“Thanks, Jarv, you’re the man,” Darcy says as the door slides open, letting her into Steve’s tower apartment.
“You’re welcome, Miss Lewis.”
The apartment is decorated in a sort of vintage American Airlines style. Dark wood, chrome and subtle red, white and blue accents. Steve pretended he hated it more than he actually did. The heels of her boots sink into the plush carpet and Darcy considers taking them off to wiggle her toes.
“Darcy? What are you doing up here?”
“Well, I thought I’d come check on my favorite kevlar blend wearing superdude before I head home for the night.”
“You hate Cap,” Steve replies from the couch. His voice is rough, tired and worn, and when she rounds the corner of the couch he looks worse. Face pinched up in pain, hands hidden behind layers and layers of cotton bandages. He’s shirtless, face and chest flushed a faint pink, temples damp with sweat. Darcy’s eyes follow the dark hair on his chest down the rippled muscles of his belly to where it disappears under the waistband of his grey sweatpants and the navy blue pillow fallen across his lap.
“I don’t hate Cap,” Darcy says, flopping down on the couch beside him as carefully as possible. She bends over and unzips her boots, pulling them off and flexing her her feet. The line of worry between Steve’s brows melts away, left eyebrow quirking up, the sides of his mouth twitching up the smallest bit. “I think Captain America is a tool...and he’s very bossy.”
“Well, I could list other things but you’re injured and I don’t want to add mental distress to your catalogue of ouchies.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Steve says dryly, shifting his shoulders back.
“Sarcasm aside. You okay?”
“I know the painkillers don’t work but can I get you anything else? Food? Grotty milkshake? Super-soldier-calorific gel?”
“M’fine.” Steve drops his gaze from her to the clutter of newspapers, field reports, books, and an empty glass with a residue of one his gross protein shakes on the coffee table. Steve half heartedly crosses, and uncrosses his arms over his chest. It looks ridiculous with his hands bandaged up like cotton swabs, and he drops them to his sides with an exasperated huff.
He doesn’t look fine. Not one little bit. There’s a fine sheen of sweat on his temples, and his face and chest are pinked up, like they are after he’s been in the gym or out running . Darcy opens her mouth to argue and closes it again with a snap when Steve’s constant fidgeting sends the cushion in his lap cartwheeling to the floor. Oh. “Um, Steve, can I ask you one more question?”
“Do you, uh, need a hand?” Darcy asks. She isn’t entirely sure if she wants to wince or giggle.
Steve’s brows knit together. “I don’t need anything else?”
“You sure about that?” she asks again, eyebrows arching over the top of her glasses frames. She lets her gaze drop from Steve’s face to his lap where the couch cushion has slid to the side revealing a rather impressive bulge.
Steve Rogers dresses to the left.
“Nnnng,” Steve says, eyes shutting tight, head falling back on the sofa. Steve’s cheeks, the tips of his ears, and his chest flush with color. It’s a beautiful shade of pink. He throws one arm over his face, the bandages wrapped around his hand very white against his skin.
It’s the first time Darcy has ever seen Steve embarrassed. Definitely the first time she’s ever seen him aroused.
She’s seen him grow red from anger and frustration but this, this is delightful. Really, she should be ashamed of herself. Ashamed of the smile curving her lips and the sizzle of electricity racing down her spine at the thought of getting her hands on him. One way ticket to the Special Hell for me, she thinks. God, she is the worst friend.
“Adrenaline,” he rasps.
“You’ve been back from Medical for hours.”
“It’ll go away,” he says stubbornly.
“You sure? Cause I’m thinking not.” She struggles to keep her eyes from sliding down his truly impressive chest and gives up with a shrug, eyes dipping down and back up to his face. His eyes are closed, dark lashes fringing his cheekbones. She reaches out touching his forearm, above the bandages covering his hand from fingertips to wrist. “Look, if you’re sure I’ll go or I can get Kelly? Krista? Krystal...the girl you went out with last week to..uh, help you out. Or Agent...er Ms. Romanoff.”
“God, no. Please, just stop.”
“It’s just a hard on, Steve. We’re both adults here. Do you want my help? Yes or no.”
