Darcy finally catches up with Captain America about an hour north of Saskatoon, in the gloom of a January afternoon. He’s standing on the beach of a lake, staring out over the pristine white landscape.
She stashes Stark’s tracking gizmo in her purse and tiptoes up behind Cap. It’s a tribute to how distracted he is that he doesn’t react. “Hey, bonne mine, quels beaux muscles!” she says, and laughs behind her scarf.
Cap turns around, his brow furrowed in confusion. (Using Google Translate to learn pickup lines in French: 100% worthwhile.) She unwinds the scarf from her face, and his face brightens in recognition.
He is really bad at undercover work, she thinks.
“Agent Lewis,” he hisses. He’s not wearing a scarf or hat, but he still doesn’t look as cold as even her warmest body part (her armpit, maybe?) feels. "What are you doing in Canada?"
Yeah. Incredibly bad at being undercover. She smiles widely, leaning toward him as if flirting with a stranger. That she just happened to encounter. At a deserted Canadian lake. Maybe she needs to brush up her undercover skills, too.
"I’m retrieving you," she says. "I'm a retriever now, for Coulson and his reconstituted SHIELD byproduct. They send me after all the superhotties."
He’s staring. They are both obviously failing Undercover 101, which is bad news because her whole task -- her very first independent mission -- is to get Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson to the safehouse in Saskatoon without alerting Hydra or AIM or the Canadian government or anyone at all, really.
“Don’t judge me,” she tells his brow-furrow. “Undercover flirting is a lot more difficult in a parka.”
“I don’t know why you’re undercover flirting with me at all,” Cap says. The exhausted slump of his shoulders makes her want to give him a hug. “And, if you’re worried about anything, it should be your French. It isn’t very accurate.”
“Well, it’s from Google Translate, so yeah, it’s probably not the most elegant translation,” she says. “What should I have said, then?”
“I don’t know,” he replies. “If I needed to catcall a guy in French in the middle of the wilderness, I’d say, ‘Hé, beau gosse, sympa les muscles.’”
She whistles. “I think this is where I make a joke about freedom fries or Captain America being fluent in catcalling French dudes, but honestly I’m hung up on the whole ‘correcting my French’ thing.”
“Vous n'avez visiblement pas lu mon dossier, si non vous sauriez que je parle couramment le français,” he says, like Darcy’s supposed to know what that means. He’s probably using the supersoldier serum to cheat his way through learning languages. She should try Basque next time.
“We’re extracting you because we need you for an op.” She watches the twist of his mouth and makes an effort to be gentle. “I know the Winter Soldier was here, but he’s long gone, and you’re essential to this mission. Where’s Falcon?”
“Back at the cabin.” Then he jerks and lifts his head, suddenly in alert Captain America mode. "What's that sound?" he says, and then he's pulling his bag over his shoulder in a smooth motion and pushing Darcy to the ground behind the shelter of the shield.
Just in time for a giant explosion.
Once flaming shrapnel has stopped raining down on them, Cap unwraps himself from the protective cocoon he'd formed around her. He checks the area as she pulls out Stark’s gadget from her purse. Obviously finding no threats, Cap tries to look her over. "Are you all right?" he asks.
"That was my car," she says, resigned. She’s only shaking a little as she adjusts the device. "That was my CAR. Now what the fuck are we going to do?"
Cap squares his jaw. “We’ll zigzag back to the cabin, making sure we’re not followed, and then the three of us will make a plan.”
Stark’s little detector unfolds a holographic 3D representation of their surroundings. No signs of human life other than their own; no mechanical or technological signals, either, besides her cell phone, Cap’s, and the remnants of the car.
“We’re clear. The bomb must have been planted on the car before I left Saskatoon.” She sees Cap eyeing the thing curiously. “Stark’s newest toy. It’s like radar, only better. Nothing slips past, and if you do this --” she taps on the tiny holographic version of herself -- “it tells you who they are and any known affiliations.”
A little window pops up above her head, with her full name, height, weight, and data about her work with Jane and now with Coulson.
“Pretty slick,” Cap says. Then he frowns. “Where’s Sam? Can you zoom out?”
It has a large enough range that they find him in the nearest town, buying groceries.
Cap pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. “Okay. I’m going to call him.” Then he frowns harder as he looks at the screen. “I don’t have signal.”
“Neither do I,” she tells him. “Haven’t for a while. Stupid Saskatchewan.”
