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this is as good a place to fall as any

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Title from 'Bedroom Hymns' by Florence & the Machine.

"Darcy, can you...uh... put some clothes on?" Steve says. His voice is slightly strained and the worry line between his eyes has made its appearance.

"Dude, chill. I've got nothing you haven't seen before," Darcy shrugs and stares at her reflection as she sweeps blush across her cheekbones.

"It wasn't you before," Steve mutters under his breath.

"What?" Darcy asks, spinning around to face Steve. His eyes drop down to her breasts, displayed in a black satin and lace. Darcy arches her brow and Steve quickly looks down at the cufflink at his wrist, twisting it with his fingertips.

"Nothin'," Steve says.

"Whatever," she mutters, turning back to the mirror and grabbing the blonde wig from the table top. "Little help?"

"Yeah sure," Steve says and he helps her pull the wig on and pin it in place with approximately five hundred lethal bobby pins. One last slick of red on her lips, and it’s time to squeeze into her dress and play pretend. If only she didn’t wish it was just a role to play.

Steve's already dressed in a black tux that probably costs more than she makes in a year. Darcy doesn’t want to think about how much the dress and the wig cost, or about how important this assignment is. She’s pretty much a desk jockey; most of her work at S.H.I.E.L.D. involves paperwork and hacking into other government databases, not industrial espionage and, you know, getting to play Sydney Bristow.

They’ve been at the hotel for three days. Three days of Steve sleeping with a pillow and blanket on the floor beside the bed. Three days of him being overly polite and worried about the whole operation going tits up. Three days of them wandering the grounds and lobby, playing newlywed couple Mr. And Mrs. Vaughn. Three days of kissing Steve, pretending each caress was real. And three days of keeping a cool distance while they were in private.

The dress is black, form fitting with swirling beads that catch the light as she pulls it up over her hips. There is no need to ask Steve to zip it up; he’s already at her back, pushing aside the blonde hair of the wig as his fingers catch the zipper pull. His fingers brush up her spine as he drags the zipper up and Darcy closes her eyes tight at the heat that prickles down her spine.

“You ready?” Steve asks, his voice rippling through her, his breath skating across the shell of her ear. Darcy forgets how to breathe.

“As I’ll ever be, Captain,” she replies. She catches Steve’s eyes in the mirror and twists the rings on her finger.


The evening is a bust. The mark didn’t show and all Darcy’s left with is a pair of damp panties and the memory of Steve’s hands on her, arms wrapped around her waist, lips warm on her neck and cheek as they danced and laughed and played the happy newlyweds. Frustrated doesn’t even begin to cover how she feels.

“Can you unzip me? Then I’m going to take a shower if it’s okay with you?” Darcy says. Her tone is sharper than she intended.

“Sure,” Steve says. His voice is rough and Darcy does a mental dance of victory that this tension of playing a couple is getting to him too. Stepping behind her, Steve sweeps her hair aside, calloused fingertips brushing her skin. The sound of the zipper is loud in the stillness of the room. She tries to think of something to say, anything really, aside from stating the obvious. Then Steve does something that she doesn’t expect.

Steve kisses the back of her neck, lips warm and dry on her skin. A simple kiss that shorts out her brain and sends sparks of heat coursing through her body. Steve slides the zipper down and pushes the dress from her shoulders with his fingertips to puddle around her heels. His hand trails up her thigh and hip but he doesn't move his lips from her neck.

"Oh," Darcy gasps, reaching back to grab the back of his thigh to steady herself. Steve's hand slides flat against her abdomen and he pulls her back against his chest.

"Oh," Steve mocks lightly and nips her ear. She can see their reflection in the vanity mirror; she wants to look away, but Steve catches her eye, rocks his hips against her and inches his hand lower on her panties, not quite touching where she wants, but his intent is clear. "I want you."

If Darcy thought her brain short circuited before she was wrong. "Yes," she breathes out, though he didn't ask a question. She covers his hand with hers and guides it down between her thighs where her panties are soaked. Steve's eyes darken in the mirror and the grin that curves his lips is far too dirty for Captain America.

"Mmm," Steve hums, sliding his free hand up her body to burrow into the cup of her bra. Darcy tilts her head back and Steve kisses her neck again as his fingers map her through damp satin. "Watch."

It's not that she's innocent, but there is a world of difference from high school and college boys to Steve’s calloused hands on her body, his mouth hot and wet on her neck and shoulders. The girl in the glass looks utterly wanton, red lipstick smeared on the corner of her mouth, her own dark hair in a tangle with the long blonde wig over her left shoulder, and Steve's arms wrapped around her in his black tuxedo jacket.

