I was beginning to think you’d run off with one of your charming customers,” she says, or, “How do you feel about mince pies?” Her tone is as dry and careful as ever, but her eyes sparkle, and she kisses Angie on the cheek and steals the hat off of her head. (Once, when Angie was feeling very silly, she’d turned her head so that the kiss landed on her mouth, and Peggy had swatted her with her own hat and smiled so hard that they’d both burst out laughing.) That’s Angie’s very favorite part, how there are lots of people who get to say that Peggy Carter broke their bones or injured herself to keep them safe, but Angie is one of the only people in the world for whom Peggy Carter will be domestic sometimes, just because she knows it tickles Angie’s fancy.

After Angie's taken off her coat, they'll walk together into oversized dining room table, and Peggy will tell her about her day while they eat. The worst part of living in a big ol’ fancy house with her best friend like this is that Peggy is an awful cook, but Angie just makes sure she’s hungry enough by dinnertime that it doesn’t matter. And as long as Peggy keeps wanting to play house and smile at her, Angie isn’t going to complain that much.

[such_heights]

Sam/Steve, return

[longwhitecoats]

When they lift him off the banks of the Potomac, it looks like there's no way he'll make it.

"Steve, can you hear me?" Sam says, squeezing his hand in the back of the helicopter. There are so many EMTs waiting on the landing pad. Does he need all of them? "You're gonna be okay. You'll be okay." His voice is thick, and he dimly feels Romanoff's hand on his back, pulling him away.

He gets to know the vending machines in the hospital way too well. Romanoff comes by once a day, just after sunset, and chats up the nurses before going to see Sam; he figures out pretty quickly that she's talking them into letting him stay the night, which he's not supposed to. He doesn't say anything about it, but they play a lot of card games together. She's eerily calm, not looking over at Steve's unconscious, bloodied body all the time like Sam does, but he guesses she's probably feeling just as upset as he is.

The fourth night, one of the nurses brings him a more comfortable chair and gives him a soft look. "I think it's good you're here," she says, and Sam wonders about that, but he just says, "Thanks. I hope so."

Sam re-reads his book. He goes through the magazines in the hall. He thinks about going out to buy a book or something but it just seems too far. The smell of the recovery wing lodges permanently in his nose, and the sounds of guerneys going by, the white and blue flashes of doctor coats and scrubs.

There's one really bad night where he just can't sleep. He spends the whole night watching Steve, listening to his labored breathing, worrying that the stitches will pop again. His blond hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat and his eyes keep fluttering. Sam's been up so long that the sun is coming up and the morning shift is beginning. He can smell coffee and hear phones ringing.

"You're in dreamland," Sam whispers. "Can't stay there forever, Steve. You gotta come back." He leans over toward Steve's bed. "You hear me? Come on back to me, Sleeping Beauty." And then he swallows hard, thinking of Steve surrounded by ice, asleep for not quite a hundred years.

And he does something, then: he stands up, and he leans over Steve, just like he remembers the prince did in the movie when he was a kid.

"Come back," he says, and he kisses Steve on the lips, once, very gently.

There's a beat; and then he sighs, sits down, and turns Troubleman back on. He picks up a magazine.

A rustling noise comes from the bed.

"On your left," Steve says, waking.

[such_heights]

Natasha/Rhodey/Sam/Steve/Vision/Wanda, team building

[sholio]

"You want us to what?" Rhodey says blankly.

They are all arranged in a circle, as per Natasha's instructions. Now everyone is staring at her since she's reached the second part of the instructions.

Natasha smiles her sphinx smile, and repeats herself. "You turn and kiss the person to your left. It's a team-building exercise. It builds trust and encourages team bonding. We did this at SHIELD."

"You did not do this at SHIELD," Sam protests. "Steve, did you do this at SHIELD?"

Steve is about 90% sure Natasha is totally trolling them, but he just holds up his hands. "Hey, the lady's in charge today. I'm following her orders, same as the rest of you."

"So, like ... on the cheek, on the lips, what?" Rhodey wants to know.

"Wherever you like. I'll start." Natasha turns to Wanda, who is kneeling next to her. The girl stares at her nervously. Natasha kisses her lightly on the corner of the mouth and smiles at her. "Your turn."

