There had been a time when Thor had told himself he was going to stop this. Not because the sex wasn’t good, or he didn’t have a fun time pushing every single one of Steve Roger’s buttons. And it was something he only felt after the sex, lying there in Steve’s bed in his perfect little house, breathing hard and watching Steve in all of his well-fucked afterglow glory- the slight sheen of sweat, the way his usually perfect hair was finally a mess, admiring the small bruise he’d managed to put on Steve’s hip- and then he’d get a flash of it across his mind, this different life that felt so achingly real. Steve smiling at him like they were friends, equals, “I do not jest, Steve Rogers, you have the strength and soul of a true Asgardian warrior.” And every time it felt like being punched in the gut, taunted by his weird fucking dreams for all the things he probably should have had, but didn’t. Fuck Steve Rogers for making him come out here over and over again when Thor knew he’d be just as fucked up afterward as he was every time.
Thor always left fairly quickly after all was said and done, it was easier that way, and honestly, after he came what the hell was he waiting around for anyway? No one actually invited him over for his company. That was probably why it hurt so much with Steve because a part of him wanted to stay. Steal a little bit of Steve’s life, the stupid ass zucchini bread in the kitchen, tossing insults back and forth until they tumbled into bed. Something more than just sex. It was all the damn nightmares, whatever they were, Thor knew that, but it never quite stopped that ache from being real.
Or the fact that he just had to leave. As quickly as possible. Thor grabbed Steve not so lightly by the back of the neck and stole a few more hard, heavy kisses, hating himself for the strange, different kind of desperation in them. But the hell of it was, that being with Steve was a taste of whatever life he wasn’t living and Thor was addicted to it, no matter how much he tried to run from it. Like he was right now, releasing Steve and rolling out of bed, searching for his pants, already the smirk of the player asshole on his face, where it belonged. "Not too shabby, Rogers, I keep waiting for you to lose your touch,“ Thor said as he pulled his pants on, wiggling his eyebrows at Steve and reaching over to slap one of Steve’s thighs teasingly. "But unless you want to go for a round two, I got better shit to do. And I wouldn’t want to wear you out too much for your big date tomorrow.”
Sometimes, after they fucked, Thor would get this far away look on his face. Steve was always blissed out - sweat cooling on the small of his back, a pleasant sort of ache in his thighs - but when he turned his head to look at Thor, there was a strange storminess to his expression. It was masked well enough that he hadn’t noticed it the first few times, but these days it seemed… more intense. He’d begun to wonder if he was doing something wrong, if they should try and talk about it, but surely Thor would just stop showing up if Steve was hurting him in some way... right?
His suspicions were only confirmed when Thor leaned in to kiss him, and there was almost something manic in the gesture. Steve knew asking ‘are you okay?’ was a one-way ticket to some snarky, jarringly offensive remark, so he kept his lips sealed as he watched Thor tug on his pants. He yelped a little at the slap to his thigh, grabbing at Thor’s hand before he could move away and using it to pull himself onto his knees. He wrapped his arms around Thor’s neck, thighs still quivering a little at the sudden effort of holding him up. “By better shit to do I hope you mean going home and sleeping. It’s Deerfield - everything closes at nine anyways.” He pressed a soft, lazy kiss against Thor’s mouth, running a soothing hand down his spine in an attempt to drain him of the tenseness suddenly animating his shoulders.
“Thanks for coming over,” Steve mumbled, the edges of him ridiculously soft in the afterglow. He traced his fingers against the smirk on Thor’s lips before kissing him one more time, a hint of finality in the gesture. “Take the rest of the zucchini bread on your way out,” Steve cut himself off with a yawn, blinking slowly as a small, sated smile tipped up the corner of his mouth.
