Challenge, Accepted
Third Day of Christmas
“Does he love me? I want to know. / How can I tell if he loves me so? / (Is it in his eyes?) / Oh no, you’ll be deceived / (Is it in his eyes?) Oh no, he’ll make believe. / If you want to know / If he loves you so / It’s in his kiss / (That’s where it is).”
“It’s In His Kiss”
Betty Everett
“You’re so fucking sexy, you know that?”
No, Steve Rogers had not known that. And he still wasn’t sure that he necessarily agreed with that definitive statement. But, at least he now knew that Darcy Lewis thought that and that was fine by him.
Although...
Steve stood in front of one of Stark Tower’s many pristine windows and thoughtfully considered his ghost-like reflection in the glass. The New York skyline outside was covered in dark clouds and little white flakes drifted lazily toward the slushy streets below. What had been a quiet day had turned into a quiet night and he was all alone in the main living room, snowed in with his thoughts.
His reflection was tall, broad-shouldered, muscled, and All-American. It was hard for him to see that reality of himself; it didn’t take much effort at all to see past his well-defined pectorals and remember the frail Brooklyn kid he still was beneath it all. Scrappy but scrawny, Father Muldover had always said about him. Dr. Erskine had seen how to take all that scrappiness and bring it to the forefront, had known how to make the world see what he had seen in young Steve Rogers. But despite the miraculous intervention of the super serum, Steven still had a hard time thinking he was at all attractive to the dames.
He had attracted Peggy, true. But, sometimes, in the uncomfortable darkness of the night, he wonder if her physical attraction to him had existed before his nearly unbelievable reconstruction. He’d never have a chance to ask her, either, and in the more pensive moments like this, he had to wonder if he’d ever had a chance with a woman like her if he’d remained that asthmatic orphan from the inner city.
What did that word mean, ‘sexy’? It was a modern word – he certainly hadn’t it heard it in the days of his childhood or even in the rougher trenches of WWII. Clearly, it’s root derivative was “sex” and Steve wasn’t quite sure if that made him uncomfortable or not.
“Sexy.” Sex. Did Darcy want to…?
Naw. No way. Surely, even she wouldn’t be so forward.
Still…
What did she mean by that? Clearly, he had deciphered her meaning properly in the moment, because she had blushed when he’d called her good-looking. Steve had no idea where that response had come from – he’d been so shocked, that it just sort of stumbled out of him – but it seemed to have been the right thing to say. She had blushed and something like disbelief had chased the smile that she tried to hide.
So, she thought he was good looking? Well, she wasn’t wrong there. Steve didn’t think he was good looking, but he’d had enough experiences with the fairer sex (Peggy not necessarily included) from his time as both a performer and a soldier, to know that women found him unduly attractive. He’d never gotten used to it, either. It was hard to go from the kid no one ever wanted to dance with, to the man that women tried to boldly snare into record room kisses.
He still saw those looks now, in this 21st century New York, when he walked down the street. It didn’t matter of women recognized him as Captain America or not – even incognito, he turned heads. He never gave those looks much thought; he might not have been a worldly man, but it didn’t take a genius to know that most women had a superficial interest in him. Not that Steve thought badly of them for it – after all, his head had been turned once or twice by a particularly stunning dame. Exhibiting passing appreciation for beauty was all part of being human, really.
But…
What did Darcy mean by calling him ‘sexy’? Was she just attracted to him because of his physical appearance? Why did she hang out with him all the time? Did she just want to go to bed with him? Have a physical relationship and leave it at that? Were they just friends with some sort of sexual chemistry mixed up in the middle of it all?
He remembered the way she moaned when he touched her and Steve shifted uncomfortably for a moment in front of the window. He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit to entertaining a certain sexual fascination with Darcy. The feeling of her body was exquisite…the sounds he had unintentionally solicited from her were enough to make him hard…and sure, she was definitely one of the dames who turned his head, ugly sweaters be damned. If he was more certain of the situation between them, he wouldn’t think twice of pressing her, naked, up against the glass in front of him and exploring all the sexual nuances of being a man.
But, he wanted more out of life than just sexual pleasure. God hadn’t created women for the sole purpose of satisfying men’s lust, Father Muldover had often said during Steve’s hormonal teenage years. Steve been raised right. He’d been raised to look for a woman – one woman – who was willing to live with his quirks and whimsies until death did them part. He’d been raised to think of relationships with the opposite gender in terms of life-long commitments, not one-night stands. So, sure. Sexual attraction to Darcy was all well and good. But, what about more?
And, did ‘sexy’ mean more? Or, did it mean what it sounded like – physical attraction that stopped short of deeper meanings? Steve made a slightly mangled, half-groan of frustration and bumped his forehead against the window’s snow-cooled glass.
Why things get so damn complicated when you added a woman to the equation?
“Thinking too hard about things again, Cap?”
A most unwelcome voice interrupted Steve’s private musings and he shut his eyes in a moment of mixed despair and frustration.
“Tony,” he sighed heavily and reluctantly looked over his shoulder.
Apparently, Tony had finally tired of his day’s pursuit of scientific knowledge on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D. Either that, or whatever the group’s resident scientists had been working on had finally been figured out, because Tony wasn’t the only one who had intruded on Steve’s privacy. Thor had marched over to the fireplace to poke at the crackling logs and the couch cushions squeaked a bit as Banner practically threw himself down them.
“I don’t think ‘too hard’,” Steve couldn’t help but get defensive around Tony; it was inevitable, really.
“Yes, you do,” Banner surprised Steve by butting into the conversation; the mild-mannered, gray-haired scientists glanced over at the Captain and smiled wanly. “Take from a man who would know – you look like you’ve been trying to solve all the world’s moral dilemmas. It’s written all over your face.”
“Speak, brother, if you have a problem,” Thor – predictably – decided it was his turn to chip in on the subject at hand. “Riddles are often best solved by more minds than just one.”
Steve looked accusingly back at Tony, who just threw up his hands and sauntered nonchalantly toward the bar.
“Don’t look at me! I could care less what you were thinking about – as long as it doesn’t have anything to do with murdering me in my sleep.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Steve muttered; he was honestly torn by the sudden intrusion on his mental musings.
On one hand, it might be rather nice to solicit other opinions. On the other hand…Tony Stark.
“You had the look of a man who was thinking about a woman.”
Everyone froze and stared toward the bar, where Hawkeye paused himself, a drink shaker in one hand and a martini glass in the other. The archer quirked a blond eyebrow and shrugged, before resuming his activities.
“Where did you come from?” Steve sputtered.
“You were so lost in thought that I just figured I should let you be,” the edge of Clint’s mouth quirked upward for half a second and if Steve hadn’t known any better, he’d have sworn that Hawkeye was trying not to laugh at him.
“How long have you been there?” Steve almost didn’t want to know – did Darcy distract him so thoroughly that he could lose complete track of his surroundings?
“About five minutes or so,” Clint shrugged again, as if it were no big deal.
“I thought Fury sent you out on a mission or something?” Tony narrowed his eyes at Clint.
“Yup,” was all the other man said, before tilting the shaker toward the glass and pouring out the martini that he clearly intended to enjoy.
Tony made a face, as if to convey his disapproval of Clint’s super secret spy-ness, but personal opinions didn’t seem to stop him from joining the archer behind the bar. There was a silence for a few precious moments, as Hawkeye drifted over to perch on top of a barstool and Tony busied himself with what looked like whiskey on the rocks.
“So, seriously – what’s on your mind, Steve?” Bruce finally broke the silence.
“Why the interest?” Steve couldn’t help but ask – it was rather unusual for the others to take such an interest in his private thoughts, at least where it didn’t involve the salvation of humanity from alien invaders.
“No reason in particular,” Bruce’s response was mild; if he minded Steve’s accusatory tone, he didn’t show it. “It’s just that you usually don’t look that intense unless you’re trying to solve some sort of problem.”
“For real,” Tony piped up. “He’s got a point. You’re a pretty humorless stick-in-the-mud, but you usually don’t scowl at windows unless you see an imminent threat outside of them. And I could be mistaken, but a Manhattan snow storm is not a sign of the coming zombie apocalypse.”
Steven just stared at Tony. Which, admittedly, was kind of normal. He didn’t usually know what to say to Stark’s verbal antics half of the time. And really – what was a zombie apocalypse? He almost asked, but then decided that might be a safer conversation to have with Clint or Bruce at another, Tony-free time.
“Speak your mind,” Thor, ever the Asgaardian king, commanded regally with a wave of his enormous hand toward Steve’s vacillating direction. “Tis clear that something vexes you.”
Steve watched Tony mouth the word ‘vexes’ with a quirk of his dark eyebrow and a purse of his lips. A part of the Captain wanted to laugh at the horrendous absurdity of the moment, but after glancing around at all the faces turned so resolutely in his direction, he decided that maybe this was a situation he wasn’t conning his way out of. Then again, he mused ruefully, he wasn’t known for ‘conning’ his way out of anything, ever. Captain America was just entirely too wholesome for verbal cloak and dagger.
And, well…they knew it. Steve glared at Tony, Thor, Clint, and Bruce equally for good measure, but turned his back to them as he struggled to admit what it was he’d been puzzling over. He couldn’t get out of telling them what he was thinking about (short of fleeing the room and even that would only buy him time until the morning), but he determined quickly not to let Darcy’s name leave his lips.