“Yes,” he says, voice sandpaper rough. Her eyes widen and Darcy nearly topples over onto the floor. Steve stares at a fixed point over her right shoulder, drags his perfect white teeth over his plump bottom lip. “Please.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“No more ridiculous than your hands being burnt by alien lizard spit.”
“I just asked you to jerk me off,” Steve growls.
“Technically you didn’t ask - I offered.” Darcy shifts closer on the couch and ignores the overly dramatic way Steve huffs and rolls his eyes.
“So...the sweats need to come off...unless you want to jizz in your pants,” Darcy sings the last part while tugging on on the fabric near his knee.
Steve’s eyebrows inch toward his hairline and the corners of his mouth twitch faintly.
“Okay, lets do this.” Darcy nods and reaches out to grab the elasticated hem of Steve’s sweats. Her nails scratch against his belly, and Steve’s breath catches as his hips lift up off the couch cushion.
“Hell,” he mutters low as Darcy tugs the sweats down to his knees, careful of his cock, as it springs free, and the bandage taped to his right thigh.
“Holy shit, Steve,” she breathes out when she looks at him, really looks at him.
Steve laughs and she takes his moment of distraction to wrap her fingers around him. His cock is heavy and hot in the palm of her hand, precome shining on the crown, a bit of grey cotton fluff stuck to the foreskin. She strokes her hand down and watches the foreskin retract from the head. “Well, I guess it’s true what they say.”
“A man’s lips truly do match the color of his cockhead.”
”Come on, that was funny,” Darcy snickers. It is funny though, and if they can’t laugh about how uncomfortable and insane this is she is going to burst, in the way that leaves little bits of Darcy everywhere and not remotely the fun kind of way. She shifts her position, knee pressing Steve’s hip, leg curled under her. She slides her hand down and twists on the upstroke. Steve’s hips jerk up, a half curse slipping from his open mouth, eyes fixed on her hand on his cock.
“Okay?” she asks, rubbing a circle over the crown of his cock slick with precome.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she says, quickening the pace of her hand. She can’t take her eyes off of him as she shifts her legs to press her thighs tightly together. Steve snakes his arm around her shoulder, the bandages on his hand catching on her sweater. Darcy switches her hands so she can play with his balls. Steve spreads his legs as wide as the sweatpants around his knees will allow. His hips roll up, ass leaving the couch cushions as he thrusts into the circle of her hand.
A stream of yeses spill from his lips and Steve’s head tips back against the sofa, eyes tightly shut, lips bitten red. Darcy moves her leg, let herself rock against the heel of her foot to ease the ache. It feels good, he feels good in her hands, solid and hot. She bites her lip but fails to muffle a low moan.
“Darce,” Steve groans. The sound rattles through her chest and her pussy clenches tight. God. His hips jerk, mouth parting on a wordless cry as he comes, cock pulsing in her hand. Abdominals flexing as come shoots over his sweat slick belly and chest.
“Wow, that was...that was really impressive, Steve,” Darcy says, giving his cock one last squeeze. Steve hisses, hips jerking, his bandaged hand bumping her forearm. She pulls her hands away, flexing her wrist in a slow circle to ease the ache. Her fingers are clean but Steve’s a mess, belly and chest striped in come with one small drop glistening on his chin. Without thinking Darcy swipes at the spot with her thumb, licks the taste of him from her skin.
“Jesus, Darce,” he rasps, eyes falling shut again.
Darcy grins, wide and wicked, “Let me get a cloth to clean you up. She uncurls her legs and finds her feet, though her legs feel as if they’re made of jell-o. She ignores the insistent pulse of arousal between her thighs. She can deal with that later.
The bathroom is down on the hall to the right. She turns the tap to hot, running her fingers through the water until it’s warm enough to dampen the corner of a towel. She switches off the tap and ignores her reflection in the mirror with its dark eyes and flushed skin.
She can still taste him on her tongue and she imagines what it would be like to swallow him down, curl her tongue around the crown of his cock, explore the his skin with lips and tongue. God.
Steve is still splayed out on the sofa where she left him. Sweats around his knees, come dripping down hair covered chest and the hard cobbles of his abdomen, cock soft against his thigh, bandaged hands at his sides. “Hey,” she says softly, kneeling down beside his legs and touching the towel to his skin.
