For a request that asked for B99 and tickles.

"Yes, Scully, I went upsie-downsies, and none of you will speak of it ever again."

"I am totally trying that tomorrow," you mumbled under your breath, your eyes fixed to the television screen, your hand lazily grabbing for more popcorn. "That's actually genius. Upsie-downsies. Love it."

"That's not even a real thing," Steve argued. "It's a TV show, (Y/N). You can't use that as a real training tip. How could you even get a solid hit with your guns upside down?"

"Oh, please, I can get a solid hit with my eyes closed and shooting with my feet. You're just jealous that you didn't come up with it."

"No, what I can't believe is that you've got me hooked on this show. I should be planning the timeline for tomorrow's mission, but what am I doing? Binging Brooklyn Nine-Nine and I've forgotten most of what I've eaten. You're a bad influence on me, doll. I've said that from day one."

"Yet two years later, you're still here," you chuckled.

"Haven't got any better offers." Steve struggled to hold in his mischievous smirk, watching you in his periphery to avoid eye contact that he knew could probably make him burst into flames from your reaction. What he had misjudged you for was your talent at staying silent and resolved, your glare holding steady until he had to finally move. Just a glimpse of your expression made him choke on his own air, and in that moment, Steve knew he screwed up.

"You wanna try that again, Rogers?"

"No, ma'am."

"Aw, look at that face. Did I scare you?" you chided just a little, poking him in the ribs playfully. "Don't pout, sweetie."

"I'm not pouting."

"A bird could land on that lip, it's out so far."

Steve stopped and rolled his eyes to look upward towards the vents in the ceiling directly above, as if he were expecting that exact thing to happen.

"What are you looking for?" you joined in, looking across the ceiling to each opening and beginning to thing you were the one being messed with now. But in a place like this, nothing was ever out of the question.

"Barton likes to hang out up there and eavesdrop when he gets bored. I wouldn't put it past him to make a surprise entrance."

Steve's eyes trailed down and towards you, watching you still looking skeptically at the ceiling; he took the opportunity and reached out quickly, digging his fingers into your sides and pulling you onto his lap so get a better grip.

"Steve!" you laughed immediately. "S-Steve...don't!" You squirmed and tried to break free, but you should've known that there was no escaping his strength. Tears began to build in your eyes while your laugh grew breathless and your heart began to race. For just a second, you thought that maybe he was following your command, but it all changed when his expression darkened and he stilled, instead taking your foot in hand with his other hovering just over it. "No! Don't you dare!"

"You never told me that you were ticklish."

"Because you weren't supposed to know! Steve, let go," you panted, trying to catch your breath. "I can't do this...here..." He was about to continue, but once your words registered in his mind, it gave him pause.

"Wait," he stopped with a new concern, gently setting your foot in his lap, though maintaining his grip, "what do you mean? Do what?" Your entire demeanor changed in an instant, and it didn't go beyond his notice; he sat up a little straighter and held your gaze, but he still wouldn't let you go when you tried to pull away.

"It's nothing, I just...I don't like being tickled."

"No, it's more than that. I can tell."

"Can't we just watch the rest of the show?" You tried to deflect him away from the topic, but all that did was push him harder to get his answer; you should have known better after all this time.

"Sure," he nodded, "once you tell me what's going on."

"Ugh, fine," you huffed, this time successfully pulling your foot away, "I'll tell you, but you have to promise that you won't laugh, and that you won't hold this over my head like some blackmail trick if you ever need one."

"Promise," he answered with no hesitation. "Cross my heart."

Remembering what had gotten you into this problem in the first place, you took another survey of the ceiling, listening intently for any clue of movement or so much as someone breathing too loudly to let you know if the Hawk was eavesdropping as Steve had worried about. This was something that you had been successful at keeping to yourself, even in the two years together, and it hadn't been a concern; you had nearly forgotten about it until just now. Of course, now it was all that you could think about, just as you had feared.

"Okay," you began quietly, "I don't like being tickled. I actually...I love it."

Steve's brow furrowed as he took in your answer, and didn't know how to take it. "Okay? So, then why did you make me stop?"

"Because I love it more than...maybe others...might," you struggled. "It's um...kind of..."

His eyes widened at the realization as it set in, but the shock wore off quickly. The last thing he wanted was to break his promise about reacting poorly, and even though he had no inclination to laugh or hold this against you in any way, he didn't want there to be a shred of confusion. "It's a...kink? Right? Is that what it's called?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, doll, that's nothing for you to be ashamed of or to hide from me," he smiled genuinely. "Do you know how many awful things went through my head just now? You had me worried that you were hiding a second head or something."

"Steve, how in the hell did you get from tickling to hiding a second head? That doesn't even make sense."

"I don't know! It's just where my brain went, sorry!"

"Well, that sure wasn't the reaction I was expecting," you groaned, turning back to the television to shut the conversation down. "Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. I hope it wasn't a mistake."

Steve opened his mouth to reply, to try to ensure you that it wasn't a mistake at all, and that he was happy that you had told him, but a few seconds of watching the television with you was all it took to lighten his mood again. "I hope it wasn't a mistake is the name of your sex tape," he deadpanned the quote, but then smiled even wider, "is the name of OUR SEX TAPE!"

Choking on your popcorn, you coughed out a laugh at the ridiculousness of Steve Rogers saying anything like that, much less to so perfectly quote the show he had just become a fan of. "Steve," you gasped, catching your breath, "we don't have a sex tape!"

"Well, that doesn't mean that we shouldn't."

"Uh...I'm sorry?" you suddenly sobered. "What did you just say?"

But he wasn't about to repeat it, instead just letting the moment hang in the air with a stupid smirk on his face while all you could do was stare back in both disbelief and a little hint of fear. He was clearly proud of himself, the sparkle in his eyes somehow brighter than usual. He slowly began to scoot down the couch closer to you, his expression holding steady.

"Steve? What are you doing?" Your question remained unanswered, and he got closer. "Steve?"

He finally stopped, but only to stand and swing his arms beneath you to lift you up and over his shoulder to carry you towards the elevator and to your room. Your squealing laughter and begging to put you down didn't slow him at all. When his open hand went after your foot again, he finally broke and laughed with you.

"Steve, No-Look Five!"

A hand dropped down from the ceiling vent next to the elevator and just behind Steve, which he connected with in a sharp snap of victory.

"Dammit, Barton!" you snapped. "I knew you were up there!"