"You know, there are forks for that," Howard teased, gesturing to the long-handled utensils that had come with the fondue pot. "Some of us still gotta worry about getting scalded by melted cheese." As opposed to Steve, who would heal from any burns rapidly.

That groan, though...Howard had to bite his lower lip for a moment at the sound. He'd been well-behaved since he'd moved in with Steve, had actually listened to his cautions about twenty-first century culture. And, okay, maybe his interest was piqued by the easy availability of pornographic material on the internet, but that stayed in the privacy of his own bedroom, thank you very much. The point was, it was damn hard to live with someone who looked like Steve Rogers and not experience sexual frustration.

Instead of taking the pretzel with his fingers, Howard leaned in and ate it from Steve's fingertips - something he never would have done with Peggy for fear of ending up with a broken nose. Though his lips didn't quite brush Steve's skin, the bristles of his mustache did.