"Don't worry. I won't sully your reputation, Captain," she says, patting his thigh as she mops up the mess of him.
"Not gonna kiss an' tell?"
"Well, considering we haven't actually kissed, I have nothing to tell," Darcy says, lifting her shoulders in a casual shrug. It doesn’t reflect how she feels; she isn’t sure what she feels kneeling at Steve’s feet in wet panties carefully cleaning come from his belly. She focuses on the towel rubbing over his stomach and chest, slow sweeps of her hand that makes his muscles twitch and jump. His eyes are on her face, and she fights the impulse to squirm. Flipping the towel around to the clean end she pats his skin dry. He laughs a little when the towel rubs over his left nipple and he bats her hand away with the side of his arm.
"Should we do something about that, maybe?" Steve says, words blurred with sleep.
"Maybe you need to stop talking and get some rest, Steve," Darcy says. She curls her fingers into the soft cotton of his sweatpants and tugs them up to his thighs, the backs of her nails scraping over his skin.
“So am I. Now up,” Darcy orders and Steve shifts his hips up without arguing. Darcy pulls the sweats up over his ass, lets the elastic snap at his waist. “Think you can sleep now?”
“Yeah, maybe,” Steve says, lifting his legs up onto the couch and slumping over to the side, the color fading from his flushed face and chest as exhaustion sets in. She pulls the fleece throw off the back of the sofa; it’s soft under her fingers and Steve sighs as it falls over his bare chest. “What about…”
“It’s fine, Steve, forget about it.”
Darcy bites her lip and leans down, fingers still tangled in the fleece as she presses a soft kiss on his lips. Steve hums against her mouth and she swipes her tongue out over his bottom lip. "Goodnight, Steve."
"Night, Darce," he murmurs, eyes slipping closed.
He licks his lips and she can’t help but wonder what he tastes. The vanilla of her lip gloss and the musky tang of himself, maybe.
She can hear the low buzz of his snoring before she reaches the door.
Steve wakes to the scent of coffee, grease, a sharp note of citrus, and the sound of Bucky’s overly cheerful whistling. His mouth tastes like something died in it. When he flutters open his eyes he glares accusingly at the empty milkshake glass still on the table as he runs his tongue over the film on his teeth. He’s too warm, and flails his arms out from under the blanket awkwardly. The blanket clings to his left arm and he snarls swinging his feet to the floor and shaking the blanket free of his bandaged hands.
Bits and pieces of dream clinging to his waking mind, a jumble of images that make no sense. He takes a deep breath to clear his mind, and the scent of burnt bacon and dark roasted coffee fill his lungs. His stomach cramps painfully and he hunches over, elbows on his knees. Steve brings his left hand to his mouth and tugs at the bandage with his teeth.
“Mornin’,” Bucky calls out from the kitchen, a spatula in his flesh and blood hand and a smirk plastered across his face.
“Mornin’,” Steve says, mouth full of cotton.
“Lemme’ help with that, asshole,” Bucky says, stepping through the kitchen with a plate stacked high with food. Bucky sets the plate down on the coffee table, nudging aside the empty glass. He bats Steve’s hand away from his face and unravels the bandages slower than Steve would like.
“It’s in the kitchen,” Bucky says. He drops Steve’s bandage on the floor and they both examine his hand. There is a sheen of ointment the doctor put on but the skin is whole, pink and swollen. “Hurt?”
“Liar,” Bucky snorts automatically reaching for Steve’s still bandaged hand.
Steve could do it himself but he lets Bucky fuss, wallows in the memory of all the times they have patched each other up since they were kids. He deliberately makes himself relax, swallows hard and keeps his eyes on the curl of steam rising from the eggs heaped on the plate.
“Darcy find you last night?”
“Short mouthy thing you pretend you’re bros with,” Bucky supplies.
“Bros,” Steve repeats. The word doesn’t fit right in his mouth, it feels too sharp, too modern. Steve both loves and detests it. If he could he would collect words like butterflies, pin them to boards and admire their shining syllables.