Wanda smiles shyly back at her, then turns to Rhodey, on her left. He gives her an encouraging smile. She leans forward and places a quick, light peck on his cheek.

"See?" he says. "Wasn't so bad."

Her sudden smile is bright. They've been getting these little peeks through the clouds with Wanda lately. Natasha and Rhodey can bring it out better than anyone else can.

"Your turn," Wanda says, a little more confidently.

Rhodey turns to Vision. For a moment the two of them stare at each other.

"You are supposed to kiss me," Vision says politely.

"I know that."

There's another long pause. Sam clears his throat. "Pucker up, Rhodes. We don't have all day."

"That's Colonel Rhodes to you, Sergeant." Rhodey turns back to Vision, who is still watching him with warm, curious eyes. "Have you ever kissed anyone before?" Rhodey asks him.

"No," Vision says. "I have not."

"Well, then." Rhodey leans forward. Steve's totally expecting him to do what Wanda did, and give him a perfunctory peck on the cheek, but instead Rhodey kisses him on the lips, and kisses him long and slow. Rhodey's eyes close. Vision's, after a moment, do likewise, like a contented cat's.

Rhodey draws back and sees they've become the center of attention. "What? It's the guy's first kiss! He needs to have a decent one."

Vision turns to Sam with parted lips.

"The cheek," Sam says. "On the cheek."

"It's important not to kiss people in ways they're uncomfortable with, Vision," Natasha says. She pretends to ignore Steve rolling his eyes at her, because hello, mall-kissing hypocrite. "That's part of what this exercise is for, to become more comfortable with your teammates and their level of comfort with you."

So Vision kisses Sam lightly on the cheek, a brush of the lips, in an apparent imitation of Wanda's kiss. "Is that done well?" he asks.

"It's perfect," Sam tells him. "Aces, man."

Vision smiles.

This is all working out a lot better than Steve was expecting. Nat's good at people; he forgets that, sometimes. Then Sam turns to him, and he thinks, shit. Somehow he'd forgotten that the kisses were going to come around to him eventually.

But ... it isn't awkward. He was expecting it to be, but it's not. They've been under fire together, after all; they've pulled each other's battered bodies out of wreckage. After that, this is just ... it's just a kiss. And maybe that's the whole point Natasha wanted to make. Sam leans in and gives Steve a light, closed-mouth kiss on the lips. His lips are soft.

Steve turns to find that Natasha has turned her face up to his, her eyes half-closed. Well. If that's how it's going to be. He kisses her very lightly on the cheek, just in front of her ear. "Wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable," he tells her.

She playfully scowls at him.

"Lunch?" Wanda asks hopefully.

"Lunch," Rhodey agrees.

"I would like to practice kissing some more," Vision says.

[thingswithwings]

Eeeee thanks for hosting this again, such_heights!

Natasha/Bruce/Steve, family

[rootsofthestories]

It's hard to say what drew them to each other. Steve and Natasha had gotten closer after some time and she and Bruce had a relationship that was uncertain but very much there.

Platonic was not the word to describe any of them but neither was romantic. It was hard to pin down what they were.

And as she looked into it more, she finds that Steve and Bruce were comfortable with one another as well. She'd drop in on one of them and they'd be together, Bruce reading a book and Steve idly drawing sketches of both of them on scraps of paper or in sketchbooks.

She'd spend time with them, have dinner or just talk. Steve would update her on how the search for his friend was going and Bruce would simply talk about how things were going in the labs and with Tony. It was casual but comfortable and she let herself tentatively enjoy it.

She's not sure it's going to last, it's hard to believe that anything ever would, but she likes to think she can have this for a little longer than most other things.

On her way out, Steve would get to his feet and walk her to the door, Bruce following. He'd kiss her on the cheek, smiling and she'd return it, kissing him on the corner of the mouth. Bruce always seemed a little unsure of what to do but she would place a hand on his forearm and leave a quick kiss against his as well.

They'd send her off with well wishes and as she leaves, she takes a little comfort in knowing she might have a place to return to again, even if it's only for a while.

