You decided that motorcycles were created solely as a form of torture approximately 2 minutes into the ride back to your apartment.

The vibration of the engine through the thin material of the dress and your barely there panties was torture on its own, without even considering that you were holding on to one of the sexiest men you'd ever had the pleasure of meeting.

You could feel his well-defined muscles underneath his shirt. It took every last bit of will power you had not to start exploring them through the fabric when you leaned forward to tell him where to turn. Traffic was at least kind to you for once, and you arrived before you suffered a completely inappropriate orgasm.

He trailed behind you as you climbed the stairs, stopping at your apartment door. While you fumbled through your little black purse to find your keys, the condoms fell onto the floor.

"Shit," you mumbled, scooping them up as quickly as humanly possible and shoving them down into the recesses of your purse. You hoped he hadn't seen them and gotten the (kind of) wrong idea. He was obviously a gentleman after all. You found your keys and shakily shoved the right key into the lock and opened the door.

He was quiet as he looked around. "Nice place," he eventually commented.

"Thanks. So, the TV's over there." You ushered him in the general direction of the couch and entertainment center. "Would you like something to drink? I've got Coke, beer, some wine coolers or I could put on some coffee if you want that or-"

He laughed. "Coke is fine."

You grabbed two cans of Coke out of the fridge and followed him over to the couch. You put the cans down on coaster on the coffee table.

He was already seated on one side of the couch. You glanced down and sat about an arm's length away from him, still not quite over the mishap outside the apartment door. You really hoped he hadn't noticed and tried to assure yourself that maybe he didn't even know what a condom wrapper looked like. They had condoms during WWII, but maybe they were packaged differently. You convinced yourself that they were and took a calming breath.

You snatched up the remote and turned on the TV.

It was on Cinemax, which you'd been watching last night before you went to bed. Moaning filled the room, and then a sex scene about as explicit as softcore porn covered the screen. A blonde woman with obviously fake breasts was riding a guy who looked like an Abercrombie & Fitch model. You pressed the button to turn on Netflix rapidly. It didn't turn on fast enough for your liking.

You tried to hide your embarrassment and failed miserably.

At this point, you were glad you didn't tell anyone about your date. It would probably have become that time you made Captain America think you were a pervert.

"Look, um, I know the past 15 minutes might indicate otherwise, but I'm not, I mean I know you're a gentleman, and I wasn't trying to-"

He started laughing. "I might have been shocked a year ago, but after a year with Tony Stark, nothing shocks me anymore."

"Is he really as bad as his reputation?" You'd seen him on entirely too many tabloid covers for his supposed exploits.

"Probably worse." He grinned.

You were still blushing lightly, and he stroked a hand over your warm cheek.

"You know you can leave if you want. I won't be upset." You felt like you needed to give him an out in case he was staying to be polite. He seemed like he would stay to be polite. You probably would be upset if he took it, but only at yourself. You didn't make eye contact with him.

He was quiet for a moment before fishing into his pocket. He pulled out a condom.

"Is that a Magnum?" You looked at the rather distinct shiny gold wrapper.

"What?" he asked.

You took the condom. "This."

"Uh, well..." He blushed.

You laughed. "I just haven't met any guy before who genuinely needed one. Not that I think you have an inflated ego about your penis size or anything. You seem very...modest," you rambled. "I guess I'm kind of surprised. You seem so, well, wholesome, like you'd never even consider sex outside of marriage."

"Ideally, there's marriage and a white picket fence, but life isn't generally ideal. I'm not looking for commitment because I can't commit myself fully to anyone. Being Captain America comes first, and it's not right to expect someone to come second. I thought about it for a long time, but I couldn't find any really good reason to deny myself intimacy as long as I'm safe about it. Are you looking for something serious?"

"Me? No. I don't want anything more serious than a regular basis friend with benefits. All the good parts without any of the drama." You'd seen enough nasty breakups and divorces to grow disenchanted with the idea. "Not that there's anything wrong with relationships. Some people make it work." You shrugged.

He paused thoughtfully. "Did you really have a movie you wanted to watch?"

"Nothing that I want to watch desperately," you admitted. "If there's something you'd like to watch, though..." You handed him the remote.

He immediately discarded it on the arm of the couch next to him, ignoring the TV entirely. He turned to look at you. Unless you were mistaken, there were obvious undertones of lust in his gaze.

When he scooted toward you, closing the gap between the two of you, your heart caught in your throat.