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Brighteyes' Den of Iniquity and Justice for All
A fanish havens with utopian pretentions
MCU/Captain America Fic: Temperature Control (The Watched Pot Never Boils Remix) 
12th-Jul-2015 10:46 am
Avengers: Team players
Title: Temperature Control (The Watched Pot Never Boils Remix)
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe/Captain America
Pairing: Sam/Steve
Rating: PG-13
Content Advisory: prostitute!AU, so possibly some dubious consent related to that situation, but that's not at all addressed here
Author's Note: This is a remix of Simmer by Teaotter. Written for 2015 Remix Madness!
Summary: Sam is one of Steve's favorite clients, because he knows exactly what Sam likes.

Steve raises a hand to hail the waitress, purposely making his tight t-shirt stretch over his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sam notice, then quickly look away.

When the waitress appears, he says, “Could we get some more water, when you get a chance?” He beams at her, radiating good manners. Practically a long-lost Walton. She smiles back and hurries off.

Steve deliberately takes another sip of his Coke. He parts his lips slightly and uses his thumb to wipe away a stray drop before returning his attention to Sam, whose eyes have gone a bit glassy. “How was your mousaka?” Steve asks.

Sam has to shake himself a bit in order to tear his eyes away from Steve’s mouth to answer. “Good. Yeah, good.”

“Glad you liked it.” Steve’s never taken a client to this diner before, but it seemed like a place Sam would enjoy: welcoming, unpretentious. Steve smiles at the memory of their last appointment: him kneeling fully clothed on Sam’s bed, pushing Sam’s legs apart and grinning at him like a dog about to get a treat. If he’s lucky, tonight will bring more of the same. Steve’s been looking forward to this date, and suspects Fury scheduled it as a consolation to Steve after that weird business with Alexander, his least favorite client. Well, consolation or not, Steve intends to make the most of it.

He slouches a bit in his seat and idly smooths a hand through his hair, which he knows gives him the clean-cut boy-next-door look. The waitress sets down a full pitcher of water. Steve gives her a full-on grin and a sincere, “Thank you, ma’am.” He fills Sam’s glass first.

Sam takes several quick gulps while tugging at his tie, then watches while Steve refills his own glass. When Steve takes a dainty sip as an excuse to lick his lips, Sam grips the edge of the table. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Me?” Steve can’t suppress a grin. Sam is one of Steve’s favorite clients for a reason. He’s handsome, courteous, and best of all, consistent. Steve knows exactly what he likes. Others want Steve to be bad so they can punish him. They want to make him hurt, to find out how much he can take, to see him brought low. Sam, though… Sam’s different. He wants Steve to be good. And if he’s honest with himself, Steve likes being good.

As the waitress passes by again, Sam raises a hand and says, “Could we get the check, please?”

Steve quickly reaches out to catch Sam’s hand and pull it down to the table, then turns to the waitress with his best chagrined, sorry-for-the-fuss expression. “Actually, could we see the dessert menu first?” he asks with a self-deprecating duck of the head.

“At this rate,” Sam warns as the waitress walks away,” I am not going to last through dessert.”

“Relax.” Steve squeezes Sam’s hand and leans in so only Sam can hear him. “All the people in this diner look at me and see a polite, innocent young man. You’re the only one who knows that in less than thirty minutes, this young man will be kneeling naked at your feet begging for your cock because he is desperate—desperate, Sam—to taste you again.” Steve lets go and leans back in his chair as the waitress approaches.

She looks at Sam, whose mouth is slightly agape, and tries to hand him a menu. “Sir, did you want dessert? I’ve gotta tell you, the loukoumades are to die for.”

Sam snaps his mouth shut, smiles at the waitress, then looks at Steve. “Yeah, I think that’s exactly what I need.”
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