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There was barely a day of the year that Steve Rogers liked more than Halloween. He was overjoyed, seeing little Hulks, little Iron Men, little captain Americas roaming the streets – and all the other costumes were pretty neat, too. Excited for all the kids, Steve had prepared little packages of candy, each with a strip of paper, on which he had written “helpful advice for America's youth”.
Tony could not help but mock him for it, it was a silly gesture. These days, kids would not appreciate advice, not even if it came from Captain America himself. Hell, Tony guessed that most of those brats could not even read. And really, a few hours after the first kids had started showing up, the floor outside Steve's front door was littered with the small white strips.
However, when the spectacle was all over and the kids in bed and a slightly disheartened Steve Rogers went outside to clean up the mess, he made out a trail of strips, leading away from the door, towards the backyard. He followed it, curiously, but when he found who was sitting at its end, a huge bag of candy before him, Steve pursed his lips and frowned, his hands on his hips.
“Tony”, he started, but was interrupted by Tony hissing and shushing at him, waving for him to crouch down next to him. Tony Stark was peering through the bushes with an intent look on his face.
“Tony did you steal candy from the kids?”, Steve asked, his voice a disappointed whisper. Tony threw a hurt look at him, pressing his hand against his chest in a dramatic gesture.
“I would never... Steve! I paid them. They chose to trade and learned the valuable lesson that money can get you what you want. That's better than what you did to our rainforests by writing all those notes.” He nodded over at the paper strips on the floor, a sleek smile on his face that hid his actual amusement. Steve did not look amused. At all.
“Steve, it's Snickers bars. They're my favourite. I couldn't just...” Those were puppy eyes, looking up at Steve, tempting him to ruffle Tony's hair and rub his belly and forget about his sins. He was about to reply, when his attention was drawn to what was going on on the other side of the bush they were crouching behind. What caught his – and Tony's – attention, was a moan.
Both men leaned forward, peering through the twigs. Before them was someone they both knew well – and they knew he liked his alcohol just as much as Tony did, but he could not handle it as well.
“Barton...! What... what is he doing?”, Steve whispered and Tony shrugged – but the wide, white-teethed grin on his face gave away that he knew. Frowning, Steve turned back to Clint Barton, watched his hands gently hold on to what Steve identified as one of the carved Avenger-pumpkins he had placed all around the house.
Clint's face was flushed, focused. He was clearly drunk out of his mind, but there was more, something Steve was not quite sure he understood, something like... arousal? Biting his lower lip, Clint kept holding on to the orange mass before him, his body shifting oddly. His pants hung around his ankles. Clint's hips and legs shone white against the night, the flickering of candle light setting a warm tone to the edges of his body.
The light danced, the shadows shifted, but their movement was countered by an independent, yet consonant melody, the swaying of their canvas, gently rocking back and forth.
“He's fucking a pumpkin!”, Tony gasped, his face somewhere between amused and concerned.
“No he's not”, Steve objected, incredulous, horrified. He stared at the scene and groaned.
“Oh my god, he is...”
Clint's movement became rougher, quicker, jerkier. It was like watching a car accident – there was nothing Tony or Steve could do to stop it (and if there was, doing it would have been way too embarrassing), but they also could not look away. It was... intense. Their shared voyeurism created a sense of privacy that had its own erotic feel to it.
“It's the Hulk”, Steve mumbled, flinching as Clint let out an animalistic grunt.
Tony shot a questioning look at him.
“The pumpkin”, Steve whispered. “I made them look like the Avengers. He... Clint is... It's the Hulk.”
Tony grinned. Steve looked at him and felt his face split wide as well and soon they gasped and giggled as quietly as possible, chortling and choking like little boys. When they calmed down, they went back to watching Clint, although Steve was a lot more subtle about his interest in what was going on than Tony, who bluntly offered his comrade a Snickers to go with the show.
“No – Tony, I – we shouldn't... fine, give me one. But we really shouldn't...”
But they did. They stayed and watched. Watched as Clint gripped the back of Pumpkin-hulk's head, not finding the friction he desired within the hollowed-out fruit. Not that he minded, he was drunk past the point of minding.
“What are we... oh dear lord.” That was Bruce Banner's voice coming from somewhere behind Tony and Steve – the latter one blushing immediately, horribly ashamed to have been caught peeping – while Tony just shushed at Bruce and gestured at him, as he had gestured at Steve before, to crouch down.
“Oh, seriously guys, really?”, Bruce said, shaking his head at them. He could not quite hide his amusement, though. Clint Barton getting it on with a pumpkin was one thing, but Captain America peeping on him? That was hilarious. “Tony, you have a horrible influence on the Captain”, Bruce said and his tongue seemed heavier than it usually was.
“Oh, is someone drunk here? I hear drunk”, Tony replied lightly, drawing Bruce closer and – to Steve's great shock – kissed him. On the mouth. With what seemed to be his tongue. And Bruce did not even seem to mind. Suddenly there were hands everywhere, on the back of Bruce's head, ruffling his hair, under Tony's shirt, under Bruce's pants on his firm ass...
Steve found it was getting a little hard to breathe, but he did not move, unable to take his eyes off the show. And where else could he have looked? At Barton and the pumpkin?
A shirt in his face brought him back to reality, and he held on to it as though it was a life line, while he watched both Stark and Banner losing their pants. A little voice in his mind mused about just how drunk Bruce was to do this. Another voice guessed that it was not much of an assumption that it was not the first time Tony was having sex in public.
Their limbs entangled, Steve was not even sure who was doing what – and he was not sure he wanted to look closely enough to find out. Yet, he was still sitting in his spot, even risking a look through the twigs, still clinging to the shirt. It smelled of Tony Stark and Steve was surprised by how good it smelled.
There was a hint of expensive alcohol to it, a tinge of metal and static, but most of it was just... Tony. And as every one around him was busy, Steve risked to lift the shirt to his face and smell it, all the while watching muscles shift beneath skin, watching two bodies heat up, watching the sheen of sex sweat reflect the candle light. Gasps and grunts and groans were ringing in his ears and Steve felt a strange mixture of arousal and panic.
He was a grown man, older than any of the others, except for Thor, but he had never felt... exposed like this. Because, in fact, he had never been exposed like this, not to certain things and he was too civilized, he thought, too... proper to even have thought about it.
Long after Tony and Bruce were done and had passed out on the lawn, Steve was jerked out of his thoughts by a body thumping down next to him.
“Come sleep”, a deep, rumbling voice said and Steve felt a heavy, muscular arm around his shoulders, dragging him down to lie on the ground, wet with dew. It was chilly, he had not even noticed until now and so he was almost glad for Thor's big body huddling around him, holding him close, as though he was a plush toy.
There was a distraught look on Steve Roger's face when he finally found the courage to sleep and let his subconscious work on what he had witnessed that night.