“I was just…uh…wondering,” he shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another as he stared resolutely out of Tony’s storm-darkened living room window. “Well…uh…what…uh…sexy means.”
A ringing silence followed his words, disturbed only by sound of someone choking on his drink. There was a moment of incredulous sputtering from behind him and then Tony – predictably – broke the awkward calm.
“You were staring that intently out a window, trying to figure out what sexy means?”
Steve dared to risk a glance in Tony’s direction. The genius playboy billionaire looked as if he was fighting back a laugh and a furtive look around the room revealed that smiles of various stages were creeping slowly across Bruce’s and Clint’s own mouths. Only Thor remained vaguely confused, which wasn’t as much of a relief as Steve would have imagined.
“Why on earth would you ask that sort of question, anyway?” Tony continued, with a sharp-eyed perusal of Steve from head to foot.
Steve squirmed underneath the other man’s gaze. It felt as if Tony was trying to silently determine the real reason behind Captain America’s sudden carnal curiosity.
“I dunno,” Steve tried to play dumb, with a guileless shrug of his massive shoulders. “I’ve just…heard it used…once…or twice. Just wondered what it means,” he finished lamely, realizing belatedly that he was fooling no one and especially not the keen-witted men sitting around him.
“Well, we don’t need to know why you’re asking,” Clint, surprisingly, lifted a hand to spare Steve his dignity, although a smile wiggled mischievously on the edges of the spy’s usually grim-pressed lips. “But to answer your question, ‘sexy’ simply means that something – or someone – is sexually interesting or exciting.”
“What’d you do, swallow a dictionary?” Tony interjected scathingly, with a wry glance down his long nose at his fellow Avenger.
“I’m not wrong,” Hawkeye tried to defend himself.
“Sure, technically,” Tony scoffed and he waved his whiskey-and-ice in Steve’s general direction. “But you can’t define ‘sexy’ with a dictionary definition. Look,” Tony shifted his stance and some of his usual arrogance surged to the forefront of his general demeanor. “’Sexy’ is a way of being. It’s flashy cars, and money, and good looks, and a bad-boy persona. Women are suckers for a bad boy.”
“No, that’s Tony Stark’s definition of ‘sexy’. There’s more than one way to define it,” Clint vehemently disagreed, before turning toward Steve with a sense of purpose. “You don’t have to a flashy show-boat to turn a woman’s head. Quiet, quirky, and dependable works, too.”
“Sure, if she’s the Black Widow,” Tony countered rudely and a vein on the side of Clint’s neck started to tick.
“Actually,” Bruce interrupted calmly, just in time to stop Tony from going off on a tangent. “It’s been my experience that what attracts women the most is intelligence. Dependability and flashy cars can only get you so far – otherwise, you inevitably find yourself staring blankly across the table at a woman you can’t carry on a conversation with.”
“Only if she wants to talk about quantum physics,” Tony snarked. “Which I don’t think will be the case with Cap.”
“Don’t be obtuse,” it was Bruce’s turn to be high-handed. “A woman doesn’t have to want to talk about quantum physics in order to be classified as ‘smart’. If anything, I was trying to compliment Steve. I highly doubt he’d ever be attracted to the sort of woman who just wants to be a living Barbie doll.”
“Thanks for saying I’m smart…I think?” Steve was starting to feel that the point of the conversation was starting to get lost in personal definitions.
“You’re our fearless leader,” Bruce replied with a soft chuckle and a sardonic glance toward Tony. “That requires some level of intelligence – and desperation, if I say so myself.”
“So, clearly,” Thor finally piped up, his deep voice cutting across the statement that Tony nearly managed to spit out after Bruce’s reference of Steve as their ‘leader’. “’Sexy’ indicates, at some level, a lady’s preference and could include a host of attributes. If a lady has recently referred to you as thus, then clearly there is something about you that has caught her admiration.”
“Well, sure,” Steve reached up and ran a hand through his hair in mild frustration. “But does sexy means the attraction is just physical?”
“And it’s a problem if it does?” Tony didn’t even try to hide his laughter.
“Well…yeah,” Steve prickled, defensive as always when it came to Tony’s opinions.
“Just…breathe, Steve,” Clint took the olive from his martini and threw it at the hide of Tony’s head. “All relationships start with some level of sexual attraction. There’s nothing wrong with that. If she’s the right kind of girl for you, the rest outta’ fall in place. And don’t worry about ‘forever’,” he turned his sharp blue eyes in Steve’s direction and the super soldier had the odd sensation that Clint was able to see far more than he let on. “I know that’s what you were taught in the 40’s, but it’s a different world now. The Cold War taught us that we don’t get ‘forever’ – so just enjoy what comes your way and don’t over-think it. Things will usually work themselves out, regardless of the initial outcome, and you’ll be a better man for letting yourself live a little.”
“Yes, for the love of God, live a little,” Tony threw the olive back at Hawkeye, who nimbly ducked his head to the side; the two watched the little green missile bounce impertinently off of the wall and fall to the floor in defeat. “A good tumble in the sheets might go a long way in removing that stick you’ve got perpetually shoved up your ass.”
“I think what Tony’s trying to say here,” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and interceded before Steve could sputter incoherently in indignation. “Is that you deserve it, Steve. If a woman thinks you’re sexy, and you’re inclined to feel the same about her, then take advantage of the opportunity. After 70 years on ice, no one expects you to live like a cloistered monk.”
“Agreed!” Thor added his approval to mix and pounded his fist resolutely on the top of the fireplace mantle; Tony winced a little as an expensive vase toward the end of the mantle wobbled dangerously for a second or two. “You are a warrior, Steve Rogers. In Asgaard we warriors say: eat, drink, and enjoy the company of strong women, for tomorrow you may die!”
+ + +
Steve was initially inclined to disagree with Thor’s reminder of mortality, but the truth of the matter was that, super serum or not, Steve could eventually lose the fight against the natural laws. It was an appropriately sobering thought and one that he carried with him to the privacy of his own room.
It made him reconsider that fateful night, when he kissed Peggy while racing toward the Red Skull. It hadn’t been a formed thought, but thinking back on it now made him realize that he instinctively knew at that moment in time that he would die. No one could have predicted that the super serum would have kept him alive underneath the ice – no, Captain Steve Rogers had kissed Lieutenant Peggy Carter passionately and purposefully, because he had realized in mere seconds that confronting the Red Skull meant that he wasn’t coming back. Even as she tried to hang on to him over the radio, even as she promised to meet him at 8:00, he knew that she’d never have the chance to teach him how to dance.
He’d known all of that, and more, while they raced toward his fate and he had taken that moment to take what he wanted. He hadn’t been a gentleman, he hadn’t asked for Peggy’s permission, he hadn’t obeyed any of the rules of his Irish Catholic upbringing – all he had thought about was her in that damn red dress and the overwhelming desire he had to meet his grave with her red lipstick on his mouth.
Since that night, he’d been given a second chance at life – a chance he could have never anticipated. With Dr. Erskine so tragically murdered, Steve had had to figure out all of the side effects being a Super Soldier out on his own. There had been some unexpected curve balls thrown in there – not being able to get drunk, not being able to age, not being able to die when submerged in Arctic waters. He was now beginning to realize that there were other side effects to being a Super Soldier, none of which had anything to do with survival. Steve was beginning to discover that with his body perpetually trapped in an endless cycle of early twenties and all of the good health that came with that, it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore his baser urges.
Especially where a certain Darcy Lewis was concerned.
Steve tried to martyr himself for his feelings – after all, it only came natural. He was Irish and Catholic, after all. But…he’d lost his first chance at love. He now lived in a world with very different morals. And, he was starting to think that he’d have to live with a constant almost-hard on as long as he had to coexist in the same space as Darcy.
Sexy. Was it so bad to be sexy? Maybe Tony, Bruce, Thor, and Clint all had a point – if he was honest with himself, he’d first been attracted to Peggy solely because of her looks. It was, admittedly, hard not to be attracted to Peggy’s luscious figure and expressive face; Steve had watched as even Bucky had been affected by her provocative femininity.
It was hard not to be attracted to Darcy for many of the same reasons. Although, because they weren’t all scrambling to survive in a world war, Steve had had a chance at things with Darcy that he hadn’t had with Peggy. For example, he’d been able to go to a movie with Darce; he’d been able to sit alongside her in the dark, with his hand on her knee and her arm (half-way) around his shoulders. He’d been able to sit with her casually, just listening to music and arguing over baseball. Hell, he’d even been able to hug her. There hadn’t been much time for that in war-ravaged London.
He wanted to be on top of her, to be inside of her, to be wrapped completely around her for hours on end. Was it really so bad to want that, to want such carnal, primal things?
Everyone in this brave new world seemed to say “no”, it wasn’t such a bad thing. In fact, they practically encouraged it. (Although, Steve had reason to believe that Thor, at least, would protest loudly and rather violently, if it was revealed that Darcy was the object of such carnal desires.) And, thinking of Thor – the Asgaardian had a point.
If not Steve, then at least Darcy, could die tomorrow. Peggy already had.
Steve lifted his face and let the hot water from his shower head pound gently against his closed eyes. He reached up and smoothed his dripping hair out of his face and tried to take a deep breath. Maybe, Tony was right – maybe it was time to start thinking with something other than his head.
