“Hurry up, Dorothy. You’re gonna miss the show,” Tony says as he pops his head through the lab doors.
“What show?” Darcy asks, wiggling her toes under her workstation to slip her electric pink heels back on. "Where are we going?"
“You'll see,” Tony grins.
“Last time you said that agent Morales lost all his hair,” Darcy mutters, smoothing her grey pencil skirt down over her ass and following Stark out into the hall.
“It grew back,” Tony shrugs, leading the way to the elevator.
“And his skin turned ultramarine,” Darcy adds, tugging her thrifted Fleetwood Mac t-shirt down in front and running her fingertips over the sweater chain hanging between the button and the top button hole of her pink cardigan.
“Ultramarine is the new black,” Tony says with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“He’s worried he’s going to have to join Blue Man Group,” Darcy says dryly as the elevator pings. She's surprised when the doors slide open to reveal agent Barton leaning against the back wall, bandages on his neck, right arm, and forehead from the Avengers last team building exercise. Darcy doesn’t really see many of the Avengers in the tower, though there have been a few awkward introductions. Jane, Tony, and Bruce got their science orgy on and ignored her, which, fine, Darcy totally gets it. Clint muttered something about coffee and arrows and wandered off. Captain Rogers had been politely distant, and Natasha had smiled and scared the ever loving fuck out of Darcy. Mostly she shuffles back and forth from her overly shiny apartment to the labs, with daily excursions to the outside world for food and coffee.
Oh, she had tried to have her own apartment outside the Tower, but she couldn’t keep up with Jane. After weeks of sleeping on the kitchen table, the couch in the lab, and the couch in the communal living room, waking up covered in blankets that weren’t hers, and getting arrested for carrying a taser, which totes illegal in New York, she found a package sitting on her desk with an apartment number, key card, and a note saying the contents of her apartment were being moved at eight the following morning.
“It’s fine, you worry too much, Dorothy,” Tony says as they squish in beside Clint.
“He does know that’s not your name right?” Clint asks as the elevator descends.
“He knows, he thinks he’s being clever. You know Dorothy Parker?” Darcy says and Clint looks at her blankly.
“Ah,” Clint says with a shrug.
“Genius,” Tony says, pointing to himself as his thumb blurs across his phone screen. “Onwards, Dorothy, Florence.”
“Florence?” Darcy asks and Clint shrugs again, which, yeah, that does wonders for his arms.
“Heathens,” Stark pouts as they step out of the elevator and take a right down the hall. “Florence Nightingale. She had a little owl.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of the bird jokes?” she asks, and both Stark and Barton shrug. “Whatever.”
They push through a door Darcy’s pretty sure she’s never been through before, and really she should have paid attention to where Tony was leading them. She peeks around Stark’s shoulder, glancing around the room. “The gym?” she asks.
“Just watch and listen, Lil’ D,” Tony whispers. It’s then that she hears the singing before she sees who the voice belongs to.
“Wait for it,” Tony says, bouncing on his heels. It’s then that she spots Captain Rogers doing push-ups on the floor near the back wall. He’s shirtless, wearing a pair of tight blue workout pants, and a matching blue band around his arm holding an iPod, the white cords trailing up to his ears.
“Hey little girl is your daddy home did he go and leave you all alone...” Steve sings, voice low and gravelly enough to send a jolt down Darcy’s spine.
“Holy fuckballs,” Darcy breathes out as Steve tumbles across the mat and bounces back into the air, never once losing his breath as he sings along with the lyrics. It’s hot as fuck and Darcy’s pretty sure she is going to go to hell for the thoughts flooding her mind. At any rate she’s definitely going to need new panties. Captain fucking America is doing a parkour version of Footloose. Darcy’s pretty sure this means either she or everyone has lost their goddamned minds.
There is no way in hell she is ever going to hear that song again and not imagine Steve doing filthy things to her. Shame he is so very....patriotic. Steve is midair when he notices his audience of three. Darcy’s eyes widen as he lands on his feet, eyes narrowed.
“Bravo, Capsicle. And me without my lighter,” Tony applauds. “Didn’t think Springsteen was in your wheelhouse.”
“It’s a good song,” Steve says dryly. He tugs his earbuds out, grabbing a bottle of water, twisting off the cap and gulping it down. His face and chest are red from exertion, a fine sheen of sweat covering his upper body, and Darcy can’t stop her eyes from wandering over his chest covered in a matt of dark hair. Damn, and she thought her boobs rocked. She wondered what it would be like to drag her teeth and tongue along the hard ridges of his abdomen, feel every breath, every muscle twitch beneath her touch.
“Would’ve thought ‘Born in the USA’ is more your style,” Tony smirks.
“Fuck off, Stark,” Steve snarks, grabbing up a towel hanging off a complicated looking machine to wipe his face. “Sorry, Miss Lewis,” he says sheepishly, twisting the towel in his hands.
“S’okay,” Darcy mumbles lowering her gaze. “So exactly how offended would you be if I threw my panties at you, Captain?” she says without thinking. Jesus you can't just say things like that to Captain 40s. She should know this.
“I dunno, Miss Lewis. It depends,” Steve says with a slow smirk. It almost feels like a physical caress when his eyes rake over her from her hair to the toes of her pink heels. Her toes curl as his gaze lingers on her pink painted lips.
“Do I get the rest of you, too?” Steve says arching his left brow.
“If you want,” Darcy says ignoring Stark’s splutter and Clint’s snort.
“I want,” Steve rumbles a dirty grin splitting across his face.