Work Text:
Before.
She is not upset.
She’s not.
She is perfectly fine with going undercover to a swanky nightclub with her all-American boss.
Maria carefully screws the cap back on her mascara and tucks it very, very deliberately back into her makeup case. She takes a deep breath as she presses her palms against the counter of her hotel bathroom and just breathes.
She is not upset.
She’s just… not wholly comfortable with it either.
He doesn’t even like her, didn’t even want her as part of his team, and now she has to fall into the trope and play the absolutely head-over-heels wife to a man that hates her guts.
Nothing wrong with that.
The knock startles her. She’s not running behind, a fact she confirms with a quick check of her phone – and a very pointed disregard for the six, no seven, messages from Darcy about how lucky Maria is, to have the opportunity to put her hands all over the ‘hottest hunk of manflesh since Barnes’ – and glances through the peephole.
Speak of the devil.
A lot of things happen in the time it takes her to step back and open the door. Her stomach flips, her heart thumps, and she curses him for being objectively extremely attractive. She scolds herself – she is not into her boss and for god’s sake it’s just a little bit of undercover. They don’t even like each other.
“Hey.”
She hates the thrill that races through her when she pulls open the door and his mouth drops, just a little, halfway through greeting her. And his eyes don’t even leave her face. So yes, she takes the opportunity to take in the shirt that clings to his chest, the jacket that stretches over his shoulders in all the right ways, the way his hands are tucked into well-tailored slacks. She makes a note to figure out whether to thank Barnes or Romanov for that one.
“Hey,” he finally manages with a blink. She has the absolute pleasure of watching him try and pull himself together and look: she is a woman and she is going to preen just a little when a man like Rogers is obviously a little tongue-tied over her.
It has nothing to do with Rogers.
He rocks back on his heels, awkward again and Maria just barely resists the urge to twitch a eyebrow up.
“Um,” he begins and she bites her cheek hard to keep from rolling her eyes. He doesn’t even like her; this should not be rocket science for him. “May I?”
Well, okay. That’s different. He’s never so much as knocked on her hotel room door, let alone asked for entrance. Yet, Maria finds herself stepping back, granting him entrance.
“I’m fifteen minutes out.”
He waves her off, wanders into the room and she forces herself not to think about whether or not she remembered to tuck her underwear away before leaving with Romanov on their impromptu shopping excursion.
She hadn’t been prepared for this. So sue her.
She heads back to the bathroom, tucks herself just out of view of the broader room and takes another deep, shaky breath. Her eyes catch on the dress on the back of the door, the one Romanov convinced her was just perfect – black and figure-hugging and not something Maria would ever consider wearing in front of Steve Rogers of all people – and feels her stomach flip again.
She can do this.
For eight victims, she can pretend to be in love with her boss for a few hours.
“You don’t have to do this.”
She doesn’t jump. She does glare at him through the mirror for sneaking up on her, does not let her eyes trail down the way he leans nonchalantly against the bathroom doorframe. Ignores how intimate it is, her in the bathroom, getting ready for a night out like this is normal.
“Don’t think I can pull it off?”
It’s acerbic and unfair and yes, okay, she knows that. His face is worried, not challenging, not blank. It cracks enough for a rueful smile to break through, a bit of an awkward chuckle.
“We made a deal,” he says and Maria actually turns from the mirror to meet his gaze head on. He looks up from under his lashes, a little boy in the body of a very attractive man.
Not that Maria cares.
At all.
“Hill, we both know if this was about your skills, we wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be here.”
She blinks at the obvious complement, entirely unprepared for it and all of the things it implies. He’s not wrong, of course, but the minute shift in the way they deal with each other is so recent the vote of confidence takes her off-guard.
“This is outside of your wheelhouse.”
She cocks her head to the side, tries not to bristle automatically. It’s obvious that he’s trying, that he doesn’t like this any more than she does. “Yours too.”
It’s common knowledge Rogers can’t lie worth shit. She’ll never admit it’s not only something she appreciates in him, but something she actually likes.
Then he’s pulling his hand from his pocket and something sparkles in his palm.
“Hell no.”
He’s not even wounded by her gut reaction. He chuckles instead, steps into the bathroom as the wedding set sparkles in his palm. “They’re a little dented but Nat said they’d fit.”
His eyes sparkle with something she will never identify, no matter how many stories Barnes had been more than happy to share about their army days.