Or, at the very least, to stop overthinking things. Maybe, it was just time to feel.
Water ran down the strong ridges of his stomach; streaks of warmth followed in their wake and slid sensuously around the gathering thickness between his thighs. Steve sighed heavily again and finally let his mind wander – to thoughts of Darcy’s body beneath his hands, of the soft breathless whimpers his fingers had slowly dragged out of her, of the feel of her breasts pressing ever-so-tenuously against his unforgiving chest.
His right hand slowly followed the water down toward his thighs, as he kept his face turned up toward the shower head. He hadn’t dared to do this since becoming an adult, telling himself far too often in the past that it was a childish thing and something that was beneath his dignity. But, tonight, he couldn’t help it – he was being continuously challenged to leave the past behind him and to re-evaluate himself in the light of the modern world. In the modern world, modern men didn’t hesitate to pleasure themselves; this was a hedonistic world, now, as Steve had blushingly come to realize from sneaking Those Books out of Tony’s library. And, well…
He could die tomorrow.
His fist wrapped around the thick length of his cock and Steve stifled a moan as he unwillingly imagined Darcy’s small hand doing the same. He was immersed in warmth and wetness and so help him, Steve wished she was in the shower with him. He’d pick her up, wrap those long curvy legs around his waist, press her back against the shower wall and ravage her. Kiss her until she couldn’t breathe, kiss her breasts, kiss her center, taste her.
Steve groaned and pumped his hand faster, harder. All he wanted was a kiss – just one kiss. One kiss to see how she felt about him. One kiss to tell her how he felt about her. One kiss to see how far he could take it…
+ + +
“Steve!”
Darcy gasped and struggled against him, but Steve had her held down firmly, his hands wrapped around her wrists.
“Shhh,” he murmured against the soft skin below her right earlobe.
“Please…!” she pleaded again and pushed her pelvis up against his.
Her meaning was clear. She wanted him.
“Let me take my time,” he chuckled, as he nipped the skin between her neck and her shoulder. “Trust me.”
“Ooooh,” was all Darcy seemed capable of saying, as his tongue caressed her nipple.
She arched her back this time, encouraging him to ravish her breasts as he had just moments before. Steve, however, just wanted to tease her – he had already explored the soft, silky skin of her chest, had already sucked and nibbled her nipples to taunt little peaks. He had another goal in mind, now – one that filled him with uncertainty, but that he was determined to try nonetheless.
He left a chaste little kiss on her other nipple, before running his tongue slowly down the smooth curve of her stomach. Darcy was practically panting with need now and Steve could smell her scent – thick, heavy, and tempting. He hadn’t thought it possible (hadn’t ever really thought of it at all), but Darcy’s feminine scent attracted him deeply. The smell of her stirred his baser instincts and the thought of tasting her at her most intimate left his cock throbbing against the sheets beneath them. He took his time, though, letting his tongue linger on the delicious expanse of creamy naked skin beneath him.
He eventually made it to her thighs, though, and Darcy suddenly lay very, very still beneath him, her breathe shallow with expectation. Steve let go of one of her wrists, propped himself on the opposite elbow, and eyed her smooth-shaven pussy with a rare sense of indecision. He had never done this before (of course, he hadn’t done any of “this” before, but so far, inexperience hadn’t stopped him) and if it hadn’t been for Tony’s books, he probably wouldn’t have ever thought of it, either. But, what he had read had been…illuminating…and he’d quickly found that the passages that made him the hardest, were the ones about kissing between a woman’s thighs.
The idea had intrigued him from the very beginning. He was completely hooked on kissing as it was – he had known that since he’d been grabbed by that bored blond orderly and dragged behind the record shelves. If he was inclined to think in Freudian terms, he would have thought that maybe he had an oral fixation. As a kid, he’d gotten into trouble for trying to experience the world through taste, right down to trying to eat dirt. He loved to eat (a fact that was further enabled by his super soldier metabolism) and as a whole, Steve loved to try new things (a fact that Darcy loved and had happily exploited on multiple occasions, although Steve had put his foot down over sashimi). All of that combined and it totally stood to reason that he would be fascinated by the idea of tasting Darcy – but, all the same, he wasn’t quite sure of what he was doing and that made him pause for a moment to assess the new territory he was about to plunder.
He hesitantly brushed his fingers against the soft folds of her labia and Darcy shivered from head to foot. He glanced up at her and met her eyes – they were wide, her pupils dilated by pleasure, and they were completely trusting. That struck Steve straight through the heart. It didn’t matter to her if he had ever done this before or not (and she knew he hadn’t – the whole world knew he hadn’t), she trusted him to try it anyway. She trusted his ability to make her curl her toes and scream his name, and her trust fueled her desire. Darcy lifted her hips toward him, as if to silently encourage him to overcome his brief hubris.
She was hot there and wet; he could feel her desire, thick and sticky against the pads of his fingertips. Steve imagined burying himself in such delicious warmth and he groaned at the thought. Darcy mewled in response to his desire and bucked her hips again. Steve lowered his head in obedient response – what a lady wanted, a lady got.
He kissed her softly at first – nothing more than the chaste press of his lips against hers. Once, twice – the third time, though, he let just the very tip of his tongue catch some of the moisture that was engorging her skin and he tasted her for the first time.
She took his breath away and immediately, he wanted more. The taste of her ignited a visceral need to have more of her, to have all of her and he opened his mouth willingly to take her in. His tongue delved eagerly between her folds and Darcy’s hips practically rocketed off of the bed.
“Steve!” she squealed and her hands suddenly tangled themselves in hair.
All that accomplished was to pull his face closer to her core and Steve happily followed her unspoken command. He had no earthly clue what he was doing, but she didn’t seem to care. Inspired, however, by the thought that he could mimic with his tongue what he did with his fingers, Steve pulled back just slightly and used his thumbs to spread her open. At first, Darcy protested at the brief loss of contact between them, but when his tongue curled around the tiny bud of her arousal, she melted blissfully between his hands.
And, finally, Steve understood what it meant to ravish a woman. He didn’t really possess anything that one could call a “technique”, but he knew that he drove her crazy with his hands, so he tried his best to follow suit with his mouth. He also just allowed himself to get lost in the taste and the smell of her – after a few hesitant moments, his tongue to seemed to take on a mind of its own and he lapped away at her like a man parched. Eventually, Darcy became so lost to sensation that the only sound to come of out her was a breathless, primal pant. Steve thought he had never heard anything more erotic in his life – which, he admitted to himself with a slight chuckle against her core that made her mewl and curl her toes, was definitely true.
The best part, though, was when her pleasure finally peaked. Darcy’s whole body convulsed underneath him and he almost thought she’d break his nose, so he pulled back quickly and watched, wide-eyed, as she rode the waves of desire that rolled through her. His name hung in the air between them like a shout of victory and she shuddered for several long moments before finally opening her eyes. The look she gave him was both languid and demanding.
No words were needed. Steve pushed himself up on his elbows and leaned into to kiss her on the mouth. She responded as passionately as ever and the thought that she tasted him on his tongue just stirred his libido higher. As they kissed, he casually positioned himself so that his cock rested teasingly against her; she bucked her hips, he entered her, and they both swallowed a groan as he lost himself in the sweet, silky slickness of her body…
+ + +
It was a little difficult meeting Darcy straight in the eye the morning after having such a vivid fantasy about her – about them – but after a few moments of internal flailing, Steve managed to pretend that his mind hadn’t been (still was?) in the gutter. Truth be told, they were both a little awkward around each other, when they finally crossed paths at the breakfast bar – although, why Darcy wouldn’t quite look him in the eye was a bit of a mystery to Steve. He shifted uncomfortably on the stool next to her and wondered if she could somehow read his mind.
They didn’t say much to each other. Then again, Darcy wasn’t much of a morning person and Steve didn’t say much anyway, so it shouldn’t have felt awkward. But, it did. Every time Steve caught her move out of the corner of his eye, all he could think about was that searing fantasy of her spread out underneath him. What she thinking about, however, he couldn’t tell, but he wondered if maybe he had crossed some unspoken line the day before when he’d massaged her shoulders.
Maybe he had read too much into her “sexy” statement; maybe, like with most things Darcy said, it had just been an impulse, encouraged along by his having touched her. Maybe she didn’t mean anything by it, after all, and he had over-thought and fantasied for nothing.
So, it was to his very great surprise when she took a deep breath, set her empty cereal bowl down in the sink and finally met him in the eye. A delicate blush flushed the skin across her cheeks and Steve was hard pressed not to notice it. His focus faltered for a moment, but when she tapped her foot and put her hands on her hips, he swiftly snapped his attention to her eyes. It was then his turn to blush.
“Hey, day dreamer,” Darcy addressed him wryly, the corners of her mouth quirking upward in something of a smile. “You up to anything tonight?”
“Uh…um…no,” Steve could have kicked himself for his complete lack of suave debonair.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty busy all day. Fury hit me up with an errand list a mile long last night after dinner,” she pressed onward, full steam ahead as always. “But, anyways, I was wondering…doyouwannawatchTVwithmelater?”
“…What?” Steve blinked; he’d been able to follow everything she said, right up to the very last bit.
If he hadn’t known any better, he would have thought Darcy was nervous. He thought she had just invited him to watch TV, so he wasn’t quite sure why she would be so nervous about making that request. They’d watched TV together plenty of times, in the living room/common room.