[thingswithwings]

Steve/Sam, commanding

[astolat]

"So, uh," Steve said. "I know you said avenging wasn't your thing."

"Yes," Sam said.

"Right, and I get that -- "

"No, no," Sam said. "What I mean is, yes, I'll join your secret treehouse gang. Now hand 'em over."

"Oh!" Steve said. "Wait, hand what -- oh, the wings."

"Yeah, the wings," Sam said. "You telling me you didn't get ready to hook me up with a set of wings before you came here to ask me? What'd you think I was going to say? 'No, Steve, you'd better just keep saving the world by yourself with that dude who keeps building killer robots?'"

Steve blew out a breath. "Yeah, well."

"Don't get me wrong," Sam said dryly. "I'd love it if this job came with a retirement package and not just life insurance, but I'm sold on you needing more people on this team who don't think they can get to heaven on a rocket ship."

"No kidding," Steve said. "The wings are back at HQ, they're still building them. They made some improvements. Turns out we had a little extra vibranium left lying around."

"Okay, that's good, I'll take that as an excuse," Sam said.

"So, uh," Steve said. "I'm going to be your CO now -- "

"Just so you know, the answer to this one's going to be yes, too," Sam said.

"What?" Steve said. "I wasn't going to ask a question."

"Yeah, I know, Mr 'I'm going to be your CO,'" Sam said. "Since you've found yourself an iron-clad excuse for chickening out, I'm going to have to ask it myself. I just want you primed with the right answer. Say 'yes, Sam.'"

"I, uh."

"'Yes, Sam,'" Sam repeated patiently.

Steve turned red. "Maybe you should just skip ahead, since you've got the answer all set," he blurted.

Sam's grin broke out like sunrise. "Yeah, I guess I should," he murmured, stepping in close.

[thingswithwings]

Vision/JARVIS, corporeality

[thingswithwings]

Helen/Wanda, healing

[grammarwoman]

Clint/Darcy, milkshakes

[topaz119]

"Son," Darcy says, staring down in disbelief and, ok, horror, at the pink, sticky mess that is splashed across her blouse. "Of. A. Bitch."

Did she mention her blouse is silk? And brand new? And technically not in her budget even on clearance? Because, yeah. All of that.

Even better, the whole mess is her own fault. She knows better than to try to answer emails with one hand while she's carrying her lunch tray with the other, even if she hadn't sprung for a rejuvenating strawberry milkshake to shake off the doldrums of too many status meeting calls. She's just going to have to chalk it up to Monday and work out an appropriate consequence for her stupidity later. (Actually, she figures she can just hang the ruined blouse on the wall of her (tiiiiiny) apartment so she can 'enjoy' the view while she sits at home and doesn't spend any money.)

At least the guy whose back she'd blindly walked into had been spared any mess. From the look of him, he's one of the grad student/lab rats and Darcy knows they have enough to deal with just from trying to keep up with the head geeks. Darcy waves him off and gets herself out of line to go find the nearest bathroom to see if there's anything she can salvage.

Of course, Gaston (NB: Not actually his name, but it works better in a professional setting than The Dickwad From Marketing), who'd taken Darcy not wanting a second date as a threat to his social standing (hell, she hadn't exactly wanted a first date, but she and Jane had been new to the facility and she'd been a little lonely, honest mistake) is smirking at her from two steps away.

"Tell me, Lewis," he says, grinning like an ape (which is just insulting to the simian species in Darcy's opinion) at the rest of his group of slavering idiots/zombies/friends, "does your mil--"

"If the next words out of your mouth involve 'milkshake' or 'yard,' I will taze you until you piss yourself," Darcy snarls. Evidently, she has reached some sort of perfect storm of not-giving-a-shit, because he actually stops talking and just sort of backs away until she whirls and storms off.

Fortunately, the Ladies room off the cafeteria is empty. Unfortunately, the spill is even worse than she'd feared. She stares at her reflection in the mirror and really, just wants to cry. There's no way she can go back out like this, but it'll take hours to get home and changed, and see above, re: no fucking money to go buy even a crappy t-shirt.

"Okay, Lewis," Darcy says to her reflection. "Get a grip and think."