“We’d better get out of here,” he says, and takes off to the east.
By the time they find their way back to the cabin, snow is falling fast and thick. The cabin’s windows are dark, and they haven’t consulted Stark’s toy even once. Darcy wonders if Cap has some sort of internal supersoldier compass that allows him to find his way back.
He goes in first to clear the cabin while she watches to see if they’ve been followed, not that she can see anything other than the falling snow a few feet in front of her.
“Clear,” Cap calls, and she dodges inside. “But the power’s out. Sam left a note.” He passes it over and lights a kerosene lamp, which he holds close enough that she can read the neat blue writing.
Hey, man, I’m gonna try to track your ass down before this storm really hits. The power’s gone out and it’s supposed to get really cold tonight. If the storm gets bad I’m gonna get a room in town and trust that you can handle yourself for one night without me. You better not try to prove me wrong. I’ll be back ASAP. If you use all the firewood, you know who’s chopping more, Trouble Man.
She lifts her eyes to Cap, raising her eyebrows. “Trouble Man?” she says.
He goes pink. “It’s a joke.”
“I wouldn’t have taken you for a Marvin Gaye fan,” she says.
Cap shakes his head. “You shouldn’t make assumptions, Agent Lewis. Sam taught me to dance to Marvin Gaye.” Then, probably realizing how that sounds, he blushes a deeper shade of pink.
“Wow,” she says. “Wow, that’s just --” She stops and considers that mental image for a moment. Sam Wilson is kind of the ideal guy, sweet and funny and also really good-looking, the kind of guy that is too good to be true. She has a bit of a crush on him, too. He and Steve are perfect for each other. “That is kind of ridiculously hot, you know that? I mean, congratulations, good job picking out the sidekick who’s both sexy and sweet. And a counselor, right? Kudos, Cap. Get it.”
His mouth tightens. “Come on, don’t laugh. He’s a good man, and he’s not just a sidekick.”
She blinks. “Okay, well, I wasn’t laughing at either one of you. You’re kinda touchy for a national icon.”
“Sorry,” Cap says. He takes a breath. “I’m just -- I’m worried about him out there on his own, even though I know he can take care of himself.”
“You shouldn’t worry. He’s the one who gave up on this place. Kind of a dick move, actually, leaving you on your own.”
“No, it’s not,” Cap replies, and Darcy feels ashamed by the conviction in his voice. “Sam takes care of me. If he’s getting a place in town, he’s worried. He likes to make sure that, as much as possible, one of us is in good enough condition to rescue the other.”
“Oh,” she says, her voice small. “Sorry. I’m just -- maybe we should start a fire?”
“I’ll do it,” he says, his jaw going all American Hero again.
Darcy sighs and watches as he starts the fire. She imagines her mission report. So far she has (a) failed to maintain cover; (b) gotten her car blown up; (c) alienated and insulted Captain America, whose love for Sam Wilson is apparently pure and true; (d) gotten stuck in a two-room cabin with Cap, who is now disappointed in her.
His shoulders are unfairly broad, silhouetted against the first flickers of light from the fire. She’s embarrassed now to remember what she’d let herself daydream about on the plane: catching his attention, maybe rescuing him from something, and then he’d kiss her because she’s a gorgeous valkyrie. She’s read stuff about Peggy Carter, and she thinks Steve Rogers would like a valkyrie.
Then she laughs a little to herself because it looks like Sam is Cap’s valkyrie. And he can actually fly.
By midnight, the wind is howling outside as the storm turns into a blizzard. When Darcy glances out the window, she’s astonished to see nearly a foot of snow on the ground already.
She gives a worried look to the stack of firewood, which is dwindling quickly, and then to Captain America, who’s wrapped up in several layers but lying on the floor, sketching something.
She’s going crazy. She still doesn’t have cell phone reception, and in any case she needs to conserve battery power, since her charger got blown up with the car and the rest of the stuff she had on this trip. Like her toothbrush.
She takes her bra off under her shirt and hooks it on the bedpost, hoping it won’t embarrass Cap.
“Hey, is leaving my bra on the bedpost going to offend your delicate sensibilities?” she asks.
He looks up at her, eyebrow arched. “I was on tour with a couple dozen chorus girls,” he says dryly. “I’ve seen bras before. My sensibilities aren’t that delicate.”
“Well, good,” she says. “I mean, I’m still fully clothed otherwise, of course. I’m a professional.”
