mako_lies

Sam fumbles with the drawstring. The thick wrap of bandages catch against the fabric of his sweatpants and the laces fall from his fingers, and he curses under his breath, but isn’t ever quiet enough to fool super soldier hearing. 

That first dark night camping beneath the stars, hand on his dripping dick, Steve’d coughed politely from where he shouldn’t been able to hear the slick drag of flesh on flesh.

Little Sam shoulda gotten with the program there, but rather than wilting, he’d perked right up. 

Shirt stretched tight over his chest, Steve leans in the doorway. “Mornin’,” he says, easy as anything, “Still hurting?”

“…What do you think?” grumbles Sam, feels a crochety old man before the epitome of American youth. (Might be that Steve’s only lived twenty odd years, makes Sam feel every old wound that never healed up quite right.)

Steve laughs, kindly, and he holds up Sam’s sneakers by their laces. “Can I lend a hand?”

The shirt and sweatpants had gone on easy, but the shoes… Sam chances a glance down at his hands, so thickly wrapped he can hardly budge them. “…I could use two, actually,” he grins, holds up his hands for Steve’s inspection. 

Sam sits on the bed, spreads his legs wide enough Captain America could fit between them. Imperious, he lifts a foot, cocks an eyebrow up. Sam keeps himself from laughing, but the urge dies in him anyway as Steve kneels. Steve’s hand is warm on his socked foot as he guides it into the shoe, efficient, and Sam wonders what it’d feel like if he weren’t wearing socks. 

The laces get done up—and Sam watches Steve’s fingers, pale against the black laces. And Steve moves without preamble to the next shoe, fingertips lingering hot at his ankle and Sam can’t stop himself from wiggling his toes. Thinks he sees the gleam of Steve’s smile, thinks Steve should be doing toothpaste commercials. 

And then Sam has two tied shoes, but Steve looks up at him, catches Sam’s gaze, smiles slow, deliberate, before he rises. And he keeps looking at Sam, like he’s waiting, and Sam—he swallows, finds his voice, “…Thanks.”

“…No problem.”

“But…” Sam laughs, holding his feet out. “You didn’t double-knot them, soldier.”