"Steve," Darcy moans, rolling her hips, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers tease her clit through her panties.

"Open your eyes and watch, Darcy," Steve says. The edge of authority in his voice sends sparks shivering down her spine. Darcy opens her eyes, blinking dazedly as their reflection comes into focus. "Good girl," he rumbles and pushes her panties to the side. Steve groans as his fingers delve into the slick heat between her legs.

"More," she breathes out, clutching at the back of Steve's hand and spreading her feet wider apart on the pale carpet.

"So demanding, Agent Lewis," Steve chuckles, his breath fanning warmly on her neck. All she can manage in reply is a low moan as Steve's fingers plunge into her. Her head falls back against his shoulder, eyes heavy-lidded. Her mind flashes on Captain Rogers' bashful smiles, his awkwardness around the bolder women in the tower, nothing like the man with his fingers buried inside her pussy, his cock a hard ridge against her back.

Breathy curses fall from her lips as his he fucks her with his hand. Darcy holds tight to his wrist and the fabric of his dress pants as he brings her higher and higher. His thumb presses on her clit, fingers crooking inside her. She comes hard with a low moan, thighs trembling and toes curling in her pointed heels. "Steve," Darcy cries out as he murmurs filthy promises in her ear.

"Beautiful," Steve whispers, trailing kisses along her neck. Darcy shakes her head.

"Goddamn, Rogers. That was..." Darcy murmurs, voice trailing off into a whimper as he pulls his fingers out of her body. Raising his hand, Steve swipes his wet fingers over her bottom lip and brings them to his own mouth. His eyes are on her reflection as his tongue flicks out over his fingers to taste her. "Jesus."

"I want to fuck you," Steve rasps his eyes never leaving her reflection.

"Yes. God, yes.”

"Good," Steve growls, rolling her nipple between his fingertips and pulling his hands away from her. "Put your hands on the vanity," he orders, and Darcy's knees nearly buckle. Jesus. There are things she should consider, things they should discuss, but those thoughts fade from her mind as Steve’s hands trail over her body.

God, she had severely underestimated the man behind the spangly costume.

Darcy takes a step forward and her legs nearly give out as she presses her palms flat on the smooth dark wood of the vanity. Steve steps up behind her, his hands sliding up the curve of her back to dig his fingers into the wig, seeking out the bobby pins holding it in place. One by one the pins drop onto the vanity. The wig is tossed to the floor, resembling a long-haired tribble from Star Trek and Darcy bites her lip to still the bubble of laughter crawling up her throat. Steve loosens the knot of her hair, massaging her scalp and running his fingers through the loose waves of her hair as it spills down her back and falls over her shoulders. “Better,” he murmurs.

With a deft flick of his fingers, he unhooks her bra and pushes the straps down her shoulders and arms. The fabric of his suit sliding against her back sends ripples of gooseflesh across her skin as he arches over her. “Let it fall,” he whispers in her ear. It takes a moment for her to work out that he means her bra. She shifts her hands and lets the bra fall to the floor. Steve’s eyes never leave hers as his hands span her ribcage, his fingers brushing against the sides of her breasts, but he makes no move to touch them.

“Do you have any idea how much I’ve wanted you?” Steve asks. He moves his hands then to cup her tits, nipples caught between his splayed fingers and his gaze finally drops to her breasts.

“I think I have a good idea now,” Darcy gasps, pressing her ass back against his erection. Steve groans and his hands tighten on her tits.

“I don’t think you do,” he says, putting space between them. His hand slips away from her right breast and he reaches up to deftly undo his bowtie and unbutton the first three buttons of his perfectly pressed white dress shirt. “I wanted to ask you out before this...assignment together,” Steve says, pinching her nipple. Sparks of heat race through her veins and she presses her thighs together to relieve the ache between her legs. “Touching you, kissing you like you’re mine these last three days—it’s been torture.”


His hands curl into the elastic of her panties, and Darcy tenses, half expecting him to tear them off. He doesn’t. Steve kneels down behind her, dragging her panties down her legs. “Lift your foot,” he orders, and Darcy does, balancing on one heel then the other.

The backs of his nails rake over her skin, and Darcy jolts as Steve kisses between her legs, his tongue flicking out to swirl around her clit. “Oh, fuck,” Darcy moans, rocking back against his face. She is close to coming again when Steve pulls back and stands in one smooth motion, mouth red and glistening. “Goddamn it,” she spits out, glaring at his reflection in the glass.

Steve arches a brow, his hands splaying over her ass.“Darcy."