“Of course,” he replies, looking down and fiddling with a zipper on his chest.
She thinks he’s amused, just shy about it. Luckily she is completely devoid of either shyness or shame. “So we should probably get to sleep, right? Only I can’t help but notice that there’s just the one bed.”
“I can sleep on the floor,” Cap says. “I have been since we got here anyway.”
She looks at him sympathetically. “Oh,” she says. She scoots closer and pats his shoulder in an awkward attempt to comfort him. “Are you guys fighting?”
He looks at her like she’s a lunatic. “What? No. Why would you --” And then a strange look crosses his face, as if he’s reconsidering their entire afternoon from her perspective, and he actually laughs. “Okay. I guess that was a fair question. But no, we’re not like that.”
“Are you sure?” Darcy says. “Because, please don’t hate me, it seems like you’ve got it bad for the guy.”
Cap looks down and shrugs one ridiculous shoulder. “Yeah, maybe. Maybe it’ll turn into something, I don’t know. But it hasn’t yet. I’m -- I don’t think he’s interested.”
She stares at him, skeptical. “A guy doesn’t follow you around the world to help you find your best friend if there’s nothing there,” she tells him. “I mean, this is just a suggestion, but have you considered maybe not sleeping on the floor?”
That earns her another laugh, and she grins.
She wakes up shivering. In the dim light of the embers, she can see that Cap is curled up under the spare blanket, also shivering, fine tremors that are only visible because they move the fabric.
“Cap,” she says, her voice rusty. She clears her throat. “Hey, Cap.”
“Yes?” he says.
“Can we move the bed closer to the fire?”
He sits up, drawing the blanket around him. “Yeah. You stay there.”
With one efficient tug, he moves the bed, with her still in it, closer to the fireplace. He adds another log and lies down again on the floor, but she can see that he’s still shivering, and their pile is dwindling.
It’s a good thing she’s so noble.
“Come on up here,” she says, patting the bed. “We can both fit.”
He stares at her for a moment, and she can almost see the wheels spinning. Whatever reaction she expected, it definitely wasn’t that he’d just pull the bed a bit closer to the fire, drape his blanket on top, and then climb in behind her, back to back.
“I’d say ‘no funny business’ if you weren’t Captain America,” she tells him through a yawn.
“Well, you’re not Captain America, so no funny business, Agent Lewis,” he retorts.
She shoves up onto her elbow to look over her shoulder at him. The back of his neck is red. “I am shocked -- shocked! -- that you would say such a thing. Are you calling me a floozy, Captain?”
“What? No! Of course not!” He rolls over, looking a little agitated, and she laughs and pats his shoulder.
“I’m kidding. Go to sleep, Casanova.”
He grumbles something she can’t make out and rolls back over.
When she wakes up again, the room is still dark (but it’s northern Canada in January; there’s a lot of darkness), the wind is howling, and she’s curled around Captain America. She’s breathing into his neck, her arm slung across his body and pinned in place by his. Her thighs are pressed against his ass, her breasts to his back.
She sleepily considers wriggling closer, but he shifts. “Morning,” he says.
“Uh huh,” she says. She rubs her eyes. “How can you tell?”
He holds up his arm, his watch lit up. 8:23. “Sunrise is in about an hour.”
Her brain is clicking into gear, and she realizes that if Captain America is still lying in bed with her, there must not be good news of rescue.
“Can I have my arm back?” she asks, and he lifts his.
She rolls onto her back and grimaces at him. “Sorry for the cuddling.”
He clears his throat. “Uh, no problem. You did get a little… handsy.”
She rubs her face. “Oh, god,” she says. “I’m sorry for molesting you in my sleep. I just got out of a relationship a few weeks ago. Old habits, you know?”
His mouth tucks in at the corners, forming unfairly adorable little dimples as he presses his lips together. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be. Ian was great, and we had fun, but we wanted different things, in that all he wanted was to play video games.” She stretches, and Cap looks pointedly away. “Whatever. He was pretty good in the sack but not the best I’ve ever had.”
“Okay,” he says.
He really needs to loosen up, she thinks. She smacks his thigh, and he jumps about a mile. “So! No word from Sam or anyone else, I take it.”
He shakes his head. “And the storm’s still going strong. This isn’t normal.”
“Awesome,” she says. “Has the detector chirped at us?”
“No. Does it do that?”
“I set it to alert us if anything human or mechanical came within five miles.”
