"You said you didn't want me to hold anything back anymore," he reminds him, and his gaze scans his expression intently, making sure he's not actually disturbed by the confession. Blue eyes soften a moment later, satisfied Tony's only firing back his usual banter. "Anyway, I figured if you're gonna get off on the idea of me in nothing but the boots, we might as well address it."
He sits up a little, for the sole purpose of being able to reach Tony's shoulders and hair, petting him idly in return. "People have always been people, y'know. In the Victorian era, guys used to pay for women to beat them with sticks and belts. Humans just don't seem to know what do with sexual impulses in general, as far as I can tell. They get wrapped up with violence so damn easy."
"Remember what I told you about the USO girls? It wasn't as much about pleasure as finding an outlet. I think Des Moines was the only time until now it was about feeling good. And with you has been...the first time it was about...any kind of emotion."
Which sounds fucking tragic now that it's out of his mouth and Steve wishes he hadn't said anything. He looks annoyed with himself. If he and Bucky had ever gotten past their various hangups and horrors, he's sure they could have had something beautiful. But they didn't get a chance, and Steve and Peggy didn't get a chance, and neither did Steve and Sharon, Steve and Sam...he's lost a lot of time. He's lost a lot.
He shakes his head, jaw clenching briefly. "The point is, between battles, a guy needs something to keep him from dwelling on what he's just seen and worrying about what he's going to see on the front lines next time he's out there. You can have someone tie you to a chair and smack you around for an hour or so without feeling like you're cheating on the gal you're maybe in love with."
Or the guy sharing the barracks with you that you're maybe also in love with.
"It wasn't overtly sexual. Mind you, Peggy would probably still have been pissed off if she'd ever found out."
On the really bad days, he liked that idea. She shot at him behind the shield once, after all. Reflecting on what she might do to him in a state of righteous indignation, if he let her, used to be one of his favorite fantasies to unwind to. In retrospect, he's a bit ashamed of that.
"You're right, though. We were always a lot kinkier than the history books give us credit for. I used to help the prostitutes down the hall carry their groceries in, when we lived in the tenements. Ma said be nice to everyone, because you don't know what their story is. They gave us Christmas cards every year."
Which is the opposite of kinky, actually, but all he means to say is that he didn't grow up in some kind of Leave-it-to-Beaver bubble of wholesomeness (that was the 50s, anyway, not the 30s, and an unrealistic picture even at that rate). People fought in his neighborhood. People fucked, and drank, swore and stole and did hard drugs. People have always been people.
no subject
He sits up a little, for the sole purpose of being able to reach Tony's shoulders and hair, petting him idly in return. "People have always been people, y'know. In the Victorian era, guys used to pay for women to beat them with sticks and belts. Humans just don't seem to know what do with sexual impulses in general, as far as I can tell. They get wrapped up with violence so damn easy."
"Remember what I told you about the USO girls? It wasn't as much about pleasure as finding an outlet. I think Des Moines was the only time until now it was about feeling good. And with you has been...the first time it was about...any kind of emotion."
Which sounds fucking tragic now that it's out of his mouth and Steve wishes he hadn't said anything. He looks annoyed with himself. If he and Bucky had ever gotten past their various hangups and horrors, he's sure they could have had something beautiful. But they didn't get a chance, and Steve and Peggy didn't get a chance, and neither did Steve and Sharon, Steve and Sam...he's lost a lot of time. He's lost a lot.
He shakes his head, jaw clenching briefly. "The point is, between battles, a guy needs something to keep him from dwelling on what he's just seen and worrying about what he's going to see on the front lines next time he's out there. You can have someone tie you to a chair and smack you around for an hour or so without feeling like you're cheating on the gal you're maybe in love with."
Or the guy sharing the barracks with you that you're maybe also in love with.
"It wasn't overtly sexual. Mind you, Peggy would probably still have been pissed off if she'd ever found out."
On the really bad days, he liked that idea. She shot at him behind the shield once, after all. Reflecting on what she might do to him in a state of righteous indignation, if he let her, used to be one of his favorite fantasies to unwind to. In retrospect, he's a bit ashamed of that.
"You're right, though. We were always a lot kinkier than the history books give us credit for. I used to help the prostitutes down the hall carry their groceries in, when we lived in the tenements. Ma said be nice to everyone, because you don't know what their story is. They gave us Christmas cards every year."
Which is the opposite of kinky, actually, but all he means to say is that he didn't grow up in some kind of Leave-it-to-Beaver bubble of wholesomeness (that was the 50s, anyway, not the 30s, and an unrealistic picture even at that rate). People fought in his neighborhood. People fucked, and drank, swore and stole and did hard drugs. People have always been people.