Work Text:
“Ned Ned Ned Ned Ned pick up Ned,” Peter hissed into his cell phone, as he dove into the closet, praying the coats, capes and tac gear would dampen sound enough that no superpeople outside would hear him dialing a friend. Hopefully the psychic types would be too busy monopolizing the better end of the buffet to pay attention, too. He shut the door behind him and tripped over someone’s pink and purple helmet, which had a lot of spikes, and he spent a little while hopping on one foot and clutching his toes while he tried not to knock Dr. Banner’s spare emergency pants off their hanger.
“Mnguh?” Ned said. It was...Peter wriggled his foot and did some quick math. It was still 2 am for Ned because of his study abroad thing, he realized, but this was an emergency. He slouched down under a row of custom motorcycle helmets and clutched the phone.
“Ned,” Peter said, like a drowning man sighting land. Was that an Iron Man boot under his butt? “Ned. Captain America and the Winter Soldier are fake dating right now and it is the most painfully awkward and obvious thing I have ever seen, all of us want to die, Ned.”
“...what?” Ned managed, sounding like he might be almost fully awake now, thank god. Peter needed help.
“It’s all my fault too!” Peter wailed, before remembering he was supposed to be keeping a low profile. He slapped a hand over his own mouth and muttered through his fingers instead. “It’s my fault. We’ve been doing these training things? And Agent Romanoff kept bugging Captain Rogers about dating, and he got all sarcastic about it, and so later while we were trying to ricochet his shield off Mr. Stark without knocking him out of the air I told him, oh god, I said, ‘why don’t you just tell her you and Sergeant Barnes are together,’ and he got this look.”
Ned was finally awake now. Peter heard him sit up in bed. “Captain America is dating the Winter Soldier?” he gasped, cycling poorly through the conversation up to that point. “Oh my god! It makes so much sense!”
“No.” Peter peeked out of the door to see if anyone had heard him. No one was looking, thank god. He crept back into the assorted jackets and kevlar. There was an actual cloak in there with him and Peter was about 84% certain it was moving on its own. “No, it does not make sense, they are fake dating to get Agent Romanoff to leave them alone, and it is horrible, Ned!”
“No, wait, Peter, this makes perfect sense!” Peter could head the shuffle of bedclothes as Ned launched himself over to his computer and started typing frantically. “They’re not fake dating! They’re admitting they’re dating! It’s so obvious! Why didn’t anyone realize it before?”
“They’re not dating, Ned,” Peter hissed, shaking the phone a little like he could shake some sense into the conversation.
“They are,” Ned crowed, the sounds of typing ratcheting up. “Captain Rogers didn’t go AWOL in an uncertain political situation where he was only on the front out of the good graces of show business, this close to getting yanked back and sent to a research basement, and then storm a HYDRA weapons facility completely on his own with limited knowledge of his own abilities miles from any hope of rescue for his roommate! I can’t believe anyone ever thought he did! He did it for his ‘roommate’.”
Peter digested this. Ned had managed to convey about three distinct sets of air quotes around ‘roommate’ over the phone. “Captain Rogers still tucks his shirts into his pants,” he said, doubtfully. “Not in an ironically fashionable way. Just, like. In a dad way.”
“Dads can have boyfriends,” Ned sniffed. “Don’t get distracted by stereotypes. Oh my god, this person on reddit says the analysis of his leaked hospital records implies he didn’t make any attempts to stop the last several wounds he got from the helicarriers. He probably just couldn’t bear to fight his true love. And they found his shield like, miles from his unconscious body. Like he just threw it away!”
Peter frowned. “Ned,” he said quellingly. “I’ve seen Sergeant Barnes fight. Captain Rogers was probably just busy trying to keep from getting eviscerated and took a blow somewhere else instead while getting his shield yanked and tossed.”
“This is so great, Peter!”
“Ned,” Peter said, “Ned, they are walking around holding hands with their arms at ninety degree angles and pausing a full five breaths before calling each other ‘honey’. They look like scarecrows. Agent Romanoff knows they’re faking. Mr. Stark knows they’re faking. The caterers know they’re faking.”
Ned paused. “Caterers?” he asked. “Where are you?”