“Oh,” he says. “Clever. No, it’s been quiet. Unless it needs to be charged…?”
“Nope. Self-sustaining battery, lasts forever. I should have made Stark give me one for my cell phone.” She rolls onto her side. “So we get to lie in bed all day?”
“Looks like it.”
“This is the best-slash-worst mission ever,” she says. “On the one hand, we’re stranded in the wilderness; on the other hand, I get to spend days in bed with Captain America.” She waggles her eyebrows outrageously.
He blushes. “Can you -- please call me Steve,” he says. He looks at her, a sidelong mixture of shy and sly that goes straight to her solar plexus. “If we’re going to spend days in bed together.”
“Well, look at you, Steve, getting saucy,” she says. “In which case, no more of this Agent Lewis business. ‘Hot stuff’ will do. Or ‘sexy.’”
He barks out a laugh.
They’re lucky that the pipes haven’t frozen yet. Steve’s got them on a steady trickle, and as long as the water’s running they don’t need to break into the stash of bottled water that they have on hand. Steve and Sam also managed to stock the place pretty well; there’s definitely enough food to last a couple weeks, even for a supersoldier. (“What was Sam even buying at the store?” she asks Steve, and he laughs and shows her the chocolate wrappers in the wastebasket.)
All things considered, they’re in pretty good shape.
Except that without power, they don’t have heat. And it’s still snowing. And their woodpile just keeps getting smaller.
The stormclouds are so dense that the day never really brightens up much, and Darcy drifts in and out of sleep. She keeps waking up pressed against Steve, whose tension makes it obvious that her sleep-cuddles are unwelcome. But even when she tries putting pillows between them, she wakes up with her hand curled around his hip, her fingertips dangerously close to bad-touching. His breathing is quick and shallow, his body rigid and tense.
She yanks her hand back like his hip might burn her.
“Okay, Steve, I think it’s time to try something different,” she says, rubbing her eyes. “Maybe if you’re the big spoon, I won’t be so… octopus-like.”
There’s a long silence. “Um, all right,” he says finally, his uneasiness as thick as another blanket.
He rolls toward her, tucks his arms up so they rest as a barrier against her back, and maintains a polite distance from her.
The next time she wakes up, it takes a brief moment for her to realize that her sense of security is due to the fact that she has a supersoldier plastered against her back. His arm is wrapped around her waist, his hand tucked under her breasts. His breathing is warm and even against the back of her head; he must have a mouthful of hair.
She shifts, a dirty little hope in the back of her mind that he’ll be hard when she presses against him. He’s not. Oh, well.
At this point, she is well and truly caught up on sleep, so she lies there for a while. She tries to tug his hand gently out from under her breasts without waking him up, but he says “Mmmph” into her hair and pulls her closer, this time cupping her right boob in his hand.
It’s an intense relief that she’s not the only one who gets handsy while asleep. However, she really needs to pee, and if Steve wakes up while he’s copping a feel, he’s going to be so embarrassed. Honestly, she’s really dreading the moment when he leaps away from her like girl cooties are Captain America’s kryptonite.
Darcy gently disentangles herself and slips into the bathroom. The sink is still trickling water, so after she pees (that seat is icy cold) she washes up, takes a nice long drink, squeezes a little toothpaste on her finger, and cleans her teeth as best she can. She feels better, but that frigid water has made her teeth chatter. She grabs Stark’s little device (she and Steve are still the only two people around) and hurries back under the covers.
“Cold,” Steve mumbles. He pulls her close, his arms warm and solid around her.
“Oh, are we cuddling now?” she says. “Is that what’s going on?”
Steve mumbles something, and she realizes a moment later that he’s trying to say something about conserving heat.
“Uh huh,” she says. “Oldest line in the book, mister.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s not,” he replies, his words still a little slurred.
“Well, you would know.”
“Jokes about my age --” he yawns -- “so original.”
“Okay, fair. That wasn’t my best effort.”
“Work on that,” he says drowsily, his breath stirring the fine hairs at the nape of her neck, and to her astonishment he pulls her closer and might even kiss the back of her head.
She shivers and presses back against him. “What’s my reward if I do?” she asks, her voice lower and more sultry than normal.
He lets out a snore.
Of course he falls asleep right when things are getting interesting, she thinks. Still. Maybe she needs to reconsider some of her assumptions about Steve Rogers.