“No way. We’re one of those modern couples that doesn’t wear rings.” And she will defend that view until the day she dies. She is not putting on a fake wedding ring to be fake married to her boss.
His mouth firms and she knows he is having none of it, that all of the amusement from a moment before has been eclipsed. This time, she digs her nails into her fist to avoid the shiver that drills down her spine. The look in his eyes should put her back up, the way it has with every other man she’s dated – not dating him Hill - who thought they could own her.
“He’ll be looking for them.”
Their UNSUB. The reason she’s even in this predicament in the first place. The profile had been easy – built all-American men and their attractive wives; like it takes a genius to figure out motivation for that one – but their UNSUB, as much as none of them have wanted to admit it, seems to have an intricate understanding of counter-forensics.
Long story short: they’ve got nothing.
Barnes’ exact words had been, “We’re going to have to smoke him out.”
And now Rogers is standing in front of her with a set of wedding rings and she is definitely feeling the weight of this settling on her.
“Hey.”
She looks up at him, away from the rings, feels her heart rate slow just a little. “We don’t have to do this.”
We.
He’ll pull out if she does, leave other victims in the lurch. Let others die.
Neither of them wants that.
She takes a deep breath as she reaches for the rings, feels her chest catch when he takes her hand instead. The silver colour blinks in the bright bathroom lights as he slides the band on first, then the engagement ring.
He looks back up at her once the rings are settled at her knuckles. There’s that look in his eyes again, the one she’s seen so, so often since their night on the couch. The look that Maria has been very careful not to identify, let alone do anything with. Still, her stomach flips.
“I need to get dressed,” she says quietly, breaks the moment. He drops her hand and steps back, gives them both space and Maria hates the way she feels like she’s taking her first deep breath since he leaned against the bathroom doorframe.
“I’ll call for a cab.”
She braces herself against the counter for a moment. It doesn’t help. Her eyes catch on the wedding set, sends her stomach flaring and her heart thumping.
Dammit, she is not into her boss.
It’s just an undercover mission.
She can get through this.
His knuckles are white against her windowsill as he waits for Maria to finish up in the bathroom. He’d known this had been a bad idea, pretending to be married. It’s a giant cliché complete with his thumping heart and the sudden absolute clarity that surrounds just how beautiful Maria is.
Not that he’d been immune to her in the first place. A classic beauty like Maria Hill stands out and even he’s not blind enough to have missed it. It had, of course, been overshadowed by absolutely everything else: her sudden appearance, the lack of notice, the way she hadn’t given him an inch… Ruthlessly ambitious had been his initial analysis and he’d hated her for it.
But that’s not all this woman is, not by a long shot.
And the last picture he needs inked into his memory on top of that is the intimately domestic look of her in that bathroom, the gentle movement of her curls against the sharp line of her jaw, the way her eyes had changed as he’d slipped first the band, then the engagement ring on her finger.
The reflexive possession that had flared when she’d initially refused the ring.
Just in case he didn’t already know he was tumbling into some serious feelings regarding Maria Hill.
Not that she’d ever return them. A woman like her?
“Ready?”
He takes a deep breath as he turns and finds himself a little irrationally disappointed by the fact that she’s already pulled a jacket on over her dress.
“When you are,” he answers, stepping towards her. He watches her slide a foot into an elegant black heel and reaches reflexively for her elbow as she does the same with the second foot. He blinks for a moment, because the shoes bring her so close to level with him. His palm itches with how much he wants to press a hand to her back, shift her closer, into him, against him. His fingers squeeze against her elbow without his conscious thought and her curious eyes rise to his. It takes him a moment, just looking at her, feeling the irrational rightness of the moment. It’s long enough to have her quirking an eyebrow.
“Rogers?”
He has to swallow and clear his throat. “Let’s go.”
They don’t touch in the elevator and orbit around each other as they’re given their earpieces and mics. Steve feels the itch under his skin intensify as they step into the cool evening. The cab is there waiting and he steps forward to open the door. She glares, even as she accepts and slides in. Steve finds himself smirking as he realizes he’d be absolutely disappointed if she’d been entirely docile about it.
“Don’t get chivalrous on me now, Rogers,” she scolds when he’s settled in the other side. He thinks it’s the flash of her eyes that has mischief and recklessness rising up in him. He reaches for her hand, and the wedding set flashes in the streetlights as he presses a kiss to her skin.
