Title: Fire Escape
Fandom: Captain America
Link:
On AO3Pairing: Sam/Steve
Summary: It’s past midnight when Sam wakes to an empty bed and the sound of soft clattering in the kitchen.
It’s past midnight when Sam wakes to an empty bed and the sound of soft clattering in the kitchen. He rolls over, letting his hand fall on the cool expanse of cotton to his left; there’s no lingering heat left from a sleeping body. Steve has been up for a while.
He’s still three quarters of the way asleep, and it’s tempting to roll back over and bury his head in the pillow and doze back off. For a while, he floats in that comfortable liminal space, listening to the whisper of snow on the window and Steve moving quietly around the apartment.
Finally, he rolls out of bed, wincing slightly as his feet land on the cold floor, and makes his way out into the darkened apartment. The kitchen smells like chocolate and the stove is still warm, a pan resting in the sink, but Steve is nowhere to be seen. Sam presses the pad of his finger to a spill of hot chocolate powder on the otherwise pristine countertop, brings it to his mouth: cheap mix from the corner store, the sense memory of hundreds of winter days, stumbling in and stripping off his boots and coat in a pile of snowmelt just inside the door of their apartment, his momma in the kitchen to scold him for leaving them there and kiss his head and hustle him over to the kitchen table for a mug of hot chocolate—
There’s a clatter from outside, a soft curse, and then silence. Sam smiles a little, drifts over to the unlocked kitchen window, pushes it open, pokes his head out. “Is this a private party, or do you mind if I join you?”
Steve looks like a kid caught in the act of shoplifting candy, his large frame hunched over awkwardly on the fire escape, a dusting of snow caught in his hair and on the broad expanse of his shoulders. A battered thermos rests on the blanket next to him. “Sam.”
“Can I come out?”
“I’m sorry,” Steve says, instead of answering. “I was trying not to wake you up.”
“Yeah, well, subtle isn’t exactly your strong suit,” Sam says, and hauls himself out onto the fire escape. It’s mostly clean of snow, but the cold metal bites at his skin. At least Steve had the foresight to bring out a blanket, and also he gives off heat like a goddamn furnace. Sam presses up against his side, looping an arm around his waist, and Steve huffs out a little laugh and tilts against him.
“I’m sorry,” he says again.
“You planning on hoarding all that hot chocolate?” Sam asks, instead of responding to that.
Steve laughs quietly and passes the thermos over. “Here you go. It’s a little strong.”
“What’s that supposed to—” Sam takes a drink straight from the thermos and almost chokes on the taste of strong whiskey under the sweetness of the chocolate. “Jesus. You can’t even get drunk, what the hell’s that about?”
“Doesn’t taste right without it,” Steve says. “You don’t like it, give it here.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” Sam retorts, holding the thermos out of Steve’s reach before he can take it back. This time when he takes a drink, he’s prepared for it. “It’s good.”
Steve is smiling a sweet, startled little smile when Sam glances over at him, all tucked into the corners of his mouth, and the city is spread out beneath them, pricked with light, and the night is quiet and soft with the snow coming down. After a moment, he loops his arm around Sam’s shoulders, a warm, heavy weight. “Merry Christmas, Sam.”
Sam smiles into the curve of his throat, the taste of whiskey and chocolate on his lips. “Merry Christmas.”
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