She’s been planning out a new playlist for Steve -- well, two actually, one to introduce him to better indie rock and one complete joke playlist with all the sex songs she can think of -- when he slides his arm around her again and rolls his hips against her ass.
This time he is definitely hard.
“Oh, god,” she whispers. What does she do? Does she wake him up? Maybe it was an accident, maybe he’ll wake up on his own and back off --
He does it again, and again, and yeah, there’s intent in those thrusts. Not awake, conscious intent, though, and that means that her body really needs to stop responding as if there were. Oh, god, this is going to be so awkward.
“Steve,” she says.
“Mmm,” he replies, and she can’t help but imagine that long, slow roll of his hips as if he were pressing into her.
“Steve,” she says, more forcefully. She rolls over, angling her body away from his, and shakes his shoulder. “Steve, wake up.” She keeps shaking until his eyes open.
“What? What izzit?” he says, visibly struggling awake. He blinks, and then he’s alert, the supersoldier ready for action. A couple different kinds of action, she thinks, and stifles her giggle. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, we’re okay,” she says. “You were having a dream.”
“A dream,” he says, blankly, and only then does he seem to realize what’s going on. He draws his knees up and presses his forehead to them. “Oh, hell.”
“It’s fine,” she tells him. “It’s totally fine!”
“No, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.” He buries his face in his hands. “I should have known this would happen, I’ll go back to the floor, I’m so sorry.”
Darcy tilts her head. This does not sound like the apology of a guy who doesn’t want her. “Wait, Steve -- do you --” She gathers her courage. “When was the last time you got laid? Because, you know, we’re here, and it’s not like we have anything better to do, and do you have any idea how much I’d like to have sex with you?”
He lifts his head and stares at her.
“I’m not getting much from the stare, to be honest, but since I’ve felt what you’re packing, maybe we should even the playing field a little?” she says, her mouth running away from her, and she sits up and peels her shirt off.
She’s not really evening the playing field. She knows this; she’s not bad at strategy herself, and she also goes after what she wants.
Sure enough, Steve’s eyes flit down and up, and back down, then away and back, as he’s pulled between the competing demands of gentlemanliness and her truly spectacular tits. She cups one in her hand, running her thumb over her nipple, which is all drawn up and hard thanks to the cold. “Come on,” she says. She takes his hand and pulls it to the other breast. “No pressure, but if you want to, we can have some fun.”
Her nipple is pressing into the palm of his hand. He doesn’t move away, but he doesn’t try to do anything else, either. He finally lifts his eyes to hers.
He looks terrified.
“Oh, honey,” she says. She leans forward and kisses him, and his hand squeezes her breast a little reflexively. She smiles against his mouth and licks his full bottom lip.
For some reason, this seems to unfreeze him. He rolls them over and kisses her enthusiastically. He’s a pretty great kisser, actually, and somehow he doesn’t have morning breath even though he’s been asleep. He doesn’t taste minty fresh, but he tastes -- pleasant. Maybe the supersoldier serum destroys bad-breath bacteria.
“Mmm, you taste…” She trails off and kisses him again. And again. One more time. “Healthy,” she finishes, dreamy, and then she feels like an idiot.
Steve starts laughing. “Healthy,” he repeats.
She can feel him gearing up for a smartass comment, so she kisses him, pulling him up closer to the headboard, and then slides her hand down to cup his dick.
“Yeah,” she whispers as she unfastens his pants. For a long moment they kiss slowly, mouths open and sliding, tongues light and tentative. “This okay?”
“Yes,” Steve says, his voice fervent.
Her hands slip under his waistband to grasp his cock, hard and hot and… wet? Very wet.
“Did you already…”
“Not yet,” he replies, panting a little. “But I can keep going, even when I do.”
“Well, that’s fun,” she says, a little dazed, as he kisses her throat and breasts. “Oh, fuck, keep going.”
He looks up at her as he sucks her nipple into his mouth. Normally she hates it when men do that -- it always seems like they’re gloating a little. She now realizes that’s more of a reflection on the men she sleeps with than anything else, because Steve looks up at her like her nipple is a fucking gift, like he’s never tasted anything so delicious.
Like he’s never --
“Oh, shit,” she says. “Shit, fuck, Steve, stop.”
He’s already pulling away even before she says “stop.” He sits back on his heels, his erection poking through his open pants, arching in a thick, perfect curve toward his belly button. “What’s wrong?”
She tears her eyes away from his gorgeous cock. “Is this your first time?” she demands.