He flexes his fingers under Bucky’s watchful gaze. His hands ache, the skin too new, too raw, the callouses burned away. “Darcy is…” he starts but his voice trails off before the word ‘friend’ can form in his brain and trickle down to his tongue. The scene from the night before unfolds in his mind, in achingly explicit detail. Darcy’s hand curled around his dick. Her eyes dark, cheeks the same shade of pink as her lipstick, the moan deep in her throat that sent him over the edge. ”Aw, hell.”
“You say something to her, pal?”
“No,” Steve says, scrubbing his hands over his too warm face. His hands twinge at the rough treatment and he welcomes the small distraction of the pain. What he said wasn’t the problem, what he allowed to happen was. Fuck. Steve takes a deep breath and his belly rumbles its annoyance.
“Eat first, fat-head, then you can tell me what we need to fix.”
“There is nothing we need to fix. I can take care of my own problems,” Steve snaps back with more bite than he intends.
Bucky rolls his eyes and shoves the plate of food in Steve’s hands. “Suit yourself, asshole.”
“We need to talk.”
“Hello to you too, Rogers.”
“About what happened--”
"Really, Steve, it's no big deal. I was just... helping out a friend."
"Well, usually people need coffee or hacking or whatever and not a handjob after saving the world--"
"It wasn't the world. It was a small town in New Jersey."
"Whatever...it's not a big deal. Well, it was big..."
"I suppose I should be flattered."
"Are you seriously fishing for compliments about your cock?"
"I - no, I was not fishing for compliments. I was just saying...that I'm glad you approve?" Steve winces, reaches up to rub the back of his neck.
"Oh my God," Darcy says, covering her face in her hands, shoulders shaking.
“We are not having this conversation in the hallway.”
“Fine,” Steve says. He blows out a breath, glances both ways down the hall, curls his hand around her wrist and pulls her a few doors down. He punches in a code on the small panel beside the door. The panel beeps cheerfully, and a green light glows. Steve twists the handle, pushes the door open and pulls her inside.
The room is filled with boxes and odd shapes hidden under dust sheets. It would be creepy if she wasn’t so preoccupied with Steve’s presence. He crowds her into the room until her back hits the far wall and she has nowhere else to run. She can feel the heat his body is generating in the cold of the room.
“Okay, you have me here, so talk,” Darcy says crossing her arms over her chest. The movement hides her nipples but pushes her cleavage up in the neckline of her dress. Steve’s eyes drop down and back up to hers.
Steve licks his lips, mouth opening but he shakes his head at whatever he wanted to say. He shifts slightly up onto his toes a fraction and back down, hands hanging loose at his sides. “I don’t know where to start.”
“You could just say thanks for the handy and we can just go back to being friends. It’s not that hard,” she says with a shrug letting her eyes trail down his t-shirt covered chest to gaze pointedly at his jean covered crotch.
“Thanks,” Steve snorts, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling.
It breaks the bubble of tension growing between them. They are friends. It really shouldn’t be this hard to be friends. It’s only Steve and she is not going to think about Steve naked and hard on the couch with his hands covered in bandages. His hands. “How are the hands?”
“Mhmm,” she murmurs, reaching for his right hand and pulling him into her personal space. She turns his palm up examining it closely. The skin is pink and new looking, smooth when she runs her fingertip down his palm.
“Told you m’fine.”
“You said that the other night and lied through your teeth.”
“So no trouble choking the chicken this morning I take it?” It’s inappropriate, but hardly any worse than jerking off Captain America post mission. Except it wasn’t Cap, it was Steve, and Steve is her friend. Her friend that made her want to squirm, blush, and run, all at once.
“Joke, just a joke, I swear.”
“Then why are you blushing?” he asks, voice dropping an octave. Darcy closes her eyes as the image of Steve naked, flushed and so very aroused crowds behind her eyelids. His fingers curled around his cock, lip caught between his white, white teeth. Electricity jolts down her spine, nipples hard against the lace of her bra, breath hitching in her throat. Darcy snaps her eyes open. Steve inches away from her, head cocked to the side, mouth twitching up at the corner.
I’m not, she thinks, but can’t make the lie form on her tongue. She scrapes her nails over the smooth skin of his palm and Steve shivers. He fucking shivers and triumph surges through her. Steve’s eyes flick up from their joined hands, lingering on the hint of cleavage peeking from the neckline of her grey dress.