She considers her options as she peels the shirt off and wets some paper towels to start getting the stickiness off her skin. Jane probably has an extra lab coat Darcy can borrow. It'll look stupid, but Jane tends to wear them oversized, so there's at least a chance it'll button over Darcy's chest and not be indecent. It's at least something, Darcy decides.

"Okay, odds on Jane actually having her phone turned on and near her body?" Darcy asks her reflection. "Yeah, not good." Before she can fish her phone out of her purse, there's a knock at the door. "Go away," Darcy sings out. She's actually kind of proud she managed not to use any profanity.

"C'mon, Darce," Clint calls. "It's just me."

"I appreciate the support, but I'm not putting this damn shirt back on, so let me text Jane and try to figure something out."

"I got you covered," Clint says. "Unlock the door."

Darcy seriously doubts that—aside from his field gear, his wardrobe basically consists of UnderArmor tight enough that there's no way she could get her boobs in it, and torn up t-shirts with holes in strategically bad places—but maybe she can fake her way through the day with one of his jackets.

"Fine," she sighs, and flips the deadbolt. He opens the door just enough to slide inside, which Darcy appreciates, since she really isn't all that keen on flashing anyone walking by outside. Flashing the guy she is currently fuckbuddying with (and okay, maybe a little more than that, but they haven't actually, y'know, talked about things yet) is another story, but even that's not going her way, as it is definitely not a sexy-bra day. He doesn't seem to care, which is actually pretty predictable, but Darcy does have standards.

"Wow, you really did a number on this," Clint says, picking up the damned blouse and eyeing it with a semi-professional eye (Darcy has seen some of the shit he's come back covered in from the weirder Avengers' calls, so if he's impressed, she guesses she really did it up right.)

"Thanks, I hadn't noticed," she snips back at him, crossing her arms and glaring until he smirks cheerfully at her and she can roll her eyes. (Hey, snark is the lifeblood of their relationship. It just is what it is.)

"As much as I hate to cover you up right now, I brought you this," Clint says, holding out a plastic bag. "You left it at my place last month–I stuck it in my bag, but kept forgetting to give it to you--"

"Ohhh," Darcy says, snatching the bag out of his hands and all but waving the black t-shirt she finds in it. "You totally get a pass the next time you forget I'm waiting for you 'cause you're down on the range."

"I will remind you of that," Clint says.

"I know you will." Darcy pulls the shirt over her head, and in the first break she's caught yet, it's not even a bad match for the skirt she's wearing. Plus, it smells a little like Clint—the warm leather of his arm guards under the sharp metallic bite of his arrows, topped off with the mint from the gum he chews when he's on the range. Darcy can totally deal with wrapping herself up in that (also, she acknowledges that liking it as much as she does means she probably should take the hint and talk to him about what she thinks they both already know, but one crisis at a time.) "We probably won't make it til the end of the week before you're gonna need to."

She picks up the ruined blouse and turns on the water in the sink. It's probably hopeless, but she should try—

"Ho, wait, wait," Clint says, snatching the blouse out of her hands. "Nat says not to do anything to it, just get it right to her cleaner." He drops it into the plastic bag. "No guarantees, but if he can't get it clean, nobody can." He looks at where Darcy is staring at him. "I got it—it's your conference call day, right?"

"Right," Darcy says, nodding. She's a little off-balance, because nowhere in her life plan did the goal of having an Avenger dropping off her laundry appear, but it's definitely time to allow an exception to her No-Romantic-Shit-At-The-Office rule. "Thank you." She leans up and presses a kiss to the side of his mouth. "I'll be more demonstrative later tonight."

"Oh, good," Clint says. "Cause I gotta tell you that watching you threaten Dickwad kinda turned me on."

"Pfft," Darcy says with a sort of airy lightness that is just bubbling through her. "What doesn't turn you on, Barton?"

"About you?" Clint traces his thumb over Darcy's cheekbone, which does completely unfair things to Darcy's breathing. "There isn't much that doesn't turn me on," to which Darcy feels the only proper response is a for-real kiss, one that's slow and unhurried, where she's pressed close with her arms wrapped his neck and both of them licking into the others mouth. It's pretty fucking spectacular, at least until Darcy's phone bings at her and reminds them where they are.