“This is the worst part, Ned.” Peter wedged his way in between two huge boxes full of domino masks and a pair of katanas in the back corner. “Mr. Stark is trying to call them out on it so he threw them a party and then invited every superhero they knew. Everyone is waiting to see who cracks first.”
***
“You guys are a pack of assholes,” Sam said, trying to hide from the situation behind his drink. “Why can’t any of you just have a conversation about things like adults? How much did this party even cost?”
Tony just looked smug and went back to watching like he was trying to take bingo on his Awkward Moment Supersoldier Safari scorecard. Hell, he had the right. It probably wasn’t cheap or easy to book last-minute catering, all the roses in New York, an open bar, and enough chocolate fountains shaped like the Birth of Venus to feed the Avengers and everyone they’d ever worked with, but nevertheless there they were. Right next to the six foot tall ice sculptures of cupids bearing platters of strawberries speared on heart-shaped arrows.
What was even more impressive was how many superheroes, vigilantes, and connected civilians had actually shown up to watch the train wreck in real time at ‘Cap’s totally real not faked at all super-exciting congratulations on coming out and boning the Winter Soldier, hope no one gets anything cut off by accident’ party. Sam personally would have thought Charles Xavier, at least, would have had more class. But there he was, clustered with all the other telepaths in a corner near a towering cupcake display that would be completely useless if half of the party couldn’t also fly, sharing silent, significant glances and eyerolling whenever anyone else walked by.
Every time Steve so much as looked at Barnes, Wanda looked like she was going to cry gleeful tears and start a parade.
“I can’t tell if they think we don’t notice,” Tony said, squinting at the hands the supersoldiers had white-knuckled together like rappelling grips. They were dutifully circling the room in obvious, stilted anguish, saying things about how happy they were in anxious monotones. Steve kept putting a wooden arm around Barnes’ shoulders, and the actual Winter Soldier, Scourge of Hydra was blushing like Steve had pantsed him in front of the queen. “Or do they know we know and are keeping on out of spite?”
“No matter what happens tonight,” Sam decided, betting on spite, “Steve is not going to let me forget about it for the rest of my life. I’m gonna have to quit. Your issues are going to make me quit being Captain America.”
“They could actually be telling us the truth,” Bruce said doubtfully, looking over at them as well. They had now given up on glad handing and were trying to sit down at one of the tiny, velvet draped bistro style tables, bumping into each other in what was apparently a silent argument over who would pull out a matchstick chair for whom. Eventually they sat down with their backs straight like they were facing a firing squad and began lifelessly plowing through an assortment of heart shaped canapes.
Tony gave Bruce a level stare and gestured towards the superserumed dumpster fire.
“They could be,” Bruce argued, not looking convinced. Steve had placed one hand low on Barnes’ patella, and Barnes had gone 100% tomato red again as a result.
“Time to up the stakes then,” Natasha said cheerfully, bringing over three crystal champagne flutes engraved with doves and shoving them all into Sam’s hands. He juggled them like the gala pro he was and gave her a look. “Tony?”
“Done,” Tony assured her. “We just have to get them uncomfortable enough to retreat.”
“I’m getting ahead of all this and just quitting now,” Sam announced. “I’m all done. Steve can have the shield back.”
“Have fun,” Tony waved at him, still watching Steve and Barnes fail at romance, completely unconcerned with losing the one team member with any sense, goddamnit. “I’ll hire you back after you admit we were right, it’s cool.”
***
“Peter, look, I sent you another link. There’s this video of them kissing during the--”
Peter looked, then looked again. “Ned. Did you actually send me conspiracy theory blurry bigfoot video from bro_cones.tumblr.com?”
“Right? Right? Bro Cones. Because Captain America was frozen and he’s with the WINTER Soldier, it’s a perfect couple name, we just--”
“Ned.” Peter squinted. “I can’t even tell who this is. This is just two random dudes kissing in an alley.”
“Look at the hair, though!”
“And I’m pretty sure this, uh.” Peter was going red just thinking about it. “The. Er. The photo you sent is just a photoshopped picture of a couple of porn stars--”
“No, no, it totally is, but look underneath, there’s this timeline, right? The timeline makes a lot of good points.” Ned was shuffling something that sounded like paper. Was he printing this stuff?