His eyes are bright, heat lingering in their depths that sends a bolt of lust ricocheting down her spine and settling in the vicinity of her panties. Pink and grey panties with a chevron design that matches her bra.
“I’m…” she says, voice trailing off as Steve’s left eyebrow ticks up. Jerk, she thinks, pulse jumping as Steve’s fingertips trace over her inner wrist. Her eyelids flutter closed and she tilts her head back. She breathes in the scent of dust, soap and the musky scent of Steve. “...not.”
The air shifts, goosebumps rippling across her skin, despite the pink and grey striped cardigan over her shoulders.
“Try again,” Steve says, circling his hand around her wrist and trailing up her forearm to her elbow.
“Fine,” she says with more fire, snapping her eyes open to look up at him and thankful that, for once, she has heels on to make the height difference less. “I’m blushing. It’s hot. You’re hot. It was hot as fuck jerking you off. I’m never going to forget having my hands on your cock, watching you come and tasting you on my fingers.”
His breath hitches, color bleeding across his cheeks. “Fuck.” The word is barely louder than a gasp. His fingers twitch on her forearm, and the tip of his tongue wets his lips.
“Couldn’t wait to strip my panties off when I got home,” she confesses, too late to stop the flow of words on her tongue.
Steve’s nostrils flare and the skin along his jaw flexes. Something dark and hot flashes in his eyes, and he swallows reflexively, adam’s apple bobbing. His hand slides from her arm and Darcy shivers at the loss. His palm slaps flat against the grey wall beside her ear.
The wall that feels as if it’s the only thing keeping her on her feet.
Steve leans into her, breath warm on her cheek. His lips brush the shell of her ear. “And then?”
The air leaves her lungs in a rush. With the next inhalation she can almost taste him in her mouth. Her skin feels too tight, prickly with tension. What are we doing, she thinks, but she knows the answer, even if she never expected it. “I took off my shirt and bra and laid down on my bed. Sheets all rumpled beneath me, phone buzzing on the nightstand but all I cared about was slipping my hand between my thighs. I was so wet.”
“Hell,” Steve chokes against her ear.
She doesn’t even try to hide her whimper at the rough edge of his voice. His free hand brushes the loose fabric of her skirt. She shivers and wants. Desire spirals tight in her belly, and she presses her thighs tight together to ease the ache between them. She wills the negative space between them to collapse in upon itself. Obliterate the distance with grasping hands and hot mouths.
“I closed my eyes and thought of you as I touched myself. All hot and wet and ready. I came so hard it almost hurt.” She wants to swallow the words back down. Whatever their friendship was before, it’s gone now. She wants him to move. To leave, to kiss her, to fuck her into the ground. She wants to sink down to her knees and wrap her lips around his cock. Want. She’s drowning in it, slick with it.
“And now?” he says, words so roughly hewn she can almost feel them dragging across her skin. She wonders if he could make her come without touching her at all. Just his gravelled words in her ear.
"You tell me," she says. She wants to pat herself on the back for still being able to think with Steve looming over her, his breath tickling her ear. Steve’s hand skims down the folds of her skirt, fingertips moving under the edge to lay warm against her thigh. A sigh spills from her lips. He’s not even touching her where she wants, and she feels ready to melt into the ground. Melt into him.
“This isn’t what I had planned,” Steve says, pulling back enough to catch her eye. He trails his fingers up and down the side of her thigh, scalding hot and smooth against her skin.
“In my fantasy when you touched me your hands were rough. Calloused.”
Steve’s knuckles graze over the front of her thigh and she shifts her legs further apart in invitation. He hums softly, runs his knuckles up her inner leg before stopping just short of the line of her panties. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you this morning,” he rumbles, twisting his hand to cup her, fingers lightly pressing through the cotton. “Damn.”
He kisses her then, swallowing down the rest of her words. It’s not the sweet kisses she imagined; it’s downright filthy. Tongue and teeth and clever fingers mapping out her sex through the cotton covering her. Darcy clutches at his arm, digs her nails into the soft fabric of his shirt. She rolls her hips into his hand and feels the smile that spreads across his mouth. The corners of her own mouth tug up and a bubble of laughter bounces around her chest.
