Phil Coulson's collecting cards
If tu can tell por the title, this is going to be YAOI. Well, that is only if tu have seen the Avengers. Captain on cards? Captain America. The man Who has them? Phil Coulson. Captain America is in other words, Steve Rogers. I adore this pairing, so... Suck it up. #Capoulson!!! X3
Card 1: A huge problem.
His blue eyes. Blonde hair. Sincerity. Kindness. How the hell did I fall in amor with this guy? My dad would've killed me if he found out I was gay. But, so far as I know, it's one-sided. Especially since he was there when I woke up, muscles traced along his pale gray t-shirt, and that smile on his face. From when I was impaled por a cuchillo and all, eh?
And his words were so nostalgic: "If it was okay, I watched tu in your sleep." Then I swear to god, I saw those baby blues light up in my eyes for a second, and I just had to smile, and laugh. Possibly the best día of my life. "Phil." I hear someone say.
Smooth, and partially deep. An arm shakes my shoulders, and something blows into my ears. "GAH!" I jump, and blush, my arm covering my mouth half-way, and i pant as I backed away from the person on my cama quickly. It's Steve.
Smiling, with his ears slightly red, he laughs for a second. "I'm too old for tu to scare, Cap. " I rest my head on my hand, and slide my hand over my head, and smile at the man right in front of me. Something's off with that smile. It ins't as... Normal as usual. I hesitated for a segundo before he would realize that I would notice.
A moment of Silence.
Then I start to blush, as our gazes hold for moments. My lip starts to tremble, and I bite it to calm down. Then Steve looks at me for a second, and his expression changes. "Um... Agent Coulson?" He always calls me that. "Y-yes?" I respond. Shit. I stuttered. And I'm still blushing. He just stares for a moment. I start to get irritated, and not in a bad way. I look away, and mumble, "Stop staring..." as I shrink into the sheets. Then gorra, cap got up from the cama quickly, and ran like hell.
. . . . . . . . . . .
What was that? I feel half relieved, half confused, and a fraction worried. I hear a crash. I get up instantly, and I call out his name. "Steve?" I ask, in a loud voice. No response. I walk a little faster, worried if he got hurt. I think to myself, "Just what the hell happened...?"
Then I see that the only room that's closed in the hall is the bathroom (the avengers and then some were having a sleep-over at Stark Tower for the weekend.) I knock on the door lightly, because everyone else is still asleep on different floors. I just wanted to share a floor with Steve. "Steve?" I ask softly. "Stay away.." His voice sounds raspy. "Steve, are tu ok?" My voice sounded más stern.
I try to open the door. "Steve..." No response, just slightly raspy breathing, and the ticking of a clock. "Open the door." I go to the office on my floor, and find scissors. I return to the door, and work on the lock a bit. It pops open, and I see something.
His fist is bloody. The mirror is cracked into a million pieces, and the cabinet under the sink is gashed. "Steve!!" I shout, and I rush to him, and I put my hands on his shoulders. I hug him which seems a little self-explanatory to me, but he's still innocent, so I have to hug him to calm him down. First time I've done this, but.. I hope he KIND of understands. "Tell me why tu hit the mirror."
I let go of him, and he starts to tremble. "I..." He starts, and turns away. "m-made tu uncomfortable.." Wait. What? I blink several times. "Slap me." I say. "What..?" He asks in a surprised tone. "I don't think I'm awake. Slap me." I say. He smiles slightly, "I don't think I'm going to do that," he shakes his head, "Agent Coulson."
Bingo. Drawing someone out of a problem is always my specialty. But then again, drawing someone into problems is ALSO my specialty. "Come on, " I start as I get up. "Let's *yawn* get some breakfast. . ." And I scratch my head, and wipe my eyes.
Captain America's P.O.V.
Agent Coulson is so sensitive, and so breakable. I don't want to hurt him... I don't want him to be scared of me. I don't want him to hate me. Wait.
Why am I saying this?