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Maximoff was fast, but when it came to dodging ham-fisted come-ons, Darcy Lewis was faster.

She was starting to wonder if she hadn’t developed some sort of contact superpower, because damned if she didn’t just know when that walking harassment case was about to step into her line of vision. No way would she stand by (again) while he snuck in touches and readjusted her clothing  without her being able to call him out.

She took the first door to her left with a neat little sidestep and a stiffly held breath. She stood, safely inside the bolt hole, fingertips pressed against the door while she counted to ten. That was her safety window. Ten seconds was an interminable lifetime to Pietro, he wouldn’t hang around for that long, and - at least as far as she knew - he hadn’t mastered the art of walking through doors.

Her aversion wasn’t a familial thing. She’d seen Papa Maximoff in the news and the man was a silver fox. As for Wanda… well, goddamn. It was simply that Pietro’s slick brand of sleaze wasn’t doing it for her and, really, who wanted to date a man who’s claim to fame was that he was fast? IfyouknowwhatImean…

She drummed her fingertips against the door… once, twice. She wasn’t killing it in the situational awareness stakes because behind her a throat cleared. Darcy spun around in horror, eyes going wide as she expected to see Maximoff leering back at her, shit-eating grin firmly in place while he further acquainted himself with what he’d recently declared to be her ‘two best features’. She was wrong.

So wrong.

It turned out that her frantic dash had hurled her into the twenty-seventh floor gym locker room. The men’s. Population? One steam-dewed, bug-eyed, bare-ass naked Steve Rogers.

And his towel. His woefully inadequate towel of inadequacy. A towel with pretensions of sufficiency that, frankly, missed the mark by inches and… sweet Jesus how was she going to survive this?

Mostly, he stood like a monument to all that was manly and strong. Water ran in rivulets over inches of perfect, taut, glowing skin stretched over pounds of unyielding muscle. Water beaded in the small strip of dark golden hair that gathered between his pecs then ran down, down, into the worlds tiniest white towel. Fuck. That towel. What a joke. It was slung ridiculously low on his hips, barely meeting at one side to tuck into itself, it gaped over one bulging thigh and did nothing to hide the many fascinating slopes and bulges beneath. 

He might have looked like something off a Men’s Health magazineif he hadn’t been looking so scandalised. Biceps flexed as he sprawled his hands over himself, one spanning to cover his left pec (yet that perfect flat nipple managed to just peek through his fingers) the other dropped to where his towel was hanging on for dear life. Wet hair stuck out at odd angles, dripping water down his neck - a neck flushed pink with embarrassment.

“I’m… not here,” Darcy said cautiously. Stupid. Stupid.

“You… aren’t?”

She had her back pressed against the door, not so much to bar Pietro from entering, but just because she felt the compelling need to be as far from Steve as she could be… without actually leaving the room.

“Would you believe that this is just a dream?”

He shook his head slowly, shifting from foot to foot. “In the dreams you’re naked too.”

A long second passed before they both realised what he’d said. Darcy was pretty sure her underwear actually evaporated. Steve, however, seemed mortified  as he lifted his hand from his chest and pressed it over his mouth, as though the act could stem the flow of his words.

“I’m hiding,” Darcy shifted the subject, throwing him a lifeline.

“From me?”

He was addled, clearly a little embarrassed. Usually he was such a smart boy. “Pietro.”

That nudged Steve into activity, he stood straighter, hands fisting by his thighs as he narrowed his eyes at the door. He’d been witness to the previous week’s bra-snapping incident, he knew the score when it came to Darcy’s opinion of Maximoff.

“I’ll teach him a lesson,” Steve’s voice came out low and a little terrifying.

“Not without pants, you won’t. Besides, he’s long gone. Pietro’s a toad alright, but he’s a toad with a short attention span.”

Steve frowned at that, took two steps forward. Darcy took two steps to the side, anything to keep a little distance from the advancing Wet Dream On Legs. “You could stay,” Steve said, voice firm, warm.

“I could… stay?” Darcy echoed as she pressed an open palm to her stomach, trying to quell the stirring, whorish butterflies that had started to kick up a lust-induced storm there.

“Sure. If you’d like.”

 


 

 

Darcy Lewis stared back at Steve, expression caught somewhere between a French girl after his wallet and a deer coming to the realisation that it had wandered into Bucky’s crosshairs.

Funny, because he felt primed for the hunt. Not that it took much, he’d been thinkin’ on chasing down Darcy for months. Things had been promising in the beginning, after being introduced she’d stuck close by, constantly producing old memorabilia for his signature.

Now, Steve wasn’t one to exploit a fan, but if it meant he had an excuse to spark up a conversation… not that anything had come of it. Two weeks in Couslon had busted her fencing the merchandise at criminally inflated rates on eBay and wasted no time in putting a stop to her racket.