“Can’t a husband do something nice for his wife?”
He only catches glimpses of her face in the flashing lights, but he feels her fingers tense in his. He’s sure he’s about to get slapped, but then she’s turning her head to look out the window, her hand still in his.
“Don’t get carried away.”
He makes a decision then and there that tonight he’s going to show her what it could be like between them. He’s never been the type to look a gift horse in the mouth and he’s not about to let this opportunity pass him by.
Don’t get carried away?
He feels the grin stretch across his face.
It’s too late for that.
It’s not the night she’d anticipated.
By far.
He should be sorry. There should be apology written in every line of his face as his broad palm slides down her back. She leans into the bar, waves for the attention of the bartender again and very carefully avoids thinking of the heat of him against her back.
He hasn’t left her side since he’d helped her pull her coat from her shoulders. She’s been carefully pretending he hadn’t caught his breath when she’d faced him. It’s not like there’s anything special about the dress, black and form-fitting as it is. The hem stops just above her knees and the square cut of the neckline is demure. There are women here showing more skin, eyeing him like they’re ready to take him home, but he always seems to come back to her.
She feels the brush of his hand against her hip, over her waist and tries to ignore the easy way everything in her tunes into him, the length of his chest against her back. God, she’s letting him take so many liberties here. She should be more upset about the fact that he seems to be wholly taking advantage of it.
“We should dance,” he says in her ear, the one not plugged by her earpiece.
“Yes,” comes Darcy’s voice in her other ear and Maria holds her breath for a moment before she realizes their tech has slipped to a private channel. “You really should, Mar. This is your chance to get up close and personal with what is touted as the nicest ass in fifty states and you are honour bound to see if it feels as good as it looks.”
Maria’s eyes flutter closed as Steve steps back and catches her elbow as he does. “We’re on the job,” she finds herself gritting, loud enough for Darcy even as Rogers arches an eyebrow her way.
She shakes her head, grateful for the pounding music that masks her scolding, then lets him lead her to the dance floor. Trepidation rises up when she realizes just how close they’ll have to dance. Her breath catches when he doesn’t hesitate, when he slips his hand around her waist, slides it slowly up her back then down again, pulling her so, so close. Closer than she should let him. She expects him to apologize, expects it to be written in every line of his face.
But none of that is so much shadowed in his eyes.
His face is fierce when the lights flash over it, determined and intense. Unapologetic. There isn’t a piece of him that is sorry for the predicament they’re in, the way his broad, strong hands move on her body as he guides her against him. He’s bold as he leans in and presses his cheek against hers.
“Oh my god, Mar, right now. Fifty bucks. For America.”
Her hands clench in his dress shirt and she vaguely thinks about shutting off her earpiece because Darcy is distracting and not helping. Except then Rogers jerks against her and she feels the breath catch in her chest.
Out. Of. Hand.
“You’re being watched.”
Her body floods with adrenaline and an arousal she can’t deny to herself. She’s thankful for the dark, that even if she steps out into the light she can chalk up the heat in her cheeks to dancing.
“Eyes on him?” she murmurs back, turns her head just a little. Two can play his game.
He hums his agreement into her ear. “Your five o’clock.” She tenses out of reflex and he squeezes her hip in warning. “Relax.”
She hates the way her body does just that, flows into his.
“There you go.”
She’s going to slap him later, knock him out on the mats when they’re back in Quantico and their UNSUB’s behind bars. He’s kept her off-kilter all night, the confident way he touches her, exactly like a man who’s already had his hands all over her naked skin. He’s been using that same low voice, intimate, blurring the harsh lines they’d both drawn a long, long time ago.
“That’s gotta be our guy.”
Maria steals herself, presses a little closer. And yes, gets a little thrill from the obvious way he responds just as much to her as she responds to him. His hand smooths down her back and this time she lets herself shiver, playing her part to the hilt. It’s still a surprise when there’s a brief moment of damp pleasure against her jaw and she has to actively convince herself it hadn’t been his mouth.
Even Rogers wouldn’t go that far on an undercover op.
Would he?
Especially not with her.
“Ready to get out of here?”
For a split second, her traitorous brain imagines something else entirely, exactly the first hand experience of the built muscle beneath hot skin-
“Hill.”