“Seriously?” he says, and her eyebrows shoot up. “Sorry. It’s just not the first time a woman’s made a comment like that. Am I that bad?”
He laughs, trying to play it off as a joke, but she can see he’s not joking.
“Steve,” she says. She sits up and puts her hands on his face. “You’re not bad. You’re great, actually. You’re just also really… reverent.”
She can feel his cheeks heating up against her palms. He looks away, his mouth twisting. “Is that a nice way of saying that I don’t know what the hell to do?”
“Jesus, you’re crotchety,” she says, and she squishes his cheeks. “Hey. You’ve met me, right? Is there anything about this --” she waves her hand in a gesture encompassing her entire topless body -- “that screams ‘subtle and diplomatic in bed’ to you?”
“So no, that is not some sort of weird code. You’re just more, uh, respectful than most of the other guys I’ve been with.”
Steve frowns. “You shouldn’t sleep with men who aren’t respectful.”
“You shouldn’t tell ladies you’re in bed with what to do with other men,” she retorts, and then she clambers into his lap and kisses him. “You’re sweet, and you’re ridiculously hot, and I just wanted to make sure you were 100% on board with this before we take our pants off.”
“I am,” he says, grinding up against her. “A hundred and fifty percent, at least.” His hands slide down her back and he tucks just his fingertips under the waistband of her longjohns. “Can I?”
“Fuck yeah,” she says as she raises up on her knees. “You can do anything you want. If I don’t like it, I’ll let you know.”
He catches her nipple in his mouth again and peels off pants and underwear together, sucking hard as he does so, and she moans. She balances on her right leg as he pulls the pants off her left, and then as she moves to give him access to the other leg, she rubs against his dick and immediately forgets what she was doing. Whatever it was, it can wait. This feels too good to stop.
Instead, she cups his neck in her hand to hold him in place, and she rocks against him, pressing against the slick, hard length of his cock. He makes a low noise. His hands move lower, squeeze her ass, and pull her closer, and she can’t wait any longer.
“I was just tested, no STIs, and I’m on birth control,” she tells him. “It’s the shot, so we don’t have to worry about time zone changes messing up my schedule. Do we need a condom?”
His cock twitches against her. He releases her nipple and rests his head against her sternum, taking deep, shuddering breaths.
“You still okay?”
“Yeah,” he says into her breasts. “We don’t need one. I just… I don’t know how long I’ll last without one, but I don’t have any.”
“Luckily, I am always prepared,” she says. She leans back, reaches down, palms the head of his cock, then wraps her fingers around him and gives him a firm, slow stroke. She’s just trying to get a clearer sense of what size condom he needs, but that’s all it takes: he lets out a helpless cry and comes in long spurts all over her belly and breasts and hand. She jerks him through it, and when he’s done, she kisses his hair.
He pants for a few minutes, and then he lifts his head. “Oops,” he says, sheepish, but not as embarrassed as she’d expected. Without breaking eye contact, she licks his come off her hand, and he inhales sharply.
“Do you like that?” she asks. She leans back, her breasts falling to the sides a little, so that he can see the come glistening on her body in the faint light. He reaches for her and rubs his come into her skin until there’s just a smear left on her nipple, and then he leans forward and licks it away.
His cock twitches between them, thumping against her, and she realizes that he’s back to full hardness already. No wonder he wasn’t worried about coming that early. She looks down at him, watches his foreskin retract past his glans as he swells just that much more, and then looks back up, licking her lips.
“Do you like that?” he responds, looking smug, but she guesses he deserves to.
“Fuck, Steve,” she says. “We need to actually take our pants off.”
She tears hers off from where they’re still dangling on her right leg. When she looks up, he’s back to kneeling on the bed, but now she can see the long lines of his quads and the thatch of crinkly blond hair that covers his full, round balls.
“Beau gosse,” she murmurs, rising up on her knees to push him down. He goes, obedient, and she moves to straddle him. When she grips his cock, he gasps and oozes a little stream of pre-come.
She holds him steady and then takes him inside her, watching his eyes flutter shut and his mouth fall open. She envelops him slowly; he doesn’t have a monster dick, but it’s thick enough that she needs a little time to adjust. So she teases him a little, rubs the slick head against her, lets just the tip enter before she pulls off again, edging down so slowly that she’s sure he’s going to flip her over and just drive into her.