Sweet little Darcy Lewis wasn’t a fan. She was an opportunist. In the back of his mind he could still hear Bucky and Peggy hooting with laughter.

Still, there in that locker room, the way that she was looking at him was doing a lot to restore his deflated ego. Among other things. When she’d first rushed into the locker room, all frenetic energy and curves, Steve had been positive that his own carnal thoughts had manifested. How many times and ways had he imagined having her? Surely he’d fabricated a locker room scene somewhere among his, frankly embarrassing, pornographic fantasies.

Though nothing he’d dreamed up really compared to Darcy in the flesh. Even if she did look a little shell-shocked. Heat and steam wove through her hair, coaxing small curls to form around her face and neck. The cotton of her button-down had grown damp and tired in the steam and was clinging wonderfully to her frame. He wasn’t too much of a gentleman (or much of one at all) to notice the way her nipples were pressing up against the lace of her bra, clearly visible through the wilted fabric of her shirt. Funny, because it certainly wasn’t cold in the locker room.

Something kicked in his chest and he fought to keep a knowing grin off his face.

Pietro and he were going to revisit their last discussion on the subject of Darcy Lewis, because clearly the kid didn’t have a lick of sense where she was concerned, but that could wait. Fate had thrown Darcy Lewis in his path at just the right moment and if he’d learned anything, it was to dance while the music was still playing…

Darcy liked the look of him, even he could see that, and while he wasn’t exactly a savant at the art of seduction he was willing to throw out a few of Bucky’s tried and tested tips… just to see where it got him.

Steve released a long-held breath, letting it slip through his teeth as he rolled his shoulders. He wasn’t exactly getting ready for battle, but on a difficulty scale he’d put Doom Bots somewhere below seducing Darcy. Even though he’d had his serum-enhanced body for years (fine, decades) it felt vaguely foreign as he lifted one arm to run it through his damp hair, pausing midway to flex his bicep for effect. He felt like a damn fool, but her pretty eyes tracked his movements and it only made sense to continue with a tactic that worked. 

His next move was to casually rake a hand across his abdomen, fingers catching on the ridges there and if he sucked in his breath so that his muscles stood out more prominently… well, he didn’t intend to take any prisoners. He played a neat little game of advance and retreat - his advance, her retreat. He was slowly closing the gap between them as Darcy alternated between pressing her back against a locker (at least she wasn’t plastered to the door anymore) and leaning toward him. It occurred to him that maybe she’d just escaped one sort of unwanted attention for another. He didn’t want her there because she was stuck with him. He wanted her willing - enthusiastic - consent. 

“You stayin’, Doll?”

“Staying… here?”

He suppressed his nerves as he traced two fingers over the skin just above the tuck that secured his towel. “Yeah. If you-”

Sweet Jesus, it’s a goddamn sweatbox in here.”

Steve and Darcy froze in place with comparable expressions of horror on their flushed faces as they both swung their gazes to Bucky as he strode into the room, fanning at the air and plucking at a sweaty gym shirt.

Bucky was going to give him Hell about it later, Steve was sure of it. He was in a bad way and Bucky wasn't going to have to look too hard to figure that out. That wasn’t even the worst of it. The worst part was the high pitch wheezing noise that Darcy was making as she hopped from one scuffed sneaker to the next, face swiftly changing from aroused pink to kill-me-now scarlet. If Bucky’s heightened operational instinct wasn’t quite so honed that noise alone would have alerted him of her presence. Still - and this was how Steve knew he was really gone on her - it was kind of endearing.

“She gonna breathe any time soon?” Bucky asked as he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder toward Darcy.

The wheezing turned into a garbled keening. Christ, he still found it vaguely sexy.

“Want me to stay, Doll?” Bucky asked with a small grin, clearly having too much fun to leave them to their mutual embarrassment. “You could wash Steve’s back. I could wash yours. It’d be real friendly.”

Out.”

“Aw, c’mon, Punk.” Bucky spread his hands wide, the picture of innocence. “I’m just having some fun. Usually, I’m the one caught with his pants down.”

Steve’s jaw twitched and Bucky rolled his eyes as he turned on his heel, he stooped to grab Steve’s combat boots from where he’d tucked them beneath a bench and sauntered back toward the door. “I’ll leave these outside the door for ya. You’re welcome.”

 


 

 

So.

Yeah.

It was a thing. A thing that was happening to her. And, sweet fucking Jesus, weren’t her lady parts all completely on board with what was unfolding? Not that it made one damn bit of sense to Darcy. In the months since she’d become a semi-permanent fixture at the tower she’d hardly made much of an impression. Most days the got the feeling that even the vaguely sentient AI that commanded the elevators had more social cachet around the tower than she did.

There was a ficus by the elevator that probably had more going on than she did.

