Rating/Warnings: PG for ice cream and Steve's mind.
Summary: Just what's wrong with vanilla?
AN: olukemi, you know this is blatantly your fault.
The Classics Never Die
"What'll it be?" the woman at the ice cream counter asked.
"Vanilla, in a waffle cone," Adam answered. While the woman went to fill his order, Adam turned to find Steve snickering. "What's so funny?"
"You're just so predictable." Steve grinned.
"I am not."
"There's like forty flavors of ice cream," Steve continued, waving his hand at the display case. Adam glanced at them fleetingly, shuddering at the thought that people actually ate some of those colors. "And you get vanilla. You can't even go a little wild with ice cream?"
"I'm getting a waffle cone," Adam retorted, the back of his neck heating. He resisted the urge to shuffle his feet.
"I bet you always get vanilla." Steve elbowed Adam lightly. "Don't you?"
"There's nothing wrong with vanilla," Adam sniffed as the woman returned with his ice cream cone and handed it over. "It's a classic flavor. It's sweet, it's rich, you don't get sick of it after five minutes, and besides," Adam licked the side of his cone in a slow, wide stripe, "vanilla doesn't stain."
"What'll it be?" the woman asked Steve, who was staring at Adam and didn't seem to have heard the question. Adam had to nudge him and glance pointedly at the woman.
"Vanilla!" Steve answered too loudly, then cleared his throat when Adam chuckled around another mouthful of ice cream. "It's definately going to be vanilla."