But he doesn’t. He waits for her, his breathing heavy, and he whimpers each time she allows a little more inside her. When she looks up at his face, she realizes that he’s staring at her mouth, where she’s biting her lip in concentration.
He catches her looking and clears his throat. “It -- it doesn’t hurt, does it?”
She smiles at him. “Nah,” she says. “You feel amazing. I just like going slow.”
“Okay,” he says, by all appearances perfectly willing to let her go as slow as she likes.
She guesses he did come already, so that’s probably helping. But his patience deserves to be rewarded, so she lifts herself nearly off, then slides down fully in one quick stroke. He lets out a cry at that, and she grins at him. His cock feels enormous, filling her as she adjusts and opens for him. She reaches down to where they’re joined together, tracing around where her body stretches to accommodate his girth, and he twitches inside her.
Leaning forward, she starts to ride him. She loves the long withdrawal from his cock till just the flare of the head keeps him from slipping out entirely, and then the faster plunge down until he’s sheathed fully inside her. Although she starts slow, it doesn’t take long before she’s moving harder and faster, so that when her breasts bounce they’ll brush his chest, so that she can grind her clit against him. He runs his hands down her back to squeeze her ass, and then he’s thrusting up into her on each downstroke and making helpless little unh noises every time he bottoms out.
Those noises, fuck, they’re turning what is already some of the best sex she’s ever had into something even hotter. She’s never felt like a miracle before, but the way he responds to her, like he’s only barely capable of reining in his strength and has no concentration left over to stifle the sounds that most dudes think are unmanly -- she’s getting even wetter. Then his fingers slide around to stroke down the cleft of her ass all the way to her dripping cunt. He touches the same place she did before, feeling his cock as it pumps in and out, as their bodies together make the liquid noises of really good sex.
“Oh, god,” she says. “Oh, fuck, Steve, Steve.” Normally she’d try to tone down the rising pitch and volume of her voice, but there are no neighbors here and, fuck, she’s so close.
“You gonna come?” he says, breathless and blushing. “Come all over me?”
Hearing Captain America -- Steve -- say those words launches her over the edge. She gasps and comes, bucking hard and fast against him and making this weird moaning wail that probably sounds like a dying banshee. She really cannot bring herself to care. When she finally comes back down, she collapses on his chest.
“You can keep going,” she says drowsily, feeling him still hard inside her. “Just… not my clit.”
He gives a few experimental thrusts, clearly willing to make a go of this position even with her sprawled awkwardly and bonelessly on top of him.
“Roll me over,” she says, and he does, somehow without even dislodging himself. She’ll be impressed once her energy comes back.
“Okay?” he asks. He reaches out to squeeze her breast, where her nipples have gone flat from the warmth of being pressed against his body.
“Amazing,” she says. Her nipple stands up just a little where his thumb brushes across it, and he looks worried. “Hey. They aren’t like your dick, dude. Just because my nipples aren’t hard doesn’t mean I’m not having fun.”
His face clears. “All right,” he says. He leans forward to kiss her and slides deeper inside her as he does so.
“Oh, fuck,” she says. She wraps her legs around his narrow hips. “Come on, fuck me.”
He picks up a rhythm and pounds into her, and in a minute or two his little cries return. He’s working himself into her almost desperately, like he’s right on the edge but has been there so long he can’t quite crest it, and then she remembers him rubbing his come into her skin and puts two and two together.
She turns her head so that her mouth is at his ear. “I want you to come inside me,” she tells him. She bites his earlobe gently. “You already came all over my tits, now I want you to fill me up --”
“Oh,” he says, “Darcy, oh.” He plunges deep inside her and freezes as he comes, his hips making minute thrusts with each pulse. His head is tucked down next to hers; she wishes she could see the expression on his face.
“Yeah, just like that, baby, come in me,” she says softly, trying to talk him through what appears to be an even longer and more intense orgasm than the first. “You feel so good, come on, come on…”
To her surprise, she realizes that she’s close to coming, too, so she reaches between them to rub her clit. “Just like that,” she says, breathless, “I’m gonna come again, too, just --”
And then she does, rippling around his cock, trying to memorize this one perfect moment, with eight miles of Captain America shoved deep inside her while he comes so hard that she can feel the overflow trickling down her ass.
“Oh, my god,” she says when her orgasm subsides into a languid haze. “Steve.”
He gives a final gasping thrust and collapses on top of her in stages, his arms giving out last. He’s trembling.