“Take ‘em off,” he says, dragging his fingertips over her clit through her wet panties. The words are half question half order and she laughs in the quiet of the storage room. She lets go of his shirt with one hand to help tug her panties down her hips, and they fall down to her legs to ring her ankles. Darcy slips one foot free, and before the heel of her shoe touches the floor Steve’s hand is back between her thighs, spreading the lips of her pussy and pushing the tips of his fingers inside her.
“God, Steve.” She wants to say more but he’s licking into her mouth as he fucks her with his fingers, finds her clit with his thumb. Her knees go weak, brain disconnecting from giving her legs the order to hold her up. The only thing keeping her from being a boneless puddle on the floor is the wall and Steve. He shouldn’t be as clever with his fingers as he is, she thinks as he curls them inside her.
“This is what I thought about this morning. Touching you. Tasting you,” Steve rasps, trailing kisses along her jaw. His teeth scrape over her skin and Darcy tilts her head back as far as she can go. Steve’s tongue swirls against her and she imagines him dropping to his knees to press his mouth between her thighs. “Wanting you.”
“Oh,” she gasps as Steve finds her lips again. His mouth muffles the sound of her pleasure, thumb rubbing firm and sure on her clit. Her thighs tremble, nails digging crescents into his shoulders through his shirt. Orgasm takes her by surprise, rippling through her. She clenches around his fingers, and sobs into his mouth.
Steve coaxes her through, mouth hot and wet on her lips, her cheek, hums into her hair as she comes down. She’s muzzy with euphoria, warm and satisfied, but it doesn’t stop the blush from creeping up her chest and cheeks. “Oh my God,” she whispers, burying her face into his shoulder.
His fingers are still in her and she wants desperately to laugh. Darcy licks her lips and loosens her hold to reach between them, cupping her hand around the bulge of his cock, hard in his jeans.
“Nnngh. Not here,” Steve grunts and twists his fingers inside her. Darcy gasps, and Steve withdraws his fingers from her, shaking his hand free of the folds of her skirt. His eyes track from her face to his hand, fingers slick with her come. Whatever laughter was in her throat dissipates as Steve licks his fingers clean, eyes flashing dark. “After we’ve had dinner.”
“I...I didn’t plan this. Any of this. I just wanted you,” he says, voice low and eyes fixed on hers. He sighs, shakes his head. “I just wanted to be with you.”
“"God, what time is it?"
"Fourteen hundred hours," Steve says, brows pinching together in confusion.
"How do you even do that without looking at a watch?" Darcy asks, pushing against his chest and awkwardly bending down to pull her panties up. They catch on her heel and she wobbles over, Steve’s hand on her shoulder catching her from spilling onto the floor.
“I don’t know.” Steve says, efficient hands helping her tug her panties back into place. Darcy scrunches up her face at the feel of the cold, damp material. “Is that a no to dinner?”
“No, it’s not a no. Definitely not a no.”
“So, it’s a yes?”
“Yes, it’s a yes. I thought you were smarter than that, Rogers.”
“Apparently not,” Steve says, dryly.
“Must be all that blood loss,” she says, rolling up on her toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. She lets her hand trace over his cock through his jeans, and he pushes her hand away with a groan.
“You sure?” she asks, a bright grin spreading across her lips.
“I’m sure,” Steve says. He adjusts himself in his jeans, mouth twisted in a grimace. Darcy laughs then, loud and filthy, loops her arms around his neck and pulls him down into a kiss. Steve’s arms wrap around her back and he pulls her up tight against his body. Her toes barely touch the floor and she feels tiny plastered to his chest with his arms banded around her.
“Call me later?”
Steve loosens his hold with low groan and Darcy slides back down to her heels. She smoothes her hands down over her hair and the lines of her skirt, rubs the heel of her hand over her mouth to scrub away the last remnants of her lipstick.
“Tonight,” he promises.
She nods once, turns on her heel, dress swishing around her knees, and picks her way through the carefully wrapped lumps of machinery to the door. She can feel Steve’s eyes on her every step she takes. She grabs the door handle glances back over her shoulder. Steve smiles at her, hand cupping the back of his neck, mouth red from her lipstick and kisses. A smile curves across her lips as she pulls the door open and slips through it.