“I thought you wanted to fuck me,” Darcy challenges. Steve smirks at her, raises his arm to wipe his face on his jacket sleeve. The hand on her ass slips between her legs and he plunges two fingers into her. It’s unexpected and Darcy cries out something that half sounds like his name. He fucks her with his fingers and it’s good, but it’s not nearly enough. “Please,” she says, and Steve withdraws his hand. He rifles through his pockets, pulls out a strip of condoms and tears one open. She can hear him unzip, but can’t see his movements over her shoulder. Darcy twists her upper body to get a glimpse of him, keeping her hands flat on the vanity as instructed. Steve’s hand smacks against her ass.

“Spread your feet apart,” Steve orders, tapping his foot against her heel. He shifts closer, feet on either side of Darcy’s when she looks down, and then he is pressing into her slowly. Inch by inch. It’s torture. Darcy pushes back, nails scraping against the vanity. Her breath catches, eyes fluttering shut at the feel of him filling and stretching her. Fuck.


“Fuck,” Steve groans, gripping her hips tightly. Darcy’s toes curl in her ridiculously pointy shoes, and she drags her lip between her teeth. Blinking open her eyes she takes in their reflection in the mirror. Steve’s head is tilted back, eyes shut tight, face flushed red. She flexes around him and Steve’s hips jerk forward, her name a curse spilling from his lips. Their eyes meet in the mirror and he splays one hand over the small of her back. “Christ, Darcy, do you have any idea how good you feel around me?”

“Stop talking,” she demands, clenching tight around his cock. Steve hisses, his hand twitching on her skin, hips snapping back as he thrusts into her with more control than she will ever have. His gaze flicks from her tits to the space between them as he fucks into her. Closing her eyes, Darcy focuses on the feel of him, his cock hard within her, his hands, large and rough on her hip and the small of her back. The fabric of his suit teases her skin.

Steve arches over her, covering her left hand with his, his right hand cupping her breasts. “I thought about this all night, while we played dress up. All I thought about was fucking you in front of this mirror,” he says, voice low, nearly a growl in her ear. He pinches her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Fuck, Steve,” Darcy pants as his hand trails over her belly, fingers lightly teasing her clit.

“Thought about all the things I wanna do to you. Make you scream my name,” Steve rasps, their eyes meeting in the glass.

“Harder,” she moans, hardly recognizing the ragged timber of her own voice. His fingers play counter point to the rhythm of his hips as he thrusts into her. Darcy’s eyes flutter shut and her head hangs down. The room is filled with the sound of flesh meeting flesh and Steve’s growled curses as she falls apart, vision turning white.

Steve’s hips jerk against her, rhythm faltering, fingers of his left hand threading with hers. He thrusts in hard, stilling against her as he comes. “Darce.” His voice is ragged in her ear, lips brushing her earlobe, the curve of her neck, as they collapse to the floor, joined together, Steve’s cock still hard within her. Fuck. Darcy rests her forehead against their arms. Steve fingers twitch over her clit and she gasps at the sensation, pulling his hand away.

“God, Steve,” she pants out. Steve hums and straightens, sliding his hand up her neck to cradle her jaw and turn her head into a kiss. He nips at her bottom lip, making her gasp, and his tongue slips between her lips to tangle with hers. She can taste herself on his tongue and the remnants of the champagne he sipped all night while he fantasized about debauching her. He kisses her until her head is buzzing, and they are both left gasping for breath.

"We should talk about this," Darcy says a few minutes later. Steve grunts and lifts her off of him. Darcy kneels on the carpet eyes travelling over Steve’s crumpled tux, and the puddle of her dress as he cleans himself up.

“That wasn’t the way I wanted things to happen between us,” Steve says, tossing the used condom into the trash can without looking. He stands up smoothly, tucking himself away and zipping up his dress pants. He strips off his jacket and offers her his hand. Darcy stares blankly at his blunt fingernails, not sure if her legs will support her if she tried to stand.

“I...” she begins, but her words trail off as Steve scoops her up off the floor. “Hey.” Steve kisses the scowl off of her face as he walks them across the room. He kneels on a corner of the bed and sets her down like she was made of cut crystal. The blue and silver bedspread is cold on her skin, but Steve is warm as he settles above her, their legs tangled together.

“Wanted romance and flowers for you,” Steve says, trailing kisses over her neck, teeth scraping over her skin, sending shivers of pleasure down her spine.

"Romance is dead, Steve. We'll talk about this later. When I’m done with you," Darcy says, threading her hands through his short cropped hair. Steve chuckles darkly, pressing kisses to her collarbone, his hand skimming up to cup her breast. “Much, much later.”