"Definitely picking this up later tonight," Clint tells her with one final brush of his mouth on hers, and leaves her to neaten up her hair and get her breathing under control. She's still a little flushed when she follows a few minutes later, but there are definitely worse ways the day could have gone.

Definitely.

[musesfool]

Steve/Bucky, baseball

[alafaye]

"Sure don't make hot dogs the same way they used," Bucky muttered, glaring at the food.

Steve shrugged. "Almost does though."

Bucky shook his head and turned back to the game. "At least the game hasn't changed." He grinned as a minor fight broke out a few rows down. "Like that."

Steve sighed. "It's just a game."

Bucky snorted. "Oh, like that time you didn't pick a fight with those Yankees fans because they booed a player?"

Steve blushed. "It wasn't just that and you know it."

"Right, I forgot," Bucky said. "It was because they insulted his mother."

"I remember her playing ball in the street with the kids," Steve argued. "She was damn good."

Bucky shook his head as the fight was broken up. The game had continued on regardless. Except for the fancy screen keeping score, it was almost like the old days. Him and Steve, hot dogs and coke, watching a baseball game.

"Uh, Bucky, maybe we should--"

"Are we on the screen?" Bucky asked, smirking. "Hey, they even put your shield up there."

Steve waved his hand bashfully as the crowd cheered and Bucky laughed out loud. Glaring, Steve asked, "You think it's funny, do you?"

Bucky shrugged. "Not like they know who I am. Maybe I'm just the poor schmuck that got unlucky enough to sit next to Captain America. Maybe I wanted to be left alone, but nope, here I am, sitting next to you and--mmph."

Steve smiled into the kiss as the crowd went wild. Bucky blinked and Steve winked, smart ass. Without a second thought, Bucky pushed back and made it dirtier than Steve had intended.

"That's what you get," Bucky sing songed when the kiss ended a moment later.

Blushing bright red, Steve said, "Jerk."

"Punk."

[musesfool]

Matt/Claire, daylight

[pearwaldorf]

Claire knows she’s never going to get him to stop. It’s why she walked away to begin with. He has her hands, her skills at mending what’s broken, and her care, like anybody else who steps through the hospital’s doors; but she can’t give anything else. It’s hard enough keeping that phone by her bed, always half-expecting it to ring, worrying when it’s been too long between calls.

Despite herself, something unknots in her chest when he finally does come staggering through her door (she gave up on getting her deposit back a long time ago), because however torn-up he is, she can put him back together. So much for professional detachment at this point, she thinks, pulling out what she needs from her kit. They try not to touch any more than necessary, but they’re both human, and it’s hard for her not to offer a hand to grip when they’re waiting for a pain med to kick in, or lean in when he brushes her cheek in thanks. His fingers trace the outline of her face, light and reverent. She wonders if he has to concentrate to sense those little changes in the flow of air when she closes her eyes.

Stay, she almost asks, but she leaves the spare blanket at his feet and goes back to her room. Despite the late night, she lays awake, and wonders what her childhood padre would say about the nature of temptation. ("It's one thing when the devil appears in front of you, but something else entirely when you keep putting yourself in his path, my dear.") She sleeps eventually, and dreams of fire, and angels falling; their wings burning off on the way down.

Light is streaming through the windows when she looks up from her pillow. She stretches, shaking away the feeling of uneasy dreams. On the couch, Matt's getting up, wrapped in the blanket. He smiles when he hears her, tilting his head in her direction. It's a little sleepy, beautifully unguarded in a way she rarely sees, and she walks over, catching his face in her hands. She kisses him, soft but unmistakable in intent, and hears a little noise in the back of his throat. He reaches for her, and hisses as his stitches pull. She helps him into a sitting position, tucking herself against his side. He brushes his lips against her forehead, and she closes her eyes. They lay on the couch together, the sun a gentle warmth on their skin.

[musesfool]

Steve/Natasha, home

[rootsofthestories]

Home is not a word that comes easily to them. Home is a long gone place, or a place that never existed at all.

They don't talk about the places they're from, at least not most of the time. They make jokes sometimes but both of them know it's a defense mechanism more than anything else. Hoe is not a word that falls easily from their lips and both o them know that.