“Ned,” Peter said, despairing. “Ned. This link is from do-the-butts-match on a fanfiction website. Mr. Stark can see all of my internet history and he has an AI with a whole processor room devoted to picking out embarrassing things about his teammates. Ned, this is literally the opposite of helping..”
“Ice Caps is real, Peter,” Ned assured him. “There’s nothing embarrassing about true love.”
***
Sam was going to leave the stupid hazing brunch right then and watch Life of the Emperor Penguin alone with his ridiculous StarkTech flatscreen like the responsible friend he was. Really. He was. He didn’t want any part of this, because he knew he would get pulled into something even worse, and he was working so hard to be The Smart Avenger instead of the dive-bombing thrill-seeker his therapist told him he probably shouldn’t so desperately want to be. Someone needed to have some sense.
But then Tony pulled a romantic string quartet out of his rich-people pockets and suddenly Steve and Barnes were heading to the same elevator as he was, looking like they were psyching themselves up to have the world’s most mechanical makeout session on the way up to their room, and Sam did an abrupt about face and told himself penguins were overrated anyway.
“Welcome back,” Tony said cheerfully and Sam swiped his disgusting vermillion drink and downed it. Tony didn’t seem to mind.
“They managed to hold a full lip lock until the elevator doors were fully shut,” Clint reported from his perch on Venus’s left...pectoral, sounding impressed and chocolatey. “I mean. They both looked like they wanted to die a lot, but there was mouth-to-mouth contact the entire time.”
Tony nodded, rubbing his hands together exactly like one of the two bit supervillains Friday had already turned away at the door. “Has the package been delivered, Friday?”
“Yes,” Friday said simply from Tony’s Star Trek looking wristwatch, sounding bored. “I am also inescapably programmed to alert you to potential blackmail information in Spiderman’s recent internet browsing history.”
“You think I care about the kid’s pornography habits now?” Tony asked, glaring at his watch.
“I don’t imagine you have cause to care about your teammates peccadillos at most times, boss,” Friday said pleasantly. “And yet here is all this code, instructing me to notify you.”
“The package?” Bruce asked, as Tony made a face that said he had programmed Friday to sass him on purpose and wasn’t sure why now. “What package?”
“Just a gift basket,” Tony assured him, “a token of our esteem.” Sam closed his eyes and wished himself anywhere else. “Hey, totally unrelated, let’s just check out the security feeds, Friday. Ooh, I wonder if the one outside of Cap’s room is working. Better check. He won’t mind, it’s for security.”
“I am Cap,” Sam complained, but when Tony pulled out a tablet and started tapping away Sam still leaned in to see.
After a moment, a brilliantly lit and tasteful hallway containing the former Captains America appeared on screen. They were neither holding hands nor making out. Steve appeared to be chuckling a little and rubbing his face in a tired sort of way, and Barnes was fumbling with his bowtie. Steve opened the door first and swept into an exaggerated bow, and Barnes lifted his nose into the air and pranced in. Steve followed, shoulders still shaking with laughter. The suite door slipped closed.
Then there was shouting. Sam couldn’t tell what was being said over the sounds of the party all around them, but Tony gleefully pressed the record button and suddenly Steve Rogers was flinging the door back open and upending an entire 12 gallon basket full of sex toys across the expensively patterned carpet.
Sam turned to stare at Tony.
After roughly ten more minutes of frantic muffled conversation, Barnes emerged. He gathered the colorful jumble back up and brought it inside again, presumably because while having a basket of dildos in your room was uncomfortable and embarrassing, it was maybe not so bad as having all of them plus assorted other devices scattered outside in the hall for everyone walking by to trip over.
“Okay,” Sam said, as Tony cackled and hit replay. “Yeah. I’m definitely leaving now.”
***
“Ned, I really don’t want to spend the whole party hiding in a closet listening to you talk up the exact thing I’m trying to hide from,” Peter said finally, after Ned had sent him an audio file from a fansite that had more roses covering it than Mr. Stark had ordered for this party. “I’m not opening this.” He batted at a leather jacket that was slipping off its hanger. There were about fifty of them and they all looked exactly the same. Superheroes, seriously.
