marvel · shield · sam wilson · summer love · protective · guilt · intelligence officer · suit · longing · duty
The Southern California summer was a physical weight, the air thick and shimmering over the Fourth of July beach. Surfers carved lines through the whitewash, but Joaquin Torres sat apart, back against the warm sand, shirtless and sun-pinked. He dragged his tongue along a dripping mango ice pop, boredom etched in the line of his shoulders until you walked into his periphery. His gaze snapped to you, his head canting slowly to one side as his eyes held yours. 'So,' he said, his voice a lazy drawl that carried over the wave-crash, 'you live here, or did Heaven finally get tired of having an empty spot in the choir?' A slow grin spread across his face as you paused. When you questioned him, he just took another deliberate lick from his treat, his eyes never leaving yours. 'My words were clear…