They pretend that it doesn't bother them, that she didn't need a home, that he didn't miss his. They pretend but it doesn't always work and even though they don't say it, sometimes the need for a home is too hard to ignore.

But when Steve kisses her, hands light on her waist and lips against hers, or when Natasha leans against him, grinning up at him after some comment she made, they feel it. They feel the knowledge inside their chests that says they may have found something worth calling a home.

It's hard to believe it will last, hard to think that both of them will make it through the next day, the next battle, the next year. Both of them are too used to losing what matters to them, but every day they wake up near each other, or she calls him, or he texts her, they both breathe a little easier for one more day.

[liviapenn]

Peggy Carter/Councilwoman Hawley, martinis

[liviapenn]

Matt Murdock/Foggy Nelson, spin the bottle

[devilc]

Spin the Bottle is a ridiculous game to be playing. Especially if you're out of middle school. It's exponentially ridiculous to be playing it at at college.

Which is why it happens at 2am after an hours long ultra mega insane cram session. It's the sort of thing that happens when everybody's coming down off the caffeine and sugar high and they're all drunk on sleep dep.

Matt's voluntold to go first.

"Watch out all you hotties," Foggy says, leering, "Matt's got the bottle. He never fails." God knows what will happen when it's his own turn. Well, at least he'll get to live vicariously, watching Matt mack on a hot blonde, or a brunette, or something inbetween.

He can hear the hysterical edge of his own laughter when the business end of the bottle ends up pointed his way. "You ... you can get a do over if you want," Foggy says when he gets his words back.

"No, no, no, Foggy Bear," says Marcie, the cute blonde two chairs to his left. "This isn't golf, there's no mulligans in spin the bottle."

Foggy isn't sure whose face is flaming redder, his or Matt's.

"Right, then," Matt says as he stands up and makes his way around the table, lightly touching the chair backs to guide him.

Matt's hands cup his cheeks, and an impish grin flashes across his face in the split second before he darts in for the kiss.

Foggy expected a peck. On the cheek.

He didn't expect a firm, full-on-with-tongue tonsil mining.

(Holy fucking shit, Matt was an expert kisser.)

And Foggy didn't expect to give it back, either. But he did. Just as hard.

(And then there was that little breathy barely audible "uhn" that Matt made when they finally broke, his lips all wet and looking even more red and luscious than usual.)

(Plus the hungry stares from three of the women at the table.)

Matt stood and, without a word, trailing his hand along the chairbacks, made his way back to his seat.

"So," Foggy said, before the next person could take their turn with the bottle, "as you can see, there's plenty of that to go around, if anybody wants some more."

[liviapenn]

Steve Rogers/Wanda Maximoff, shared life experience

[isagel]

Natasha Romanov/Laura Barton/Clint Barton, pregnancy

[isagel]

Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov, soldiers

[isagel]

Thor/Vision, role model

[isagel]

Peter Quill/Rocket, drunk

[longwhitecoats]

Peter slams the empty shot glass down on the ground, bottom up. "Hic. Seventeen. Your turn, furball." Peter slumps gently against the cool metal of the ship's hull, digs his fingers into the grass.

"You're done, son," Rocket hisses from the other side of the bottle, which seems very far away. Also there are maybe two of Rocket. Or just one very wiggly Rocket. "You are toasted. Blitzed. Pissed. What the fuck do they call it where you come from? Is any of this getting through to you?"

"Nahhhh," Peter says, and hiccups again. "You're not drunk if you can still hold on to the floor." And to demonstrate his point, he flops sideways and begins pulling himself toward Rocket, digging his fingers into the ground for leverage. He gets about six inches before dropping his forehead to the earth and groaning.

Little paws grasp his hair and yank his head up. Peter blinks. Dimly, he feels himself getting aroused. He's always liked having his hair pulled. "I'm fiiiiiiine. Let me sleep."

"Not before you admit defeat." Rocket is grinning, which is a terrifying expression on him. "I out-drank you. Now give it up, Quill."

"I don't usually give it up when I'm this plastered," Peter says blurrily, "but for you I'll make an exception. Because I like you."