Ned started playing the file for him over the phone.
“Ned,” Peter pleaded. “Ned. I don’t want this. Please make it stop.”
“It’s educational,” Ned assured him. “It’s art. The relationships are really well built up.”
“What relationships?” Peter asked, incredulous, and then really got a good listen to what Ned was playing. “Ned. Wait. Are you playing me…” He started, and the door to the closet swung open.
Peter froze.
Captain America 3, The One That Could Fly, paused mid reach for one of the innumerable leather jackets, and looked down at Peter. Peter, who was hiding in a coat closet, looking at a Bro Cones website, with steamy Ice Caps audio-erotica playing nice and loud on the speakers.
“Uh,” said Captain America.
“This is all Ned’s fault,” Peter swore.
“Is it,” Captain America asked.
***
“...And then I finally get back to my hotel room and find the bed covered in rose petals and a basket filled with vibrating rectal dilators sitting in the middle of it,” Steve said the next day, looking tired down to his bones. He set his coffee down and rubbed his eyes. It had been his idea to hit the cafe with Sam after their run, but he looked like he hadn’t slept all night.
Sam had no sympathy. Dude had brought this all on himself. “I had to sit through that same party wallowing in second-hand mortification too, man. And when I finally escaped and went to get my jacket, I found Spiderman listening to dirty stories about the two of you on his StarkPhone,” he countered, taking a healthy swig of frappe.
Steve looked up at that and opened his mouth like he wanted to ask, then slowly and decisively closed it. Maybe now he’d be receptive to what Sam was not too proud to call begging. “Steve. Please. Man. I’m really askin’ here. If you won’t stop pretending to date Barnes, can you at least do a better job of it?”
Steve looked offended, then clearly mustered up his gumption and - after swallowing twice - said, “I am seeing Bucky.”
“See? That,” Sam said, pointing at him. “That right there. Maybe practice saying it in the mirror a few times so it comes out better than that.” Steve glared at him. “Try a few others you know you’ll be called on to say. ‘I love him,’ and ‘this is my boyfriend, Bucky,’ and maybe ‘of course we sleep in the same bed at night, that’s a guest room’.”
“How about ‘mind your own business’? That’s turning out to be a pretty common one.” Steve leaned back with his arms crossed.
“No one is gonna do that,” Sam scoffed. “Let’s not even get into the whole double Captain America mythos you have going on--”
“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Let’s not.”
“--but at the very least you’re a classically sweet celebrity pairing up with the bad boy. Your coworkers aren’t immune. It’s a cultural motif.” Sam shrugged and took a bite of his croissant. “It’ll work in your favor.”
“My favor.”
“Everyone already knows you’re lying, but they’re all secretly hoping they’re wrong,” Sam said around the mouthful. “They can’t help it. Psychology.”
“I took down an entire government agency and was an internationally wanted fugitive, how am I the sweet one?” Steve demanded. “Anyway, you just made that all up. Don’t try to pretend it’s psychology.”
“I learned it in evening classes, I swear,” Sam lied. “And you two even have couple names, it turns out. Like J-Rod and Brangelina. I had to hear three of them from Spiderman while he tried to explain what he was doing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve said, sighing and picking up his coffee. “But please don’t explain. And everyone is wrong.”
“Hey, that one was better,” Sam congratulated him. Steve sat back and gave him the ‘Captain America is disappointed in you’ stare. Since Sam was Captain America, he wasn’t too worried about it. “See what practice does?”
Steve tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling like it would give him answers.
“Try holding hands a little more before you debut it in public again, maybe,” Sam added after thinking about it. “You two looked like a couple of gay zombies. Do it around the house a little first.”
“We do hold hands around the house,” Steve insisted.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Sometimes,” Steve admitted after weathering the stare for a while. “Sometimes we hold hands. Look, who holds hands around the house?”
“Clearly not you,” Sam told him, pointing the croissant. “So maybe try it a little.”
“Hey Buck,” Steve said brightly, bringing his head back up to smile wide at Sam. “Let’s sit on our own couch, at our own home, alone, doing nothing, and hold hands. Don’t worry, it’s so that we’ll be less awkward.”
