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The mysterious case of the vanishing muffs

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Of course, this would happen at one of Tony's orgies. Not only the "petting zoo" as Tony refers to his occasional forays into group make-out sessions, but for the first time Steve's actually inspired to join in.

There are big squashy couches and dim lighting and booze and snacks, and somebody named Barry White on the stereo whose voice makes Steve's bones melt. And Natasha, who's currently sipping wine, lying back on the couch with her legs draped across Steve's lap. She has all her clothes on, technically; Steve was watching her give Clint a lap dance an hour ago and she's looking deliciously disheveled.

Steve's wearing a retro SSR t-shirt and his favorite loose khakis, which aren't as loose as usual due to the monstrous boner that lurks beneath them.

"You're not a virgin, though, are you?" asks Natasha. Their conversation has, of course, involved trading views on positions, toys, aphrodisiacs, you name it.

"Nope," Steve tells her. "I was, um, going to wait for Peggy, to - But then I ended up in this century and decided what the hell."

"Girls, or boys?"

"Girls," he replies. "So far."

"D'you like it?"

"Hell yes," he says fervently. "I knew I would, once I had a chance. There's a couple things that are - different, I think, than in my time. But overall, it's everything it's cracked up to be."

He grins. Natasha sets her empty glass on the floor.

"Different like what?" She presses her calves down, sliding her legs against each other, creating a bit of friction against his crotch.

"The way people dress, it doesn't leave anything to the imagination," he muses.

"True. I like to wonder a bit, myself." Her hand fists in his shirt and she sits up as he curls his arm around her back.

"And now even good girls have tattoos. I'm liking that."

He's also liking where Natasha's fingers are heading, down to unbutton his pants, then her own, as he busies himself unbuttoning her shirt and sliding a hand under it. Her skin is hot and smooth, and so is her mouth when she angles it to meet his.

Steve shifts his hips upward when she tugs his pants down. They end up around his thighs, and he knew better than to wear underwear tonight, so his cock is bare when it rubs against the fabric of her skirt.

Natasha settles on his lap, arms around his neck, and he pulls her bra down under her breasts, making her nipples poke up enough for him to get his mouth on. She tips back a bit and moans and arches so that her butt grinds down on his lap.

One of his hands goes down to hold her legs, keep her from sliding off his thighs. Natasha lets her knees fall open slightly and the skirt hikes up, almost to where her panties would show. If she were wearing any. Nobody's fucked her tonight, not yet; she's been warming up, getting herself ready for Captain America, but she's come a couple of times on fingers and tongues.

Steve breathes in sharply.

"Mmm, you smell good," he mumbles. "Can I - ?" His hand is close to the edge of her shirt and she guides it further up, releasing him when his palm reaches her hip and shifts inward.

She's about to catch his mouth with hers again when he stills and looks down at her.

"Tasha, you're - "

"Hmm?" She's puzzled. What's stopping him?

"I have to see," he says incoherently. Keeping one arm around her, he pushes her skirt up, nearly to her waist, so she can feel his cock against her buttocks, but he's not headed there. His fingers are spread out over her mound and he's staring down at it. In a good way.

"You don't shave?"

"Too much trouble," she says, amused. "Is that a problem?"

"Fuck, no," Steve moans. "I was beginning to think I'd never find a woman with a real muff in this century."

She grins. Hoisting herself up, she unzips and pulls off the skirt and lies back on the couch, spreads her legs, giving him a good view.

"Have at it," she purrs.

Steve looks like a starving man presented with a feast. He looks up, into her eyes, and smiles. Then he kicks off his khakis and turns slightly sideways, gentle hands parting her thighs a bit more, and strokes two fingers from the top of her silky pussy to the damp strands near her center.

"Sweet," he murmurs. He plays with her hair for a little while, combing it with his fingers, parting it down the middle, tugging very, very gently, which makes her buck and whine.

Barry White has gone off the air and the room is oddly quiet. No moans or slaps, none of the wet sounds of coupling, no orgasmic profanity in the air. Natasha looks around under half-closed eyelids and sees that they have an audience.

Pepper is bent over a hassock, on her knees, with Tony at her back, but neither one is actively fucking; Pepper's chin is on her hands and both of them have their eyes on Steve and Natasha.

Bruce has some kind of tantric hand job going in a corner with Clint, and Jane is in Thor's lap, facing out as he sits cross-legged on the floor not more than ten feet away. Natasha can see where their bodies are joined; he's rocking almost lazily, up and down, nibbling on Jane's neck.

Steve's hands aren't touching her sex, and she looks up to see him holding his palm up to his face, breathing in her scent.

"Come on," she whispers. "Taste it. I know you want to."

His eyes are dilated and dark. He sits back, peels off his t-shirt and stuffs it under his hips as he stretches out on the couch on his stomach. She wonders why he doesn't just kneel on the floor.

Then she realizes that he knows they're being watched. He's giving them a show, and he doesn't want to block the view. That alone almost gets her off, right there.Not for the first time, Natasha is thankful that their billionaire host has sprung for super-sized furniture. Still, even on the long couch Steve is too tall for this, but he's adaptable; he lies with his head between Natasha's thighs, his knees wedged against the other armrest, feet up in the air like a kid at a picnic.

She laughs, giddy, and Steve grins at her and then breathes her in deeply and closes his eyes.

"I'm going to come just from smelling you," he says hoarsely. She shakes a finger at him.

"Ladies first," she tells him.

He squeezes her ass with one hand while the other burrows through the thatch of dark hair, using all his fingers to part her hair and reach her inner lips. His big hand spreads her wide open; she feels his breath on her center as he kisses and licks and nibbles around and over and under.

She clamps down on the urge to move. This is already the best oral she's ever had and she wants it to last. Instead, she spreads her legs as far as she can and pulls her shirt open, yanks down her bra straps to get both hands on her breasts.

Someone makes a "mmm" sound and then catches her breath; out of the corner of her eye Natasha sees Tony's hands cupping Pepper's breasts from his place behind her.

Now Steve wraps his arms around Natasha's hips and nuzzles, groaning softly and grinding his hips into the couch. His nose sinks into her hair, then presses deeper, between her lips, and then his tongue is prodding its way in, stroking up and down and almost, but not quite, as far up as her clit.

Natasha whimpers and hears Thor chuckle.

"My friend, you are an artist," says the Norseman.

Steve hums in reply and Natasha gasps and thinks she's going to come, but he holds still, holds her in place, waits, then resumes his leisurely licking and teasing. She has a splendid view of his broad shoulders and firm ass, flexing as he rocks, fucking himself on the couch.

She's craving more of his hands and tongue and she tries to open herself even more. One of his hands pushes her leg up and she folds it all the way up and out, wide, and now he's slipping a finger inside her, now two, and she's grabbing her own leg and ass and anything else she can reach, trying to ground herself as she approaches nirvana.

"Steve," she mutters, almost chanting, "Steve..."

Between her own gasps she can hear, she thinks it's Jane, making little huffs and grunts, imagines Thor thrusting up into her, and Steve's hips are going faster, harder, and his hands are going to leave beautiful bruises, he's clutching her so hard.

Natasha's voice climbs in pitch and volume, at last Steve's tongue drags firmly over her clitoris, circles it, sucks gently, his breath heaving through his nose into her hair, and they both crash into orgasm moaning and crying out and thrusting.

And the crowd goes wild.