“Ah,” Darcy smiled weakly – she was nervous! – and cleared her throat. “I wanted to know if you wanted to watch…ah…TV…with me…later.”
“Sure,” Steve was eager to reassure her. “What time? I’ll meet you in the living room.”
“Well…um…actually…” Darcy paused and visibly swallowed; Steve thought his eyebrows might disappear permanently into his hairline, out of surprise. “I was wondering if…ah…you’d like to…ummmm….”
“Just spit it out, Darce,” Steve tried not to laugh nervously himself. “I’m not going to bite you.”
That seemed to be the wrong to say, as her cheeks just flushed a darker red. Suddenly, Steve’s mind took a detour toward dangerous thoughts – thoughts of his teeth scraping against her shoulder, thoughts of his lips leaving a mark of passion behind on her delicate skin.
“Well, ahem,” she gathered together her courage for a second time and cleared her throat. “I was wondering if you’d like to…um…hang out with me in…well…my…my…uh…fuck it.”
Steve watched, jaw agape, as Darcy suddenly dashed past him, all long dark hair and blushing red cheeks. He blinked stupidly after her, his mind spinning like a hamster ball left to its own devices. As Darcy burst out the kitchen door, she ran into and bounced off of Thor, who stopped dead in his tracks and watched in equal disbelief as Darcy disappeared into the elevator beyond.
“What hast thou done?”
Steve had never once thought that Shakespearean (Asgaardian?) English could sound so unbelievably threatening and he tried not to swallow visibly in a sudden rush of nervousness. Thankfully, he didn’t have to lie to Thor.
“I have no idea,” he shrugged helplessly and held up his hands as if to say “it wasn’t me!”
Thor eyed him suspiciously and thumped past him with a brotherly glare for good measure, but there wasn’t much that either man could do. Steve had no idea what he had done to solicit such a response from Darcy and Thor, as an innocent bystander, could do more than glower. Awkward silence now reigned supreme in the kitchen, but that bought Steve enough time to puzzle out what Darcy had been trying to say. He nearly dropped his plate of bacon and eggs when he figured out.
Wait…was she…inviting me to her room?
+ + +
Darcy was not to be seen for the rest of the day, but word of her hasty retreat from the kitchen had apparently spread through the group like wildfire. Steve had his own glare to cast upon Thor, for gossiping like a schoolgirl, but there wasn’t anything he could except protest his innocence loudly and often.
It was about midday, when Jane finally managed to corner Steve in the elevator, between the tenth and eighth floor.
“I don’t know what you did to Darcy,” the petite astro-physicist whirled around viciously and poked her forefinger into Steve’s chest.
He blinked owlishly down at her. What more surprises could the day possibly bring? He decided, after warily eying a flushed and fierce-eyed Dr. Foster, that he really didn’t want to know the answer to that question.
“But you better make it up to her!” she poked him again for good measure.
The two stared at each in the deafening silence that followed her abrupt proclamation. The elevator smoothly slid past level nine.
“Her favorite ice cream is double chocolate Moose Tracks, with extra hot fudge sauce,” she declared as the elevator stopped on floor eight and the door gracefully slid open.
Steve watched, dumbstruck, as she sailed out of the elevator with all the hauteur of a European queen.
What did ice cream have to do with anything?
+ + +
The grand mystery of ice cream aside, Steve followed Jane’s cryptic advice. He spent the afternoon canvasing all of the convenience stores within a five block radius and finally found a gallon carton of Darcy’s double chocolate Moose Tracks. He was left to wonder, as he trudged back home through the snow and the muck, what had happened to simple chocolate ice cream.
Being a man of simple pleasures himself, he picked up a carton of vanilla bean, for good measure. It had the potential of being a very, very long night.
+ + +
Darcy didn’t show up for dinner. A brief, clandestine, and thoroughly awkward conversation with a bemused Jarvis (could A.I.’s even be bemused?), Steve discovered that Darcy had apparently locked herself in her room and ordered Chinese takeout. After suffering the thinly veiled displeasure of Thor and Jane for most of the day, Steve decided he’d be safer skipping dinner himself. He collected his cartons of ice cream and took the stairs up to Darcy’s room (so he wouldn’t be backed into a corner by a ferocious mother-she-beast again).
He then spent five agonizing minutes staring blankly at the smooth, wood paneled expanse of Darcy’s door. After internally hemming and hawing for another five minutes on top of that, he finally gathered up the courage to knock.
He’d faced Nazis, lost his best friend, fought the Red Skull, and saved the city of New York – twice. But, it all dimmed in comparison to the terror of staring into a pair of indignant brown eyes and the possibility of crushing rejection. As Darcy peered up at him from around the edge of the door, Steve acutely felt every inch the scrawny asthmatic of his youth. The dashing, decisive, victory-wielding Captain America he was not, not in that agonizing moment.
“Can I help you?” Darcy sniffled and Steve narrowed his eyes – had she been crying?
“I…uh…brought you ice cream,” he decided maybe it was best not to ask about the suspicious puffy rings around her eyes, and instead thrust the cartons of ice cream at her as if they were sacrificial lambs.
“Did Jane set you up to this?” Darcy kept the door stubbornly situated between them.
“Actually…you set me up to this, since you…ah…asked me to watch TV with you…here,” Steve swallowed the temptation to flail helplessly.
Nazis? Alien invaders? Tony Stark? No problem. Darcy Lewis?
He was reduced to stammering incompetence in the wake of her accusatory gaze.
“Jane, I think, just set me up with a…ah…peace offering,” he held it out toward here again with a weak, but hopefully hopeful smile.
There was a long and thunderous silence as Darcy peered up at him over the edge of her glasses. Then, without warning, she threw open her door, reached past the carton of ice cream that had been so thoughtfully extended toward her, and grabbed the front of Steve’s tight white t-shirt.
“Just get in here before Thor sees you.”
+ + +
It was a puzzling, existential, and decidedly bizarre show, but halfway through the first season, Steve decided that he liked Captain Jack Harkness of Torchwood, Cardiff. They had something in common, as men out of time. And, Steve could relate to the eccentric time traveler, in his long WWII officer’s coat and old-fashioned charm. He had disappointed Darcy, though, by figuring out Jack’s “secret” by the third or fourth episode – certainly, by the time they got to the
part about the faeries and Jack’s old WWII sweetheart (the female one), Steve had blurted it out.
“Really?! It took me until Gwen figured it out and that’s not for a few more episodes!” Darcy had complained, with a cute pout of her bottom lip.
She was in a good mood, though, having been placated with egg rolls, Hunan pork, and double-chocolate Moose Tracks. The two hadn’t said anything further, hadn’t “worked” anything out; Steve just sat down on the couch next to her, in the little mini-living room portion of her bedroom suite, and the two enjoyed a companionable silence. As the show progressed, though, Steve noticed that Darcy slowly inched closer and closer to him, until she was practically cuddled up against his side.
They bantered about the show – he thought it was weird, but Darcy loved it. Mostly, he just enjoyed the truce they had called between each other and the chance to share some space with her on the couch. He couldn’t quite work up the courage to ask her why she wanted him to come watch Torchwood with her in her room, instead of in the common area, but he strongly suspected that Darcy wanted to spend time alone with him. The thought both terrified and emboldened him – two emotions that he hadn’t ever known could have existed simultaneously with one another.
He was afraid to ask, though, for fear that he’d embarrass her again. She had clearly frozen up earlier, at breakfast, when trying to ask him over. Steve decided it was best to let that one lie until another time. Maybe, after they had gotten to know each other a little bit better.
They both gradually got drowsy and suddenly, it didn’t matter anymore why she wanted him there – it was simply enough that she had. They both yawned; it was getting late and a glance at his watch revealed that it was past midnight. Steve shifted in his seat, preparing to leave, and for just a moment, Darcy snuggled up closer to him, as if to encourage him to stay.
He would never remember what gave him the courage to kiss her, but it happened. It was a slow-motion affair, too. Steve reached over and put his hand under her in a chin; his intention was just to wake her up enough to let her know that he had to go. What happened next was completely unrehearsed.
She leaned in toward him, he leaned in toward her – it was an unspoken attraction, an unplanned but almost instinctual act. He tilted her chin up toward his and their lips touched.
That first time, it was gentle, uncertain, chaste. Steve titled his head, just to change the angle of his approach, and the next kiss was deeper, harder, hungrier. Darcy reached up to wrap her arms around his neck and the third kiss involved parted lips, hot breath, and just the briefest brushes of his tongue against hers.
Steve felt the electricity shoot straight down to his toes. He tasted her – chocolate and chilies – and he knew he needed more. Their tongues touched again and he pulled her into his lap; as soon as their bodies touched, something exploded between them, something hot, primal, and fierce. Something Steve hadn’t ever felt before.
They reached for each other, tongues clashing, hands grasping blindly, breath mingling in passion…
And a pounding on the door drove the two of them apart as certainly as if someone had dumped ice cold water over their heads. The voice that followed put a damper on Steve’s more amorous intentions more thoroughly than any stern lecture once delivered by Father Maldoon.
“Darcy!” Thor thundered through the door. “I demand entrance!”
“It’s In His Kiss”
Betty Everett
“You’re so fucking sexy, you know that?”
