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She'll Flim-Flam Every Nation

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"What are you going to do with me?" Captain America asks, perhaps hoping that he can distract Carmen from his struggle against the ropes that tie him to his chair. (It won't, and even if it did, she is very good with knots.)

"Why, Captain, who said I was going to do anything at all?" she asks in return, enjoying the way his eyes follow her swaying hips as she paces in front of him.

"I suppose they told you about my predilection for acquiring historical artifacts," she continues, spinning on her heel and turning away from him. She speaks over her shoulder while she inspects the statue that had been her target before the Captain interfered. "I collect national treasures, and you are the grandest prize I've had the pleasure of capturing yet."

"So, what? I'm just another trophy for your throne room?"

Carmen lets her smile turn wolfish as she returns to him. "If I had a throne room, yes, that's precisely where I would put you. Perhaps seated at the foot of my throne. Perhaps at my side, if you promised to behave yourself."

She moves into the space between his bound legs. He leans back, but he can't lean terribly far; after all, she is very good with knots.

Carmen traces a slender finger down the bridge of the Captain's nose. It's a nice nose, broken once, maybe twice, but reset neatly enough that it could still be called statuesque. He glares up at her, and Carmen smiles, lower lip between her teeth.

"My favorite pieces," she whispers, bending so her cheek is scant centimeters from his, "are in my boudoir."

She steps away from him suddenly, amused at the way he unconsciously surges after her before being pulled back by the ties around his wrists.