Fandom: MCU
Pairing/characters: Steve Rogers x reader, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson
Words: 843

I kicked off my boots and dumped the grocery bags onto the table by the window, and then flicked on the light. Everything in the room bathed in an ugly yellow light, doing absolutely nothing to the worn and outdated décor of the motel room. As I removed my hat, shaking out my hair, my eyes fell on the pristinely made bed, pillows perfectly aligned, covers pulled tight. I frowned, worry seeping into me.

This was the first time we had taken the chance of getting a room, after leaving Bucky in Wakanda. We had slept in cars or the jet T'challa had lent us, but we were all getting a bit fed up by that and after doing some research and recon, took the chance of booking three rooms in the dingiest motel we could find a while outside of Quebec.

Natasha, Sam, Steve and I had all agreed on no room service, no breakfast, no housekeeping, just check in and check out. So I opened the door and stuck my head out to check that the "Do not disturb" sign was up. It was.

I quickly closed the door again and took in the rest of the room. Trash was still there, towels still on the floor in the bathroom, curtains still closed. I stared at the bed for a long while before it came to me.

"Even here, Steve? Honestly..."

"You do realise that it's actually a haven for germs under there?" I said and pointed to the neatly made bed as if it had just mortally insulted me.

"What?" Steve looked genuinely confused, as if a haven for germs didn't disgust him.

"We sweat, we shed skin and hair and other disgusting human… disgusting things. There are... things that feed off of it. By strapping the covers to the bed every morning, you're inviting them to a banquet." I was gesturing wildly to get my point across, annoyed at myself for not reading the article I had come across more thoroughly, so I could amaze him with the science of it.

Steve frowned. "People have been making their bed for ages, it hasn't killed them yet."

He got me there. It was still gross though. And it seemed like he could see that on my face.

"I also change the bed often, does that make it better?"

"Depends on how much sweating you and I do in there."

It never grew old, the way Steve blushed at the mention of the things we did behind closed doors because he was definitely not blushing then, at least not from embarrassment.

"Every day then?"

I had not expected that comeback, or for him to push me down onto the bed and make me forget all about germs. But he did change the bed more often after that. It still annoyed me that he was so anal about making it every morning, even when we were on the run from the government. God knows I liked to keep my home clean and cleaned it often, but the bed thing was too much even for me. But unmaking it made up for it. Crawling under the covers every night with Steve, snuggling up to him and kissing him goodnight. Or being filled by him, surrounded by him, feeling all of him.

There had been no time or opportunity for any of that so far on our journey across the world, hiding and dealing with terrorist threats the Accords would have us ignore. There had been no time for it the previous night either – finally being in a fairly normal bed had made us both fall asleep as soon as our heads hit the pillow.

I sighed and started to unload the grocery bags, wondering where Steve was, only to have him walk in seconds later, closely followed by Natasha and Sam.

Steve gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. "You got the groceries?"

"Yep. No cooking required, except maybe boiling water."

"I'll take care of that," Sam said and took the kettle from the desk and headed for the bathroom to fill it up.

"I'd boil it a few times before actually using it," Natasha advised, frowning at the dirty looking kettle. Sam nodded, his lips pursed.

"You didn't run into any trouble at the store?" Steve asked as he helped me arrange the groceries.

"No. Kept my head low, spoke to no one, paid with cash, made sure to have my back to the cameras at all times. You got the other supplies we needed?"

"Yeah, it's in the other room."

"I don't want to stay here too long," Natasha said, peeking out through the curtains. "I think the receptionist recognized us yesterday."

"Just one more night, to rest up," Steve said.

"Speaking of rest," I said and pointed over my shoulder at the bed, looking at him. "Even here?"

Steve grinned quickly. "Habit," he replied. Then he leaned in and whispered in my ear. "I promise, tonight, we'll crumple the sheets and make up for some of the lost time."