No, Steve Rogers had not known that. And he still wasn’t sure that he necessarily agreed with that definitive statement. But, at least he now knew that Darcy Lewis thought that and that was fine by him.
Although...
Steve stood in front of one of Stark Tower’s many pristine windows and thoughtfully considered his ghost-like reflection in the glass. The New York skyline outside was covered in dark clouds and little white flakes drifted lazily toward the slushy streets below. What had been a quiet day had turned into a quiet night and he was all alone in the main living room, snowed in with his thoughts.
His reflection was tall, broad-shouldered, muscled, and All-American. It was hard for him to see that reality of himself; it didn’t take much effort at all to see past his well-defined pectorals and remember the frail Brooklyn kid he still was beneath it all. Scrappy but scrawny, Father Muldover had always said about him. Dr. Erskine had seen how to take all that scrappiness and bring it to the forefront, had known how to make the world see what he had seen in young Steve Rogers. But despite the miraculous intervention of the super serum, Steven still had a hard time thinking he was at all attractive to the dames.
He had attracted Peggy, true. But, sometimes, in the uncomfortable darkness of the night, he wonder if her physical attraction to him had existed before his nearly unbelievable reconstruction. He’d never have a chance to ask her, either, and in the more pensive moments like this, he had to wonder if he’d ever had a chance with a woman like her if he’d remained that asthmatic orphan from the inner city.
What did that word mean, ‘sexy’? It was a modern word – he certainly hadn’t it heard it in the days of his childhood or even in the rougher trenches of WWII. Clearly, it’s root derivative was “sex” and Steve wasn’t quite sure if that made him uncomfortable or not.
“Sexy.” Sex. Did Darcy want to…?
Naw. No way. Surely, even she wouldn’t be so forward.
Still…
What did she mean by that? Clearly, he had deciphered her meaning properly in the moment, because she had blushed when he’d called her good-looking. Steve had no idea where that response had come from – he’d been so shocked, that it just sort of stumbled out of him – but it seemed to have been the right thing to say. She had blushed and something like disbelief had chased the smile that she tried to hide.
So, she thought he was good looking? Well, she wasn’t wrong there. Steve didn’t think he was good looking, but he’d had enough experiences with the fairer sex (Peggy not necessarily included) from his time as both a performer and a soldier, to know that women found him unduly attractive. He’d never gotten used to it, either. It was hard to go from the kid no one ever wanted to dance with, to the man that women tried to boldly snare into record room kisses.
He still saw those looks now, in this 21st century New York, when he walked down the street. It didn’t matter of women recognized him as Captain America or not – even incognito, he turned heads. He never gave those looks much thought; he might not have been a worldly man, but it didn’t take a genius to know that most women had a superficial interest in him. Not that Steve thought badly of them for it – after all, his head had been turned once or twice by a particularly stunning dame. Exhibiting passing appreciation for beauty was all part of being human, really.
But…
What did Darcy mean by calling him ‘sexy’? Was she just attracted to him because of his physical appearance? Why did she hang out with him all the time? Did she just want to go to bed with him? Have a physical relationship and leave it at that? Were they just friends with some sort of sexual chemistry mixed up in the middle of it all?
He remembered the way she moaned when he touched her and Steve shifted uncomfortably for a moment in front of the window. He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit to entertaining a certain sexual fascination with Darcy. The feeling of her body was exquisite…the sounds he had unintentionally solicited from her were enough to make him hard…and sure, she was definitely one of the dames who turned his head, ugly sweaters be damned. If he was more certain of the situation between them, he wouldn’t think twice of pressing her, naked, up against the glass in front of him and exploring all the sexual nuances of being a man.
But, he wanted more out of life than just sexual pleasure. God hadn’t created women for the sole purpose of satisfying men’s lust, Father Muldover had often said during Steve’s hormonal teenage years. Steve been raised right. He’d been raised to look for a woman – one woman – who was willing to live with his quirks and whimsies until death did them part. He’d been raised to think of relationships with the opposite gender in terms of life-long commitments, not one-night stands. So, sure. Sexual attraction to Darcy was all well and good. But, what about more?
And, did ‘sexy’ mean more? Or, did it mean what it sounded like – physical attraction that stopped short of deeper meanings? Steve made a slightly mangled, half-groan of frustration and bumped his forehead against the window’s snow-cooled glass.
Why things get so damn complicated when you added a woman to the equation?
“Thinking too hard about things again, Cap?”
A most unwelcome voice interrupted Steve’s private musings and he shut his eyes in a moment of mixed despair and frustration.
“Tony,” he sighed heavily and reluctantly looked over his shoulder.
Apparently, Tony had finally tired of his day’s pursuit of scientific knowledge on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D. Either that, or whatever the group’s resident scientists had been working on had finally been figured out, because Tony wasn’t the only one who had intruded on Steve’s privacy. Thor had marched over to the fireplace to poke at the crackling logs and the couch cushions squeaked a bit as Banner practically threw himself down them.
“I don’t think ‘too hard’,” Steve couldn’t help but get defensive around Tony; it was inevitable, really.
“Yes, you do,” Banner surprised Steve by butting into the conversation; the mild-mannered, gray-haired scientists glanced over at the Captain and smiled wanly. “Take from a man who would know – you look like you’ve been trying to solve all the world’s moral dilemmas. It’s written all over your face.”
“Speak, brother, if you have a problem,” Thor – predictably – decided it was his turn to chip in on the subject at hand. “Riddles are often best solved by more minds than just one.”
Steve looked accusingly back at Tony, who just threw up his hands and sauntered nonchalantly toward the bar.
“Don’t look at me! I could care less what you were thinking about – as long as it doesn’t have anything to do with murdering me in my sleep.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Steve muttered; he was honestly torn by the sudden intrusion on his mental musings.
On one hand, it might be rather nice to solicit other opinions. On the other hand…Tony Stark.
“You had the look of a man who was thinking about a woman.”
Everyone froze and stared toward the bar, where Hawkeye paused himself, a drink shaker in one hand and a martini glass in the other. The archer quirked a blond eyebrow and shrugged, before resuming his activities.
“Where did you come from?” Steve sputtered.
“You were so lost in thought that I just figured I should let you be,” the edge of Clint’s mouth quirked upward for half a second and if Steve hadn’t known any better, he’d have sworn that Hawkeye was trying not to laugh at him.
“How long have you been there?” Steve almost didn’t want to know – did Darcy distract him so thoroughly that he could lose complete track of his surroundings?
“About five minutes or so,” Clint shrugged again, as if it were no big deal.
“I thought Fury sent you out on a mission or something?” Tony narrowed his eyes at Clint.
“Yup,” was all the other man said, before tilting the shaker toward the glass and pouring out the martini that he clearly intended to enjoy.
Tony made a face, as if to convey his disapproval of Clint’s super secret spy-ness, but personal opinions didn’t seem to stop him from joining the archer behind the bar. There was a silence for a few precious moments, as Hawkeye drifted over to perch on top of a barstool and Tony busied himself with what looked like whiskey on the rocks.
“So, seriously – what’s on your mind, Steve?” Bruce finally broke the silence.
“Why the interest?” Steve couldn’t help but ask – it was rather unusual for the others to take such an interest in his private thoughts, at least where it didn’t involve the salvation of humanity from alien invaders.
“No reason in particular,” Bruce’s response was mild; if he minded Steve’s accusatory tone, he didn’t show it. “It’s just that you usually don’t look that intense unless you’re trying to solve some sort of problem.”
“For real,” Tony piped up. “He’s got a point. You’re a pretty humorless stick-in-the-mud, but you usually don’t scowl at windows unless you see an imminent threat outside of them. And I could be mistaken, but a Manhattan snow storm is not a sign of the coming zombie apocalypse.”
Steven just stared at Tony. Which, admittedly, was kind of normal. He didn’t usually know what to say to Stark’s verbal antics half of the time. And really – what was a zombie apocalypse? He almost asked, but then decided that might be a safer conversation to have with Clint or Bruce at another, Tony-free time.
“Speak your mind,” Thor, ever the Asgaardian king, commanded regally with a wave of his enormous hand toward Steve’s vacillating direction. “Tis clear that something vexes you.”
Steve watched Tony mouth the word ‘vexes’ with a quirk of his dark eyebrow and a purse of his lips. A part of the Captain wanted to laugh at the horrendous absurdity of the moment, but after glancing around at all the faces turned so resolutely in his direction, he decided that maybe this was a situation he wasn’t conning his way out of. Then again, he mused ruefully, he wasn’t known for ‘conning’ his way out of anything, ever. Captain America was just entirely too wholesome for verbal cloak and dagger.
And, well…they knew it. Steve glared at Tony, Thor, Clint, and Bruce equally for good measure, but turned his back to them as he struggled to admit what it was he’d been puzzling over. He couldn’t get out of telling them what he was thinking about (short of fleeing the room and even that would only buy him time until the morning), but he determined quickly not to let Darcy’s name leave his lips.
“I was just…uh…wondering,” he shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another as he stared resolutely out of Tony’s storm-darkened living room window. “Well…uh…what…uh…sexy means.”
A ringing silence followed his words, disturbed only by sound of someone choking on his drink. There was a moment of incredulous sputtering from behind him and then Tony – predictably – broke the awkward calm.
“You were staring that intently out a window, trying to figure out what sexy means?”
