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Steve thought this would be another Avengers movie night, but it has rapidly devolved.
It started with Clint daring Natasha to drink something he and Tony collaborated on that involved about sixteen different types of alcohol. Nat didn’t even blink, so Steve’s not sure what the purpose of daring her was, but it led Tony to ask if Steve had ever played truth or dare.
“Of course I played truth or dare, Tony. We had to keep ourselves entertained. It’s not like we had TV when I was a kid,” Steve retorts, playing up the old man card. Bucky snickers next to him, curled up in a large hoodie.
Tony starts asking about other “teenage party games” that are the “essence of the American experience,” most of which Steve has played in some form, though he wouldn’t say would you rather was a fun party game and more a way of keeping spirits up on the war front. Morita always had terrible options either way, and the debate of which was less horrible kept the Commandos entertained on long treks through Nazi occupied territory.
Tony snaps his fingers. “Seven minutes in heaven?”
“Huh? Like you… try to die for seven minutes? I was dead for seventy years, I think I win.”
“Only barely. I’m pretty close, punk,” Bucky chimes in. “Could still give you a run for your money.”
“What in the world is wrong with you?” Tony says, shaking his head. “No, there is not a kind of party game where you try to die . Two people at a time are locked in a closet and get to do whatever they want for seven minutes,” Tony waggles his eyebrows.
“Like try to get out of being trapped in a cramped closet,” Bucky mutters.
“Hey, I will have you know that I had some very pleasant memories in closets–”
“Nobody wants to hear about it, Tony,” Natasha says. “Leaving it a mystery makes it seem much cooler. Hence why the game is played in a closet and not out in the open.”
“Did you play the game, spider?”
“Oh, yes. Though I wouldn’t say that the Red Room played seven minutes in heaven . More like can you survive seven minutes with another highly trained assassin.”
“Okay,” Tony said slowly. “Awkward. Forget I asked.” He clapped his hands together. “But basically the only two here who haven’t played are Cap and MurderBot – I wonder if Asgardians have a similar game – so I vote that we play right now and you two start!”
“Aren’t you supposed to spin a bottle to decide?” Clint asks from his place on top of a high shelf where he’s hanging his head upside down off the side.
“When we played, we drew lots,” Natasha says, filing a nail in between sharpening her knives.
“And we also voted,” Tony says. “And oddly enough I think I had the most normal teenage experience out of everyone in this room. Except maybe Bruce. Bruce! What did you do?”
“What?” Bruce mumbles from where he was dozing on the recliner. “I was working on a project using nanoparticles to detect several common water contaminants. Was that the question?”
“No, but that’s okay, sounds very important. Carry on,” Tony waves him off. “Who votes Stevie boy and Buck-Buck into the closet?”
“Never call me that again,” Bucky threatens.
“Roger that, Sergeant Eyeliner.”
Bucky sighs.
Steve stands and shoves at Bucky’s shoulder. “C’mon, Buck, let’s just get in the closet.”
“You can’t give me orders,” Bucky retorts. “Not anymore, Cap.”
“Tony’s never gonna let it go otherwise. It’s easier to just do what he wants and get it over with.”
“Yes, Capsicle is right, I will not let this go. To the closet! Or… pantry. I think the closest thing we have to a closet on this floor.”
Bucky shakes his head and huffs out a breath but stands and walks with Steve to the pantry. The door clicks behind them, and Bucky’s pretty sure he hears a chair jammed up under the doorknob. As if that would stop them if they really wanted to get out. “This is so dumb.”
“Why? We basically used to live in a closet by Tony’s standards. The inside of this pantry is almost as big as our old tenement.”
“The last time I hid in a closet, it was to kill a prominent ambassador. Now it’s what, to feel up Captain America?”
“Are you saying I’m a downgrade?” Steve squawks teasingly, actually putting a hand over his chest like he’s hurt, the fucker.
“Such a drama queen. Of course not, Stevie. Just a bit… childish is all.”
“Yeah, but I think Tony means well? He goes about it in a weird way, and I understand him even less than Howard, but I think he generally has good intentions.”
“You know what they say Steve – the road to hell…”
Steve chuckles and opens his mouth to respond when –
“JARVIS says you're just in there arguing, that's not what Seven Minutes in Heaven is about!"
Steve yells back, “THAT'S CHEATING! NO JARVIS!” And after a brief pause, “ALSO YOU SAID WE COULD DO WHATEVER WE WANTED.”
Bucky hears a noise of disgust from the other side of the door and can picture Tony throwing his hands up and stomping away. He makes eye contact with Steve and then they’re both snickering, breaking out into fits of laughter.
When they finally calm down, Steve leans back, and Bucy recognizes that pose, shoulders tipped back, hips forward slightly, arms crossed over his chest to show off his ridiculous muscles – arms and chest.
“So… we still have, what, four minutes left? Since we’re here –”
“I’m not making out with you against the pasta section, Steve. Also, Jesus, how much pasta do we eat?”
“Superheroes need a lot of carbs. And you love macaroni and cheese, sugar,” Steve responds and smirks, tipping his chin to indicate the pet name is as much about Bucky as it is about the… five types of sugar behind him. “C’mon, sugar ain’t rationed anymore obviously. You ain’t rationed either, are you?”
“Oh Steve, that was terrible.”
“But it’s working, isn’t it?”
Bucky snorts. “You’re such a horn dog.”
“I am not. It’s just such a romantic pantry. The lighting in here does wonders for your face.”
“Steve, even with enhanced senses, I can’t see more than a few inches in front of me. It’s basically pitch black in here.”
“Exactly. You’ve never looked better.”
Bucky snorts. “Punk,” he says, and shoves at him.
“Jerk,” Steve retorts, and pushes back. They scuffle for a few moments like puppies before Steve pushes into his space and pins Bucky against the sugar. They’re lined up toes to chest, legs tangled together and Bucky can feel his dick perk up a little. Good things usually happen when Steve pins him against some flat surface, horizontal or vertical. “C’mon baby, there’s only a few minutes left. They’re gonna think we’ve been kissing anyway with what our clothes look like now.”
“You’ll get carried away. You always do,” Bucky pants. “Never ends just with kissing with you, Stevie.”
“Never heard you complaining before.”
“Never been trapped in a closet with you with all of our team outside the door before. Surprising, really, considering all the shit we got up to with the Commandos. C’mon, Steve, you can wait until we get upstairs. I don’t need Howard Stark’s son to see my dick.”
Steve sighs. “Fine. But for the record, he wouldn’t see your dick because my mouth–”
“Wait!” Bucky snaps. “Jesus, the mouth on you. Who picked you to be America’s sweetheart?”
“I don’t know. I just wanted to fight for my country. Making me the paragon of ‘American values’ was a poor decision really.”
The door is suddenly thrown open and the Bucky squints against the now bright lights of the kitchen. “You better be decent!” Tony yells, a hand thrown over his eyes only for a second before he peeks. “Oh! Guys, they’re wearing clothes but they were totally kissing! Or going to kiss! THEIR FACES ARE VERY CLOSE TOGETHER. I DID IT.”
“You all were trying to get us together?” Steve asks, brushing off his clothes and straightening them. He and Bucky step out of the pantry, and Bucky claps a hand on Tony’s shoulder, shit-eating grin firmly in place. Steve tries not to snicker, knowing what’s coming.
“Sorry to burst your bubble, guys,” Bucky drawls. “But we’ve been fucking since 1935.”
They slip out while Tony and Clint start yelling. Bucky did promise after all.