Steve Loses His Shirt
His first thought was that it had something to do with the ice. That being under so long had affected part of his brain, despite the serum. He also considered, briefly, the notion of a HYDRA conspiracy. Because no matter what he did, no matter where he hid them or how many he bought, Steve Rogers was perpetually shirtless.
He figured it out soon enough, when he saw the women in his life wearing clothes, his clothes, that were comically large on them. He wasn’t sure who started it, Angie or Peggy, but one day his shirts were no longer his own.
When the two of them came home from missions, dead tired and ready to drop, Peggy would throw her own clothing aside, and grab whatever she found from the nearest drawer. More often than not, that drawer would be his. Or they’d return to the mansion to find Angie curled up on the couch, passed out after waiting up for them. Again, in one of Steve’s shirts.
Angie said later that it comforted her to wear it, to have that piece of him while he was away. He asked her once why she didn’t do something similar with Peggy’s clothing. Her response was to snatch both his hands, place them on her breasts, and ask that he compare them to that same part of Peggy’s anatomy. He’d blushed, though he really should be passed that by now, and she’d muttered about how size does in fact matter in certain situations, smirking at him the whole time.
Ask a silly question.
And then there were the too few nights when he and Peggy weren’t buried in SSR business, when Angie wasn’t at some audition or rehearsal or meeting with a director. The following mornings, Peggy and Angie would grab whatever was nearest in the large pile of discarded clothing. Which usually meant that he was out two more shirts.
He was starting to get odd looks every time he stopped into the closest clothing store. Granted, he usually got some form of unwanted attention whenever he went out, Captain America and all that. But one man, super soldier or not, didn’t typically go through so many shirts.
He bought long-sleeved and short, it didn’t matter. He thought for a microsecond of having Jarvis do some shopping for him, just to avoid another trip, but dismissed the idea. Involving Jarvis could mean involving Howard, and he didn’t want to discuss this particular issue with his old friend.
So, for the third time in as many weeks, Steve found himself completely out of shirts, his torso bare as he exited the bedroom. Following the scent of bacon, he went to the kitchen and grinned. Peggy was sipping tea at the table, wearing nothing but a blue long-sleeve of his. He couldn’t decide if he preferred this over the form-fitting skirts and dresses she wore outside the house, but he definitely didn’t disapprove. Angie was manning the stove, dressed in a gray tee that Steve quite liked, but hadn’t worn himself in weeks.
Peggy was closer, so he went to her first, kissing her while she was in between sips of tea. “That’s mine,” he said, fingering the shirt collar.
“So it is. Would you like it back?”
She moved as if to strip it off right there, and Steve gulped. They both had very important national security issues to deal with today. He wasn’t exactly sure what those were at the moment, couldn’t really think, but he knew they were supposed to leave the house at a reasonable hour. “Nah,” he said, brushing a curl from her face, savoring the way she leaned into his touch. “Looks better on you, anyway.”
“Suit yourself,” Peggy replied, smoothing down the edges of the shirt.
Steve swallowed again. The look she gave him while doing this was positively unfair. Shaking his head, he crossed to Angie, wrapping his arms around her from behind. “Smells good.”
“’Course it does, I’m making it.” Setting aside the spatula she’d been using to flip pancakes, she turned in his arms, tracing her fingers over his exposed chest. “Forget to do laundry again, soldier?”
“Somehow I don’t think that’s the problem.” Steve rather missed that shirt. But not as much as he enjoyed feeling the heat of Angie’s body through the thin material as she pressed against him, still mapping his chest as if she hadn’t done it a thousand times. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were stealing my clothes so I’d have to walk around shirtless all day.”
Peggy had picked up the morning paper, didn’t look away from it when she answered. “Oh look, darling. He’s finally caught on.”
Steve blinked. He’d been joking. Or thought he had. It was hard to concentrate with both of them half naked like this. “You could’ve just asked.”
Angie placed a kiss to his sternum that turned into a light nip before turning back to her cooking. “Eh, it was more fun this way. We had a bet goin on how long it would take for you to figure it out or make us give you your shirts back. Also, they’re real comfortable.”
“That reminds me. You lost; I’ll be taking the blue plaid.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t be a sore winner, English.”
Staring between them, Steve decided that most of his paycheck for the foreseeable future would go to the purchase of shirts.
He wasn’t going to complain about that. Not at all.