Steve dared to risk a glance in Tony’s direction. The genius playboy billionaire looked as if he was fighting back a laugh and a furtive look around the room revealed that smiles of various stages were creeping slowly across Bruce’s and Clint’s own mouths. Only Thor remained vaguely confused, which wasn’t as much of a relief as Steve would have imagined.
“Why on earth would you ask that sort of question, anyway?” Tony continued, with a sharp-eyed perusal of Steve from head to foot.
Steve squirmed underneath the other man’s gaze. It felt as if Tony was trying to silently determine the real reason behind Captain America’s sudden carnal curiosity.
“I dunno,” Steve tried to play dumb, with a guileless shrug of his massive shoulders. “I’ve just…heard it used…once…or twice. Just wondered what it means,” he finished lamely, realizing belatedly that he was fooling no one and especially not the keen-witted men sitting around him.
“Well, we don’t need to know why you’re asking,” Clint, surprisingly, lifted a hand to spare Steve his dignity, although a smile wiggled mischievously on the edges of the spy’s usually grim-pressed lips. “But to answer your question, ‘sexy’ simply means that something – or someone – is sexually interesting or exciting.”
“What’d you do, swallow a dictionary?” Tony interjected scathingly, with a wry glance down his long nose at his fellow Avenger.
“I’m not wrong,” Hawkeye tried to defend himself.
“Sure, technically,” Tony scoffed and he waved his whiskey-and-ice in Steve’s general direction. “But you can’t define ‘sexy’ with a dictionary definition. Look,” Tony shifted his stance and some of his usual arrogance surged to the forefront of his general demeanor. “’Sexy’ is a way of being. It’s flashy cars, and money, and good looks, and a bad-boy persona. Women are suckers for a bad boy.”
“No, that’s Tony Stark’s definition of ‘sexy’. There’s more than one way to define it,” Clint vehemently disagreed, before turning toward Steve with a sense of purpose. “You don’t have to a flashy show-boat to turn a woman’s head. Quiet, quirky, and dependable works, too.”
“Sure, if she’s the Black Widow,” Tony countered rudely and a vein on the side of Clint’s neck started to tick.
“Actually,” Bruce interrupted calmly, just in time to stop Tony from going off on a tangent. “It’s been my experience that what attracts women the most is intelligence. Dependability and flashy cars can only get you so far – otherwise, you inevitably find yourself staring blankly across the table at a woman you can’t carry on a conversation with.”
“Only if she wants to talk about quantum physics,” Tony snarked. “Which I don’t think will be the case with Cap.”
“Don’t be obtuse,” it was Bruce’s turn to be high-handed. “A woman doesn’t have to want to talk about quantum physics in order to be classified as ‘smart’. If anything, I was trying to compliment Steve. I highly doubt he’d ever be attracted to the sort of woman who just wants to be a living Barbie doll.”
“Thanks for saying I’m smart…I think?” Steve was starting to feel that the point of the conversation was starting to get lost in personal definitions.
“You’re our fearless leader,” Bruce replied with a soft chuckle and a sardonic glance toward Tony. “That requires some level of intelligence – and desperation, if I say so myself.”
“So, clearly,” Thor finally piped up, his deep voice cutting across the statement that Tony nearly managed to spit out after Bruce’s reference of Steve as their ‘leader’. “’Sexy’ indicates, at some level, a lady’s preference and could include a host of attributes. If a lady has recently referred to you as thus, then clearly there is something about you that has caught her admiration.”
“Well, sure,” Steve reached up and ran a hand through his hair in mild frustration. “But does sexy means the attraction is just physical?”
“And it’s a problem if it does?” Tony didn’t even try to hide his laughter.
“Well…yeah,” Steve prickled, defensive as always when it came to Tony’s opinions.
“Just…breathe, Steve,” Clint took the olive from his martini and threw it at the hide of Tony’s head. “All relationships start with some level of sexual attraction. There’s nothing wrong with that. If she’s the right kind of girl for you, the rest outta’ fall in place. And don’t worry about ‘forever’,” he turned his sharp blue eyes in Steve’s direction and the super soldier had the odd sensation that Clint was able to see far more than he let on. “I know that’s what you were taught in the 40’s, but it’s a different world now. The Cold War taught us that we don’t get ‘forever’ – so just enjoy what comes your way and don’t over-think it. Things will usually work themselves out, regardless of the initial outcome, and you’ll be a better man for letting yourself live a little.”
“Yes, for the love of God, live a little,” Tony threw the olive back at Hawkeye, who nimbly ducked his head to the side; the two watched the little green missile bounce impertinently off of the wall and fall to the floor in defeat. “A good tumble in the sheets might go a long way in removing that stick you’ve got perpetually shoved up your ass.”
“I think what Tony’s trying to say here,” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and interceded before Steve could sputter incoherently in indignation. “Is that you deserve it, Steve. If a woman thinks you’re sexy, and you’re inclined to feel the same about her, then take advantage of the opportunity. After 70 years on ice, no one expects you to live like a cloistered monk.”
“Agreed!” Thor added his approval to mix and pounded his fist resolutely on the top of the fireplace mantle; Tony winced a little as an expensive vase toward the end of the mantle wobbled dangerously for a second or two. “You are a warrior, Steve Rogers. In Asgaard we warriors say: eat, drink, and enjoy the company of strong women, for tomorrow you may die!”
+ + +
Steve was initially inclined to disagree with Thor’s reminder of mortality, but the truth of the matter was that, super serum or not, Steve could eventually lose the fight against the natural laws. It was an appropriately sobering thought and one that he carried with him to the privacy of his own room.
It made him reconsider that fateful night, when he kissed Peggy while racing toward the Red Skull. It hadn’t been a formed thought, but thinking back on it now made him realize that he instinctively knew at that moment in time that he would die. No one could have predicted that the super serum would have kept him alive underneath the ice – no, Captain Steve Rogers had kissed Lieutenant Peggy Carter passionately and purposefully, because he had realized in mere seconds that confronting the Red Skull meant that he wasn’t coming back. Even as she tried to hang on to him over the radio, even as she promised to meet him at 8:00, he knew that she’d never have the chance to teach him how to dance.
He’d known all of that, and more, while they raced toward his fate and he had taken that moment to take what he wanted. He hadn’t been a gentleman, he hadn’t asked for Peggy’s permission, he hadn’t obeyed any of the rules of his Irish Catholic upbringing – all he had thought about was her in that damn red dress and the overwhelming desire he had to meet his grave with her red lipstick on his mouth.
Since that night, he’d been given a second chance at life – a chance he could have never anticipated. With Dr. Erskine so tragically murdered, Steve had had to figure out all of the side effects being a Super Soldier out on his own. There had been some unexpected curve balls thrown in there – not being able to get drunk, not being able to age, not being able to die when submerged in Arctic waters. He was now beginning to realize that there were other side effects to being a Super Soldier, none of which had anything to do with survival. Steve was beginning to discover that with his body perpetually trapped in an endless cycle of early twenties and all of the good health that came with that, it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore his baser urges.
Especially where a certain Darcy Lewis was concerned.
Steve tried to martyr himself for his feelings – after all, it only came natural. He was Irish and Catholic, after all. But…he’d lost his first chance at love. He now lived in a world with very different morals. And, he was starting to think that he’d have to live with a constant almost-hard on as long as he had to coexist in the same space as Darcy.
Sexy. Was it so bad to be sexy? Maybe Tony, Bruce, Thor, and Clint all had a point – if he was honest with himself, he’d first been attracted to Peggy solely because of her looks. It was, admittedly, hard not to be attracted to Peggy’s luscious figure and expressive face; Steve had watched as even Bucky had been affected by her provocative femininity.
It was hard not to be attracted to Darcy for many of the same reasons. Although, because they weren’t all scrambling to survive in a world war, Steve had had a chance at things with Darcy that he hadn’t had with Peggy. For example, he’d been able to go to a movie with Darce; he’d been able to sit alongside her in the dark, with his hand on her knee and her arm (half-way) around his shoulders. He’d been able to sit with her casually, just listening to music and arguing over baseball. Hell, he’d even been able to hug her. There hadn’t been much time for that in war-ravaged London.
He wanted to be on top of her, to be inside of her, to be wrapped completely around her for hours on end. Was it really so bad to want that, to want such carnal, primal things?
Everyone in this brave new world seemed to say “no”, it wasn’t such a bad thing. In fact, they practically encouraged it. (Although, Steve had reason to believe that Thor, at least, would protest loudly and rather violently, if it was revealed that Darcy was the object of such carnal desires.) And, thinking of Thor – the Asgaardian had a point.
If not Steve, then at least Darcy, could die tomorrow. Peggy already had.
Steve lifted his face and let the hot water from his shower head pound gently against his closed eyes. He reached up and smoothed his dripping hair out of his face and tried to take a deep breath. Maybe, Tony was right – maybe it was time to start thinking with something other than his head.
Or, at the very least, to stop overthinking things. Maybe, it was just time to feel.
Water ran down the strong ridges of his stomach; streaks of warmth followed in their wake and slid sensuously around the gathering thickness between his thighs. Steve sighed heavily again and finally let his mind wander – to thoughts of Darcy’s body beneath his hands, of the soft breathless whimpers his fingers had slowly dragged out of her, of the feel of her breasts pressing ever-so-tenuously against his unforgiving chest.