She runs her hands over his shoulders, slides her fingers into his sweaty hair. “I got you,” she says. Her hips are starting to ache, though, so she wraps her arms around him and unlocks her ankles to stretch her legs out as straight as she can. The shift allows his softening cock to slip out of her a little. He whimpers and tries to press back in.
“Steve, baby, as incredible as that was, you can’t stay inside me forever,” she says, brushing a smiling kiss to his temple.
He just buries his face in her neck and shudders.
“Hey,” she says after a few minutes, getting concerned now. “Look at me. Are you all right?”
He lifts his head and kisses her, slow and open, taking his weight on one arm so that the other can slide into her hair. It’s a long, thorough kiss. When he finally pulls away, she opens her eyes and stares at him.
“So?” she says. “Can you speak English yet? French? Any language?”
He smiles. “Yeah.”
“Excellent. I was a little worried there.” She studies his face, which mostly just looks relaxed. As well it should. “So are you okay? It’s just that I wasn’t sure whether going catatonic after coming like a geyser was normal for you or not.”
“Jeez, Darcy,” he says, laughing a little. “Not normal, no. I just -- you were there. I’m great.”
“Well,” she says. “I’m glad you’re feeling okay, but I don’t know that I’d say you were ‘great’…”
His jaw drops.
She nods and strokes down his torso, chasing a line of nearly invisible hair down below his belly button. “Yeah. Definitely need more practice. You’re lucky I’m willing to help out.”
He relaxes. “Oh, yeah?” he says, laughing. “Right now? I’m very dedicated to improvement.”
“Now?” she squeaks. She shoves up on her elbows and pushes him off to the side to eye his cock. “Are you getting hard again already?”
He is, throbbing fuller with each heartbeat.
She flops back, collapsing right on top of the giant wet spot. She winces. “Jesus. I need a few minutes.”
“Okay,” he says, and ducks down to suck her nipple.
It takes another three days before they can dig out of the snowbound cabin. Hiking through the forest to meet up with Sam, Darcy imagines her full mission report: (a) failed to maintain cover; (b) got her car blown up; (c) alienated and insulted Captain America, though clearly not irretrievably; (d) got snowbound in a cabin with Captain America; (e) had spectacular, mind-blowing sex with Captain America; (f) taught Captain America half a dozen sex positions he’d never tried before; (g) burned the sheets, blankets, and mattress in a fit of paranoia over anyone nefarious discovering traces of the supersoldier serum in Captain America’s dried semen.
Also, now she (h) can’t stop thinking about fucking Captain America and in fact wishes for about a year of being snowbound together.
She sighs a little as Sam slips inside the boatshed that serves as their rendezvous point. Then she elbows Steve. “What is it you’d say to a guy you needed to catcall in the Canadian wilderness?”
Steve goes pink but starts laughing. “Hé, beau gosse, sympa les muscles,” he says, and Sam gives him a double-take.
“Thanks, man,” Sam says. “You too, obviously.”
“Kiss him!” she tells Steve, and then to her enormous shock Steve does. Sam, to his credit, grabs Steve like he never wants to let go and returns the kiss with great enthusiasm.
“My work here is done,” she says, trying to play off the little spike of jealousy that Sam gets to hit that for the foreseeable future. “Well, I mean, my unofficial work. My actual work is not done until I get you two lovebirds to the safehouse where you’ll be briefed for your next mission.”
Steve turns to her, his eyes bright and his lips scarlet. “You’re not leaving after that, are you?”
She shrugs. “You won’t need me after that. I’m sure Coulson will have another job for me.”
Steve frowns. “So how long do we have together before you’re in real trouble?”
“I don’t know,” she replies, furrowing her brow. “Maybe two more days before Coulson sends in a strike team and benches me forever?”
He nods. “I think the three of us have a lot to talk about,” he says, and while he’s still holding Sam’s hand, he pulls her in and kisses her.
“Oh,” she says into his mouth.
His lips curve against hers. She palms the growing bulge in his pants, pulls away before the kiss gets any deeper, and eyes up Sam.
“You know it’s going to take both of us to finally exhaust him,” she says. “He can go for days. Literally.”
Sam grins. “Yeah, I saw the way you were walking. We can take turns.”
Darcy reaches out with her unoccupied hand and tugs Sam closer. “Why take turns when we can do it all at once?” she asks, and then she kisses him as Steve’s cock leaps beneath her hand.
She smiles into Sam’s kiss and hopes for lots more snow.