She certainly hadn’t made a conscious effort to put herself in the same social strata as, say, CAPTAIN AMERICA (shouty-caps intended). Sure, she’d seen an opportunity to pedal his merch for fast cash… but she was pretty damn sure he wouldn’t even remember her among the sea of doe-eyed interns and agents jockeying for his attention.

That was kind of the problem, though. It wasn’t Captain America, the larger than life and utterly unattainable hero, who was putting the moves on her.

It was Steve Rogers.

And Steve Rogers knew how to work a towel.

She frowned a little in the silence that followed Bucky’s interruption. Just what the Hell was happening?

“Am I dreaming?” she wondered aloud.

“Am I usually naked in your dreams, Doll?” And there was that grin, tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Darcy rolled her eyes and snorted. “Weren’t you in the middle of something?”

Steve cocked an eyebrow as he gently reached out to cup her elbow and draw her forward. She expected him to pull her against his chest, ravish her or something. Instead he guided her clear of a bank of lockers, then shifted the six aluminium lockers until they blocked the entrance to the locker room. “Okay?” he asked as he tested the door to ensure that it wouldn’t open.

So okay. The play of the muscles in his shoulders as he’d shifted the lockers had been a work of art. Steve was a spectacular specimen and for God only knew what reason, he wanted her.

“I may hyperventilate if you drop that towel,” Darcy cautioned him as he turned back to her, stepping into her space so that all she could breathe was the woody scent of his body wash drifting to her on the heat that rose from his skin.

“That’s a risk we’ll have to take,” Steve smirked as he reached for her hand and pressed it to the tuck that secured his towel. “Doll? Gonna need you to give me something to work with here…”

Darcy sucked in a lungful of the dense, steamy air in the locker room, squished her eyes shut and slipped a single fingertip between the towel and Steve’s slick skin.

One, two… a flick of the wrist sent it slipping to the tiles. 

In the seconds that followed, Darcy fought the most mature, grown-up battle of her life as she struggled not to look down and just gawp at what he had to offer. By the count of eight, she felt she had endured more than could be expected of any mere mortal and cracked a single eye. Steve shuffled nervously on his toes as Darcy looked down…

“You’re overdressed,” he said as he reached for her.

“Shhh,” she swatted his hand away without looking up, “I’m busy falling in love.”

“Yeah? It likes you too, but I’m really going to have to insist on the nudity.”

This time she didn’t evade him when he reached for the buttons of her shirt, his large hands fumbled, but eventually he slipped them all free and parted her shirt. His fingers fanned out to span her breasts as he looked down at them with a crooked smile. “Might just go ahead and fall in love myself…” he murmured.

Darcy snorted as she shrugged off her shirt and reached back to unclasp her bra. At that moment she did the bulk of the work, wriggling the straps down her arms and slipping the lace from between Steve’s hands and her skin as he continued to silently commune with her boobs. His hands slipped low lifting her breasts so that his thumbs could coast across her nipples. Her nipples, clearly no longer loyal to Darcy and absolutely at Steve’s mercy, grew harder as he dipped his head to rasp his tongue over one peak. Her fingers speared through his hair, gripping and tugging at the short ends as she came up on to her toes to try and encourage further mouth-on-breast action. Because goddamn it was good.

His mouth continued to rove across her breasts as his hands skimmed down to her hips, then to her behind, tucking neatly into the waist of both her skirt and panties. He gently kneaded her ass, levering her skirt and panties lower until they slipped free and pooled at her feet so she could kick free her shoes and let him take her weight in his hands as she wrapped her thighs around his slim hips. The sweet man didn’t even grunt as he took her weight. What a fucking champ.

Steve moved quickly and pressed Darcy back against a closed locker. In the fantasies he’d slam her against the locker, but Darcy figured that being slammed anywhere by a peak human had to be bad for one’s health.

“Shit, that’s cold,” she gasped as she wriggled against his chest, her breasts growing damp from the moisture still clinging to his chest… between her thighs was wet too, for an entirely different reason.

“Sorry,” the apology was thrown out quickly, even as Steve was filling his hands with her ass and wedging his hips and sizeable cock between her legs. Behind her, the surface of the locker grew warm as she and Steve rubbed and bumped against it, mouths seeking and finally meeting. Teeth clashed and tongues slipped prematurely before they finally got the hang of the kiss, Darcy’s arms wound around Steve’s neck as she held on for dear life… not that there was any danger he’d drop her (no matter how much Häagen Dazs she’d had the previous night). Their skin bonded, sticking in the steam and damp of the room, and Darcy started to buck urgently against Steve, eager to feel him inside of her.

“Gotta help me here, kid,” Steve whispered against her lips between kisses as he bumped his hips against her, his cock glancing across the inside of her thigh.