His right hand slowly followed the water down toward his thighs, as he kept his face turned up toward the shower head. He hadn’t dared to do this since becoming an adult, telling himself far too often in the past that it was a childish thing and something that was beneath his dignity. But, tonight, he couldn’t help it – he was being continuously challenged to leave the past behind him and to re-evaluate himself in the light of the modern world. In the modern world, modern men didn’t hesitate to pleasure themselves; this was a hedonistic world, now, as Steve had blushingly come to realize from sneaking Those Books out of Tony’s library. And, well…
He could die tomorrow.
His fist wrapped around the thick length of his cock and Steve stifled a moan as he unwillingly imagined Darcy’s small hand doing the same. He was immersed in warmth and wetness and so help him, Steve wished she was in the shower with him. He’d pick her up, wrap those long curvy legs around his waist, press her back against the shower wall and ravage her. Kiss her until she couldn’t breathe, kiss her breasts, kiss her center, taste her.
Steve groaned and pumped his hand faster, harder. All he wanted was a kiss – just one kiss. One kiss to see how she felt about him. One kiss to tell her how he felt about her. One kiss to see how far he could take it…
+ + +
“Steve!”
Darcy gasped and struggled against him, but Steve had her held down firmly, his hands wrapped around her wrists.
“Shhh,” he murmured against the soft skin below her right earlobe.
“Please…!” she pleaded again and pushed her pelvis up against his.
Her meaning was clear. She wanted him.
“Let me take my time,” he chuckled, as he nipped the skin between her neck and her shoulder. “Trust me.”
“Ooooh,” was all Darcy seemed capable of saying, as his tongue caressed her nipple.
She arched her back this time, encouraging him to ravish her breasts as he had just moments before. Steve, however, just wanted to tease her – he had already explored the soft, silky skin of her chest, had already sucked and nibbled her nipples to taunt little peaks. He had another goal in mind, now – one that filled him with uncertainty, but that he was determined to try nonetheless.
He left a chaste little kiss on her other nipple, before running his tongue slowly down the smooth curve of her stomach. Darcy was practically panting with need now and Steve could smell her scent – thick, heavy, and tempting. He hadn’t thought it possible (hadn’t ever really thought of it at all), but Darcy’s feminine scent attracted him deeply. The smell of her stirred his baser instincts and the thought of tasting her at her most intimate left his cock throbbing against the sheets beneath them. He took his time, though, letting his tongue linger on the delicious expanse of creamy naked skin beneath him.
He eventually made it to her thighs, though, and Darcy suddenly lay very, very still beneath him, her breathe shallow with expectation. Steve let go of one of her wrists, propped himself on the opposite elbow, and eyed her smooth-shaven pussy with a rare sense of indecision. He had never done this before (of course, he hadn’t done any of “this” before, but so far, inexperience hadn’t stopped him) and if it hadn’t been for Tony’s books, he probably wouldn’t have ever thought of it, either. But, what he had read had been…illuminating…and he’d quickly found that the passages that made him the hardest, were the ones about kissing between a woman’s thighs.
The idea had intrigued him from the very beginning. He was completely hooked on kissing as it was – he had known that since he’d been grabbed by that bored blond orderly and dragged behind the record shelves. If he was inclined to think in Freudian terms, he would have thought that maybe he had an oral fixation. As a kid, he’d gotten into trouble for trying to experience the world through taste, right down to trying to eat dirt. He loved to eat (a fact that was further enabled by his super soldier metabolism) and as a whole, Steve loved to try new things (a fact that Darcy loved and had happily exploited on multiple occasions, although Steve had put his foot down over sashimi). All of that combined and it totally stood to reason that he would be fascinated by the idea of tasting Darcy – but, all the same, he wasn’t quite sure of what he was doing and that made him pause for a moment to assess the new territory he was about to plunder.
He hesitantly brushed his fingers against the soft folds of her labia and Darcy shivered from head to foot. He glanced up at her and met her eyes – they were wide, her pupils dilated by pleasure, and they were completely trusting. That struck Steve straight through the heart. It didn’t matter to her if he had ever done this before or not (and she knew he hadn’t – the whole world knew he hadn’t), she trusted him to try it anyway. She trusted his ability to make her curl her toes and scream his name, and her trust fueled her desire. Darcy lifted her hips toward him, as if to silently encourage him to overcome his brief hubris.
She was hot there and wet; he could feel her desire, thick and sticky against the pads of his fingertips. Steve imagined burying himself in such delicious warmth and he groaned at the thought. Darcy mewled in response to his desire and bucked her hips again. Steve lowered his head in obedient response – what a lady wanted, a lady got.
He kissed her softly at first – nothing more than the chaste press of his lips against hers. Once, twice – the third time, though, he let just the very tip of his tongue catch some of the moisture that was engorging her skin and he tasted her for the first time.
She took his breath away and immediately, he wanted more. The taste of her ignited a visceral need to have more of her, to have all of her and he opened his mouth willingly to take her in. His tongue delved eagerly between her folds and Darcy’s hips practically rocketed off of the bed.
“Steve!” she squealed and her hands suddenly tangled themselves in hair.
All that accomplished was to pull his face closer to her core and Steve happily followed her unspoken command. He had no earthly clue what he was doing, but she didn’t seem to care. Inspired, however, by the thought that he could mimic with his tongue what he did with his fingers, Steve pulled back just slightly and used his thumbs to spread her open. At first, Darcy protested at the brief loss of contact between them, but when his tongue curled around the tiny bud of her arousal, she melted blissfully between his hands.
And, finally, Steve understood what it meant to ravish a woman. He didn’t really possess anything that one could call a “technique”, but he knew that he drove her crazy with his hands, so he tried his best to follow suit with his mouth. He also just allowed himself to get lost in the taste and the smell of her – after a few hesitant moments, his tongue to seemed to take on a mind of its own and he lapped away at her like a man parched. Eventually, Darcy became so lost to sensation that the only sound to come of out her was a breathless, primal pant. Steve thought he had never heard anything more erotic in his life – which, he admitted to himself with a slight chuckle against her core that made her mewl and curl her toes, was definitely true.
The best part, though, was when her pleasure finally peaked. Darcy’s whole body convulsed underneath him and he almost thought she’d break his nose, so he pulled back quickly and watched, wide-eyed, as she rode the waves of desire that rolled through her. His name hung in the air between them like a shout of victory and she shuddered for several long moments before finally opening her eyes. The look she gave him was both languid and demanding.
No words were needed. Steve pushed himself up on his elbows and leaned into to kiss her on the mouth. She responded as passionately as ever and the thought that she tasted him on his tongue just stirred his libido higher. As they kissed, he casually positioned himself so that his cock rested teasingly against her; she bucked her hips, he entered her, and they both swallowed a groan as he lost himself in the sweet, silky slickness of her body…
+ + +
It was a little difficult meeting Darcy straight in the eye the morning after having such a vivid fantasy about her – about them – but after a few moments of internal flailing, Steve managed to pretend that his mind hadn’t been (still was?) in the gutter. Truth be told, they were both a little awkward around each other, when they finally crossed paths at the breakfast bar – although, why Darcy wouldn’t quite look him in the eye was a bit of a mystery to Steve. He shifted uncomfortably on the stool next to her and wondered if she could somehow read his mind.
They didn’t say much to each other. Then again, Darcy wasn’t much of a morning person and Steve didn’t say much anyway, so it shouldn’t have felt awkward. But, it did. Every time Steve caught her move out of the corner of his eye, all he could think about was that searing fantasy of her spread out underneath him. What she thinking about, however, he couldn’t tell, but he wondered if maybe he had crossed some unspoken line the day before when he’d massaged her shoulders.
Maybe he had read too much into her “sexy” statement; maybe, like with most things Darcy said, it had just been an impulse, encouraged along by his having touched her. Maybe she didn’t mean anything by it, after all, and he had over-thought and fantasied for nothing.
So, it was to his very great surprise when she took a deep breath, set her empty cereal bowl down in the sink and finally met him in the eye. A delicate blush flushed the skin across her cheeks and Steve was hard pressed not to notice it. His focus faltered for a moment, but when she tapped her foot and put her hands on her hips, he swiftly snapped his attention to her eyes. It was then his turn to blush.
“Hey, day dreamer,” Darcy addressed him wryly, the corners of her mouth quirking upward in something of a smile. “You up to anything tonight?”
“Uh…um…no,” Steve could have kicked himself for his complete lack of suave debonair.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty busy all day. Fury hit me up with an errand list a mile long last night after dinner,” she pressed onward, full steam ahead as always. “But, anyways, I was wondering…doyouwannawatchTVwithmelater?”
“…What?” Steve blinked; he’d been able to follow everything she said, right up to the very last bit.
If he hadn’t known any better, he would have thought Darcy was nervous. He thought she had just invited him to watch TV, so he wasn’t quite sure why she would be so nervous about making that request. They’d watched TV together plenty of times, in the living room/common room.
“Ah,” Darcy smiled weakly – she was nervous! – and cleared her throat. “I wanted to know if you wanted to watch…ah…TV…with me…later.”
“Sure,” Steve was eager to reassure her. “What time? I’ll meet you in the living room.”