Rocket lets go of his hair, and he faceplants in the dirt again.

"Don't make it weird, Quill," Rocket says. "This is about honor."

Peter rolls over. The stars are really quite pretty. His hand brushes the bottle. "Thass fine. You can have my honor. Hic. Come on and get it."

Silence. Peter watches the sky spin.

"You're not serious," Rocket says, softly.

"Whatever, man," Peter says. "Iss not a big deal."

The grass moves, and Peter suddenly feels those paws again, surprisingly light, on his cheeks. Rocket turns Peter's face so they're looking at each other. Then he leans in and--Peter guesses it's a kiss, kind of a tongue-twisting, toothy, sloppy kiss, and Peter's whole body kind of shivers.

Rocket lets go. He doesn't say anything.

"Thass nice," Peter says. "Good job." He reaches out a hand, meaning to pat Rocket or something, but he ends up kind of stroking down his fur instead. Rocket jumps.

"Whoa," Rocket says. "Hey man, I'm not ready for that."

"Cool," Peter says. "Sleepytime." And he closes his eyes.

He hears Rocket sigh. "You're such a fucking tool, Quill." But he feels Rocket's body slump into his side, soft and warm, as he's falling asleep.

[isagel]

Gamora/Nebula, first time

[isagel]

Tony Stark/JARVIS, reunion

[isagel]

Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, pool table

[gwyn]

"You know, you could have told me you were the Hustler before we came here," Sam said, watching as Steve knocked the last of the stripes into the right center pocket. "It's kind of depressing playing with you."

"My misspent youth," Steve said smugly, chalking the cue. "There wasn't a whole lot I could do, really, so I often wound up in a place just like this."

Sam had invited him here precisely because he thought it would remind Steve of the old Brooklyn he used to know, even though they were in D.C. and a world away from everything he'd loved. He'd figured that if Steve could deal with hanging around with a bunch of old black dudes, he'd have a good time, and Steve's eyes had lit up like it was Christmas. And all the old guys here loved Steve.

"I actually saw that movie," Steve said, knocking the eight ball in. Sam sighed. So this was…five games and Sam had barely even had two shots per game. "That was a good movie."

Clarence, the guy who ran the place, waved at Sam and said, "Closing up soon, eh, Sam?" Sam'd been to a lot of the new hipster pool places in town, but he definitely did not feel cool enough to play there, and none of them were the kinds of neighborhood joints where the manager would let you hang around long past when he should have closed, just so you could have a little privacy because your buddy was the famous Captain America.

"One more round," Sam said, "then we'll be outta your hair." Clarence went back into his office behind the bar.

Steve finished his beer and racked the balls. "You break."

"But you won. Again."

"I know. I just like to watch you leaning over the table." Steve grinned and his eyebrow arched. Dude had a pretty good eyebrow game, just like his pool-shooting game.

"Ah, ah, none of that, now. All these balls flying everywhere givin' you ideas."

"I also admire your cue."

Sam burst out laughing. "Shut up. You are terrible at this."

Steve cringed. "God, I know. I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry," Sam said, and broke with a nice loud crack, sinking one in the left corner pocket. "I still like you." That would probably be the only shot he'd get. But he made the next shot and the next. When he straightened to move around the table, Steve was there right behind him, grabbing Sam's ass with those big strong hands and lifting him onto the edge of the table. He pushed between Sam's legs and kissed him.

When Sam pulled away, he said, "You know, Clarence is an old guy. Probably give him a heart attack if he sees that kinda thing going on in his pool hall. I don't think they get a lot of guys kissing in here."

"Think we could convince him to let us close up?"

Sam kissed him again. "You're just trying to distract me because I might finally beat your ass at a game." Steve kissed along his neck, under his collar, and Sam cleared his throat. "But it's working."

"I'm so transparent."

"Hell, yeah you are," Sam said, and pulled his mouth to his again.

[liviapenn]

Claire Temple/Bucky Barnes, rescue

[liviapenn]

Nebula/Loki, wintergreen

[liviapenn]

Helen Cho/Sif, teamwork

[longwhitecoats]

"I do not require your assistance," Sif snarls at the nurse, who puts his hands on his hips. She's holding a hand to her face, which Helen thinks looks badly burned. HQ is filled with Asgardian warriors in triage, and Maria Hill is barking orders to teams of medical staff. Helen can hear Thor's voice booming down the hall.