It took a measure of trust, but not an impossible one, for Darcy to release her grip on his shoulders and reach between their bodies to guide his cock to where they both needed him to be. Darcy shifted the blunt head of his shaft until she felt press against her pussy, she artlessly rolled her hips until he caught, pressing and flexing his own hips until Darcy lost all sense of self preservation and let her arms fly up above her head as he drove up while urgently pulling her hips down to meet him.

Fuck…

Darcy blinked when she realised that the curse hadn’t come from her. “You can’t - uh! - say fu-”

“Can’t?” asked Steve. The wide-eyed innocence on his face might have flown were he not presently balls-deep and breathing hard from their exertions. “Gonna fuck-” he pumped his hips, smacking her body back against the locker so that a tinny crash sounded through the room, “-you ’til you come, Darcy Lewis.”

Similarly, her own indignant gasp might have held a little more water if she weren’t trying to surreptitiously tilt her hips so that he fucked her at just the right angle. Somewhere in the fog that had overtaken her mind, Darcy realised that she was going to have to pull some moves if she wanted to prove that she was no slouch in the sack. She mentally cursed herself for not being more dedicated to her Kegels, but held it together enough to brace herself just a little more firmly around Steve. It worked, sort of. 

Fuuu…” he hissed. “Don’t do that! Wait… no. Shit, do it again. Please. How did you even… ugh…” He hauled her face back up to his for another fierce kiss as his hips continued their stilted tattoo between her thighs. Darcy’s hands slipped down over his shoulders and chest, skimming over the sweat beading on his skin.

She closed her eyes and let the sensations of the moment overtake her. Steve tasted sweet, salty, like some sort of berry Gatorade, the smell of his skin was cutting through his body wash and pressing up against her so that even she smelled of him. The jarring repeated smack of skin against metal - and the subsequent crash of the lockers against the wall filled the room. Yeah, she’d be sore in the morning, but what a way to earn her bruises…

She felt just the right sort if down-low friction building and managed to crack an eye. “Steve, need you to hold out just… just a minute because I’m so close.

Steve grunted something that might have been a ‘yes’, but he was distinctly non-verbal as concentration and focus warred with his own need to come. Darcy could see that his release was riding him hard and felt nothing but immense gratitude as her toes curled and she smacked her head back against the locker as she choked out half-cries, announcing her own climax. Steve, bless his patriotic socks, didn’t last much longer. His fingertips bruised the soft skin of her ass and his hips smacked against the inside of her thighs as he drove himself as deep as he could and came inside Darcy with a sharp cry.

The come-down might have been awkward, but they were saved by the distant ringing of a phone.

Steve winced and looked to Darcy’s face, “I have to…”

“I know,” Darcy gave a shaky smile as Steve tried - and failed - to classily slip his softening cock from her and set her back onto her feet. He gave her a second to test her legs, only darting toward a gym bag to grab his phone when he was confident that she could stand unassisted. God, that ass. Seconds dragged out as Steve answered his call (still a little breathless) and spoke in single-word replies. Darcy shuffled, red-faced as she felt the slow descent of Steve’s come trickling down the inside of her thighs.

Steve ended his call and looked a little pained as he turned back to Darcy. “I have to go-”

“Save the world?”

“Probably just the city,” he answered, even as he rolled his eyes.

“Oh, please, how hard could it be?” Darcy stooped to pick up her shirt, it had fallen into a wet patch but it was still mostly wearable. She pulled it on and tried to close it over her bare breasts, hoping to save a little face as Steve pulled a suit - an honest-to-God Captain America suit - from a nearby locker.

“Darcy?” She was gathering her underwear and skirt with her foot when Steve paused, halfway through zipping his fine ass into his pants. “For the record, this isn’t a line. There are actual Goddamned mechanical octopusss… uh…”

“Octopuses. Though octopi isn’t wrong either…”

“Right, well. They’re a thing and apparently they are now my concern.”

“It’s okay, Steve. Go save the world - city - whatever.” Darcy tugged at the hem of her shirt, then moved closer to arch up onto her toes and press a quick kiss to Steve’s cheek. “And thanks for the orgasm. It was swell.”

She watched on as he finished dressing and kitting himself out for battle. From that moment he was almost completely mission-focussed. He only paused after he’d grabbed his shield and shoved the lockers away from the door to turn back, pull his helmet on and wag a cautionary finger in Darcy’s direction.“Stop hanging around the men’s locker room,” he was in full Captain America mode, voice firm and only the slightest quirk of the mouth gave him away.

“How else will I meet men?” Darcy answered with an impish grin.

“I’ll take you to dinner tonight,” Steve replied as he backed through the door, stooping to grab his boots.

“If you live.”

“I’ll do my best.” He shot her a wink and a two-fingered salute. “After all, I got a date.”