“Well…um…actually…” Darcy paused and visibly swallowed; Steve thought his eyebrows might disappear permanently into his hairline, out of surprise. “I was wondering if…ah…you’d like to…ummmm….”
“Just spit it out, Darce,” Steve tried not to laugh nervously himself. “I’m not going to bite you.”
That seemed to be the wrong to say, as her cheeks just flushed a darker red. Suddenly, Steve’s mind took a detour toward dangerous thoughts – thoughts of his teeth scraping against her shoulder, thoughts of his lips leaving a mark of passion behind on her delicate skin.
“Well, ahem,” she gathered together her courage for a second time and cleared her throat. “I was wondering if you’d like to…um…hang out with me in…well…my…my…uh…fuck it.”
Steve watched, jaw agape, as Darcy suddenly dashed past him, all long dark hair and blushing red cheeks. He blinked stupidly after her, his mind spinning like a hamster ball left to its own devices. As Darcy burst out the kitchen door, she ran into and bounced off of Thor, who stopped dead in his tracks and watched in equal disbelief as Darcy disappeared into the elevator beyond.
“What hast thou done?”
Steve had never once thought that Shakespearean (Asgaardian?) English could sound so unbelievably threatening and he tried not to swallow visibly in a sudden rush of nervousness. Thankfully, he didn’t have to lie to Thor.
“I have no idea,” he shrugged helplessly and held up his hands as if to say “it wasn’t me!”
Thor eyed him suspiciously and thumped past him with a brotherly glare for good measure, but there wasn’t much that either man could do. Steve had no idea what he had done to solicit such a response from Darcy and Thor, as an innocent bystander, could do more than glower. Awkward silence now reigned supreme in the kitchen, but that bought Steve enough time to puzzle out what Darcy had been trying to say. He nearly dropped his plate of bacon and eggs when he figured out.
Wait…was she…inviting me to her room?
+ + +
Darcy was not to be seen for the rest of the day, but word of her hasty retreat from the kitchen had apparently spread through the group like wildfire. Steve had his own glare to cast upon Thor, for gossiping like a schoolgirl, but there wasn’t anything he could except protest his innocence loudly and often.
It was about midday, when Jane finally managed to corner Steve in the elevator, between the tenth and eighth floor.
“I don’t know what you did to Darcy,” the petite astro-physicist whirled around viciously and poked her forefinger into Steve’s chest.
He blinked owlishly down at her. What more surprises could the day possibly bring? He decided, after warily eying a flushed and fierce-eyed Dr. Foster, that he really didn’t want to know the answer to that question.
“But you better make it up to her!” she poked him again for good measure.
The two stared at each in the deafening silence that followed her abrupt proclamation. The elevator smoothly slid past level nine.
“Her favorite ice cream is double chocolate Moose Tracks, with extra hot fudge sauce,” she declared as the elevator stopped on floor eight and the door gracefully slid open.
Steve watched, dumbstruck, as she sailed out of the elevator with all the hauteur of a European queen.
What did ice cream have to do with anything?
+ + +
The grand mystery of ice cream aside, Steve followed Jane’s cryptic advice. He spent the afternoon canvasing all of the convenience stores within a five block radius and finally found a gallon carton of Darcy’s double chocolate Moose Tracks. He was left to wonder, as he trudged back home through the snow and the muck, what had happened to simple chocolate ice cream.
Being a man of simple pleasures himself, he picked up a carton of vanilla bean, for good measure. It had the potential of being a very, very long night.
+ + +
Darcy didn’t show up for dinner. A brief, clandestine, and thoroughly awkward conversation with a bemused Jarvis (could A.I.’s even be bemused?), Steve discovered that Darcy had apparently locked herself in her room and ordered Chinese takeout. After suffering the thinly veiled displeasure of Thor and Jane for most of the day, Steve decided he’d be safer skipping dinner himself. He collected his cartons of ice cream and took the stairs up to Darcy’s room (so he wouldn’t be backed into a corner by a ferocious mother-she-beast again).
He then spent five agonizing minutes staring blankly at the smooth, wood paneled expanse of Darcy’s door. After internally hemming and hawing for another five minutes on top of that, he finally gathered up the courage to knock.
He’d faced Nazis, lost his best friend, fought the Red Skull, and saved the city of New York – twice. But, it all dimmed in comparison to the terror of staring into a pair of indignant brown eyes and the possibility of crushing rejection. As Darcy peered up at him from around the edge of the door, Steve acutely felt every inch the scrawny asthmatic of his youth. The dashing, decisive, victory-wielding Captain America he was not, not in that agonizing moment.
“Can I help you?” Darcy sniffled and Steve narrowed his eyes – had she been crying?
“I…uh…brought you ice cream,” he decided maybe it was best not to ask about the suspicious puffy rings around her eyes, and instead thrust the cartons of ice cream at her as if they were sacrificial lambs.
“Did Jane set you up to this?” Darcy kept the door stubbornly situated between them.
“Actually…you set me up to this, since you…ah…asked me to watch TV with you…here,” Steve swallowed the temptation to flail helplessly.
Nazis? Alien invaders? Tony Stark? No problem. Darcy Lewis?
He was reduced to stammering incompetence in the wake of her accusatory gaze.
“Jane, I think, just set me up with a…ah…peace offering,” he held it out toward here again with a weak, but hopefully hopeful smile.
There was a long and thunderous silence as Darcy peered up at him over the edge of her glasses. Then, without warning, she threw open her door, reached past the carton of ice cream that had been so thoughtfully extended toward her, and grabbed the front of Steve’s tight white t-shirt.
“Just get in here before Thor sees you.”
+ + +
It was a puzzling, existential, and decidedly bizarre show, but halfway through the first season, Steve decided that he liked Captain Jack Harkness of Torchwood, Cardiff. They had something in common, as men out of time. And, Steve could relate to the eccentric time traveler, in his long WWII officer’s coat and old-fashioned charm. He had disappointed Darcy, though, by figuring out Jack’s “secret” by the third or fourth episode – certainly, by the time they got to the
part about the faeries and Jack’s old WWII sweetheart (the female one), Steve had blurted it out.
“Really?! It took me until Gwen figured it out and that’s not for a few more episodes!” Darcy had complained, with a cute pout of her bottom lip.
She was in a good mood, though, having been placated with egg rolls, Hunan pork, and double-chocolate Moose Tracks. The two hadn’t said anything further, hadn’t “worked” anything out; Steve just sat down on the couch next to her, in the little mini-living room portion of her bedroom suite, and the two enjoyed a companionable silence. As the show progressed, though, Steve noticed that Darcy slowly inched closer and closer to him, until she was practically cuddled up against his side.
They bantered about the show – he thought it was weird, but Darcy loved it. Mostly, he just enjoyed the truce they had called between each other and the chance to share some space with her on the couch. He couldn’t quite work up the courage to ask her why she wanted him to come watch Torchwood with her in her room, instead of in the common area, but he strongly suspected that Darcy wanted to spend time alone with him. The thought both terrified and emboldened him – two emotions that he hadn’t ever known could have existed simultaneously with one another.
He was afraid to ask, though, for fear that he’d embarrass her again. She had clearly frozen up earlier, at breakfast, when trying to ask him over. Steve decided it was best to let that one lie until another time. Maybe, after they had gotten to know each other a little bit better.
They both gradually got drowsy and suddenly, it didn’t matter anymore why she wanted him there – it was simply enough that she had. They both yawned; it was getting late and a glance at his watch revealed that it was past midnight. Steve shifted in his seat, preparing to leave, and for just a moment, Darcy snuggled up closer to him, as if to encourage him to stay.
He would never remember what gave him the courage to kiss her, but it happened. It was a slow-motion affair, too. Steve reached over and put his hand under her in a chin; his intention was just to wake her up enough to let her know that he had to go. What happened next was completely unrehearsed.
She leaned in toward him, he leaned in toward her – it was an unspoken attraction, an unplanned but almost instinctual act. He tilted her chin up toward his and their lips touched.
That first time, it was gentle, uncertain, chaste. Steve titled his head, just to change the angle of his approach, and the next kiss was deeper, harder, hungrier. Darcy reached up to wrap her arms around his neck and the third kiss involved parted lips, hot breath, and just the briefest brushes of his tongue against hers.
Steve felt the electricity shoot straight down to his toes. He tasted her – chocolate and chilies – and he knew he needed more. Their tongues touched again and he pulled her into his lap; as soon as their bodies touched, something exploded between them, something hot, primal, and fierce. Something Steve hadn’t ever felt before.
They reached for each other, tongues clashing, hands grasping blindly, breath mingling in passion…
And a pounding on the door drove the two of them apart as certainly as if someone had dumped ice cold water over their heads. The voice that followed put a damper on Steve’s more amorous intentions more thoroughly than any stern lecture once delivered by Father Maldoon.
“Darcy!” Thor thundered through the door. “I demand entrance!”
Notes
Sorry for the long delays between updates, guys! I just started my Master's Degree program, so I can only write when...well...when I can find the time to write! Updates will be slow (super slow), but I have spring break coming up in about a month and I PROMISE TO FINISH THIS DAMN THING!
I promise! LOL
Also, thank you SOOOOOOOOO much to everyone who has so enthusiastically reviewed this story so far. Every review was that much more encouragement to keep on going and get another update posted. Don't ever underestimate the power of your own words - they keep this writer writing!
This is cool
10/3/14