“Say you’re doing it to piss me off,” Sam advised, eating the rest of the croissant and washing it down with the last of the coffee. “Barnes would walk barefoot over hot coals if he thought it would annoy me.” He started gathering up his things and flashed Steve a grin, and Steve couldn’t seem to help the answering smile, even if he rolled his eyes along with it.
“Barefoot over coals,” Steve said, getting up to follow. “Sure. That’s how I’d characterize holding hands with my fella, too.”
“I mean,” Sam said, tossing the paper plates into the compost bin. “You sure did look like it last night.”
“Not all night,” Steve said cheerfully, following him out.
***
“Let’s keep this up another week,” Steve gasped that evening, flopped over in bed and covered in sweat. Bucky was half under him, sticky with water-based lubricants, sides heaving. “To spite Sam.”
“Baby,” Bucky groaned, chucking the latest sex toy contender through two doorways and hitting bullseye in the bathroom sink. There were five in there already. “Champ. You can’t say things like that. I’m not getting it back up for at least another half an hour, but if you keep talking dirty my dick is definitely gonna try the entire time. What, did Sam not believe you?”
“I wasn’t even pretending to fake it with Sam,” Steve complained, groping for a washcloth and halfheartedly wiping up. “He gave me pointers, Buck. On how to sound less like I’m lying when I call you my fella.”
“Eh. You do sound a little stilted, even when you’re not fucking with Howard’s kid.” Bucky heaved himself over to slide on top of Steve, catching his teeth on Steve’s ear and tugging. Steve made a tiny gasp and swallowed, already rising to attention. “You’re always trying to remind yourself you’re not gonna get our asses kicked and blue-carded out of the Avengers whenever you talk about me.”
“Yeah, and you look like a sunset on Mars whenever I peck you on the cheek in public, so I dunno who you’re trying to blame, here,” Steve managed, and inhaled when Bucky slid his knee between Steve’s and pressed his whole body upwards. Bucky snorted fondly and dug around in the basket for a new bottle of slick.
“Wanda was there last night. That kid could see everything I was thinking about doing to you clear as day, of course I was red.” Bucky said, fishing out something that said it warmed up on skin contact. “It was good to see her, though. She’s been really busy with that thing in Russia. It’ll be nice to have her around a few more days if Stark makes good on that threat of a superhero brunch on Sunday.”
“We gotta let Peter in on it if we stretch it that long,” Steve decided, and his voice cracked as Bucky took hold of his dick. “Oh. Oh god that’s. Is that heating up?”
“Mm,” Bucky answered, kissing him. “Yeah, Peter looked haunted every time you put a hand on my shoulder, I thought he was gonna choke on his mask. Spent the whole time in the closet freaking out to his buddy in Europe.”
“Let’s stop talking about Peter,” Steve moaned, as Bucky slid his hand down and started working him open again. “Oh my god.”
“Which of these should I stick in you, baby?” Bucky asked, shaking the basket at him. “Sure was nice of Stark to send this up. Got a good selection.”
“Let’s stop talking about Tony,” Steve managed, and grabbed a dildo without looking. “Here. If you’re going to fuck me again let’s not talk about our teammates while you do it.”
“I dunno. I bet you wouldn’t mind if I talked about Sam, though.” Bucky ripped open the packaging with one hand. “Yeah baby? Imagine if he knew. What if he got jealous? What if he--”
“No,” Steve yelped, bright red spreading across his chest in a full Irish blush. “Bucky. I have to work with him tomorrow, stop it.”
Bucky pulled the dildo from its box and flicked on the switch. Tony had, of course, made sure everything had batteries and was obnoxiously ready for use ahead of time. He’d even left a note helpfully saying so. This fake-fake-dating thing was the best idea Steve had ever had. “You want me to stop talking about Wilson?” he asked, lubing up the toy, then beginning the slow process of sliding it into Steve. “Or do you just want to complain so you don’t feel as guilty for liking it?”
“Don’t make me answer that while you’re-- oh,” Steve gasped, and Bucky laughed, so Steve smacked his arm and came on his face.