The nurse looks intimidated, but he stands his ground. "That skin is going to get infected," he says. "You need assistance."

Helen thinks about what Jane told her, after she came back from visiting Asgard--about how many of the scientists and healers there were women. Nearly all of them, it seemed like.

"Darnell, I'll take care of this," she says, stepping quietly up between him and Sif. She glowers at Helen, but she doesn't say anything. "I'm Dr. Cho. You can call me Helen. How about I take a look at that?"

Sif lets Helen take her away into a side room, where she has a small version of her larger tissue-generating machine. Helen sits Sif down on a stool and asks her to keep her hands away from her face. To her surprise, Sif does as she asks, suddenly quite willing and trusting. Helen opens the machine, clicks through the job list to make sure nothing else is in the queue, and then she picks up the scanner and starts running it over Sif's burned face.

"You have not been among our companions long," Sif says stiffly, and Helen realizes she's making chit-chat.

"Uh, yeah," Helen says. "They brought me aboard the team after the whole Ultron thing. Seemed like a good idea." The scanner beeps, and she puts it aside. She starts a visual examination. The burns are bad, but the affected area is contained. "I'm sorry we had to meet like this. I've been curious about Asgard for a while."

"You wish to see Asgard?" Sif raises her eyebrows and begins to smile. Then she winces as the tissue pulls, and her expression flattens again. "Wise women are always welcome among our people. The lady Jane has visited us already."

"I'm gonna need you to hold still for this part," Helen says, fiddling with the machine. "And this might sting a little."

Sif snorts. "Warriors do not fear pain." But she flinches a little when Helen affixes the printer nodes to the edges of the burn, and Helen suppresses a smile.

"Just like Thor," she murmurs, shaking her head. "Okay, the printer's ready. I'm going to clear the tissue pathway now."

Microlasers switch on between the printer nodes, clearing away the burned skin. Sif makes a single, tight-lipped groaning noise and grips the stool very hard, but she's otherwise still.

"You're doing great," Helen says, and Sif glares at her. "Hey, this is my job, patching you up. You're part of the team. I'm part of the team. I'm just saying, we're, uh, working together well. So, good job. Okay?"

"Hmm," Sif says, unable to move her mouth, but her eyes lose a bit of their fire.

Helen smiles. "Starting tissue regrowth now." The printer moves slowly, and the new tissue begins to dance between the nodules. Soon, Sif's face looks entirely healed, as if it had never been burned at all.

The nodules blink green and then go cold. "Okay, I'm going to take this off you now, but don't move yet," Helen says. "I have to make sure the tissue is set before you can leave."

Sif gives a small nod. Her eyes follow Helen's hands as she plucks the nodules from Sif's face. She drops them in the chemical bath and resets the machine, and then turns her attention to Sif.

"Looks good..." she murmurs, running her fingers over the new tissue. "Mandibular attachment is holding; tension looks good. Labium superius--"

Sif grabs her hands. Helen suddenly realizes she's been running her fingertips over Sif's cheeks and mouth, which have become flushed bright pink.

"Sorry," Helen says, searching Sif's eyes. "I didn't mean to be, um, overly familiar." But she feels something magnetic that belies her words, making her lean forward just a hair. Just enough to suggest.

Sif kisses her, firm and a little demanding, the new skin of her upper lip fractionally softer than the rest of her mouth. Helen hears herself moan, and then Sif has wrapped her mighty arms around her and is dipping her backward, tongue parting her lips. Helen feels hot all over.

Then, abruptly, Sif is setting her upright. "Your work is excellent, Wise Woman Cho," she says. "I must now return to battle, but I look forward to working with you again in the future." She picks up her sword from the chair by the door and turns back to look at Helen, smirking.

"Yup," Helen says. "No problem." Sif grins at her and heads back out into the hall.

Helen sits down. She feels a little light-headed. "Go team."

[minim_calibre]

Melinda May/Natasha Romanoff, target practice