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amelioraate
[ HYDRA, as it turned out, had been working on other biological projects, which Steve had discovered one night late in the war when he infiltrated a small outpost and found a number of wolves. At first, he'd thought they had just been exceptionally resilient animal specimens - he'd had to set the house on fire and trap them inside to escape after he'd run out of ammunition.
When the full moon came, he discovered that they hadn't just been wolves, they had been werewolves. He turned into a beast, ran through the forest, and when dawn came, he found himself miles from camp, naked on a bed of pine needles.
(That had been a little awkward.)
A few months later, he'd gone under the ice, and nothing mattered anymore.
Fast-forward a good few decades, and Steve's out of the ice and managing his furry little problem the best he can. Which is to say, he disappears once a month and hope nobody notices. That hasn't been a problem till now. He's ostensibly under house arrest in Stark Tower, and, okay, he knows Tony won't care if he leaves, won't tell the government that he's suddenly disappeared. But that doesn't mean he's not paranoid about it.
There's really nothing he can do, though. Sure, he could probably spend the full moon curled up in his room, but he knows Tony has cameras in there to monitor him (doesn't blame him for it), and that's obviously a problem. He'll just have to suck it up and sneak out.
He's pretty sure Tony's preoccupied with something - a meeting, genius Tony things, whatever - when he casually strolls out of the tower before sunset in a hoodie, baseball cap tucked under his arm. Once he's safely out of view, he puts the baseball cap on, pulls up the hood - he can't wear sunglasses right now, that would just look weird. It's not far to the park, but he can feel the tug of the moon in his bones, and it makes him walk a little faster.
Steve wishes he would've had a chance to scope out the park ahead of time; right now, he just has to strip down and hope to god nobody steals his clothes as he stashes them deep in a copse of trees. And then- then the change hits, twisting his bones, reforming his body. It feels like the serum did every time, hurts like hell, but soon enough he's on four legs.
The wolf in him misses the jungles of Wakanda; they'd been hot, but wild, full of animals to hunt. The city isn't the same, not when the park isn't big enough to really run through, not when the biggest animals in the bushes are squirrels and rabbits. It feels distinctly unsatisfying; he wants to hunt, to feel the exhilaration as he brings down his prey, the hot blood on his tongue. As he thinks about it, there's a rustle in the underbrush behind him, and without thinking, he tenses his muscles and leaps. ]
When the full moon came, he discovered that they hadn't just been wolves, they had been werewolves. He turned into a beast, ran through the forest, and when dawn came, he found himself miles from camp, naked on a bed of pine needles.
(That had been a little awkward.)
A few months later, he'd gone under the ice, and nothing mattered anymore.
Fast-forward a good few decades, and Steve's out of the ice and managing his furry little problem the best he can. Which is to say, he disappears once a month and hope nobody notices. That hasn't been a problem till now. He's ostensibly under house arrest in Stark Tower, and, okay, he knows Tony won't care if he leaves, won't tell the government that he's suddenly disappeared. But that doesn't mean he's not paranoid about it.
There's really nothing he can do, though. Sure, he could probably spend the full moon curled up in his room, but he knows Tony has cameras in there to monitor him (doesn't blame him for it), and that's obviously a problem. He'll just have to suck it up and sneak out.
He's pretty sure Tony's preoccupied with something - a meeting, genius Tony things, whatever - when he casually strolls out of the tower before sunset in a hoodie, baseball cap tucked under his arm. Once he's safely out of view, he puts the baseball cap on, pulls up the hood - he can't wear sunglasses right now, that would just look weird. It's not far to the park, but he can feel the tug of the moon in his bones, and it makes him walk a little faster.
Steve wishes he would've had a chance to scope out the park ahead of time; right now, he just has to strip down and hope to god nobody steals his clothes as he stashes them deep in a copse of trees. And then- then the change hits, twisting his bones, reforming his body. It feels like the serum did every time, hurts like hell, but soon enough he's on four legs.
The wolf in him misses the jungles of Wakanda; they'd been hot, but wild, full of animals to hunt. The city isn't the same, not when the park isn't big enough to really run through, not when the biggest animals in the bushes are squirrels and rabbits. It feels distinctly unsatisfying; he wants to hunt, to feel the exhilaration as he brings down his prey, the hot blood on his tongue. As he thinks about it, there's a rustle in the underbrush behind him, and without thinking, he tenses his muscles and leaps. ]
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Of course you aren't complaining, I'm the one doing all the work.
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Mmm, I wouldn't say that. But really, you don't have to. I mean, if it's that difficult and all.
[ So sometimes Tony didn't fight fair, what of it.]
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[ Steve shrugs and goes back to eating. Sorry, Tony, your mind games don't work on him.
Sometimes.]no subject
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Yeah, your life's real hard, Tony. That's why you've got a super-soldier hand-feeding you in your penthouse.
[ He's being sarcastic, but in a gentle, teasing sort of way. ]
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Yeah well I deserve it after you wearing me out with so much fantastic super soldier sex okay. Not all of us have that kind of refractory period.
[ But it's pretty fucking obvious he is not even a little bit upset about it.]
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[ He gives Tony a teasing smirk. The man can't be too jealous, not when he gets to benefit from it. ]
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[ He stops himself there, snaps his mouth shut and shakes his head before curling back up a little.] Nah, can't really say it would have served me well, I just would have tripled the number of people I slept with and that-- probably isn't a good thing.
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No. It isn't.
[ But then he distracts himself by polishing off the last of the bacon. ] You're going to make me fat if I just eat and loll around in bed all the time, you know. No matter how much sex we have.
[ Not that he can get fat. It's a lame attempt at a joke. ]
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Uh huh, first off, we totally can have enough sex to burn those calories off and, second, pretty sure your metabolism takes care of the rest.