It’s like a bucket of cold water over her head and yet she has to pause and swallow. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
He steps away. In the cold space he leaves behind she feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The shiver that drills down her spine is not even close to the heated arousal of moments before. It’s clammy and uncomfortable, but there’s worry in Rogers’ face that plays into their roles so beautifully.
“Okay?”
Alpha male. Submissive female.
And while Maria will never be as submissive as their profile describes, she relaxes her stance even as she offers Rogers a roll of her eyes, pressing up despite her heels. “Still watching.”
“And following.” This time, Darcy’s voice in her ear is serious, business like. “Back alley’s got cameras.”
Rogers’ look lets her know Darcy’s back on the public channel. It’s confirmed a moment later when Barnes says. “We’ll rendezvous there.”
“Roger that.”
Maria’s fallen silent as he weaves through the crowd, carves a path for Maria to follow dutifully behind. One hand is still in his, sure and strong and her other is pressed to his lower back. Intimate and close. He likes it, maybe more than he’s supposed to.
In for a penny.
He pauses at the door to the back alley, glances back over his shoulder. Her face is sure and determined and he bites his cheek against the urge to lean down and kiss the frown off her face. Then she tilts her head and squeezes his hand.
Game time.
She lets him pull her close in the alley, lets him press her into the chilled brick against the wall opposite the door. She presses her hand gently to his hip and he shifts accordingly, ducking his head into the curve of her neck.
“Good?”
He feels her nod, line of sight to the door clear and forces his mind to remember that this isn’t real. He cannot actually press his mouth to her neck to see if she tastes as good as she smells. He can hear the way her breathing has increased and just barely manages to shove down the groan that wants to rise in his throat. She doesn’t help him when she raises a hand to press so, so lightly against the back of his neck and tilts her head to the side.
“Steve.”
Honestly, he almost loses it then and there, long-held control fraying around the edges from the entire evening, having her pressed against him, dressed up and utterly gorgeous. Right up until he hears the door open and slam shut behind them and he feels himself tense.
Her quiet gasp tells him something’s amiss. It hits him a moment later when he hears the click of a safety.
“If you love your wife, you’ll step away from her now.”
His head comes up and meets her calm, steady gaze. He doesn’t like it; he doesn’t like it at all. The last thing he wants to do is give their UNSUB a clear shot at Maria. Even if they now know how their UNSUB’s been subduing his bigger, stronger victims.
And even if, in reality, there isn’t a doubt in his mind that she can handle herself.
“Now!”
Steve moves slowly, so, so slowly, drops his arms reluctantly from where he’s boxed Maria in. He turns and does as he’s told, takes one step, then another. The gun follows him.
“Barnes and Romanov are two minutes out,” comes Darcy’s voice, quietly in his ear. “They’ve been notified they’re armed and dangerous.”
Two minutes.
He darts a glance to Maria. They can hold out two minutes.
A snort from their UNSUB draws them both back. “Some alpha male you are. You didn’t even fight me.” He snorts again, steps closer to Maria.
Too close.
He can see the moment Maria makes the decision, her hand striking out fast and sharp. And he’s treated to a show. Her leg comes up, foot bare from her heel as she slams her knee into their UNSUB’s stomach. A moment later he’s on his back and Steve hears the rip of fabric as Maria follows him over. The next thing he knows, Maria’s flipped him over, straddling their UNSUB’s back, his own gun pressed to his head.
Yeah, he doubts the guy calculated for a woman that’s been training with a former KGB agent.
“Some protection you are,” she huffs, a smirk dancing at the corner of her mouth. Their UNSUB tries to shift beneath her, to knock her off, but Maria just yanks on his arm a little tighter.
And there’s nothing to do but laugh. He knows that his admiration is shining in his face and can’t help it. She’s ripped a slit in her dress, her heels are tipped over a few steps away and she’d disarmed a man without thought. He even gives himself a split second to admire the way she looks calm and competent, a gun held to another man’s head.
Special Agent Maria Hill.
Is it any wonder?
“What’d we miss?”
Maria looks away from a chuckling Rogers and over her shoulder at the approaching Barnes and Romanov. “What took you so long? Lewis said two minutes.”
Romanov blinks and Maria has the distinct feeling that whatever is about to come out of the other woman’s mouth she should not believe. “Traffic.”
Yeah. Maria doesn’t believe it.
“Looks like you have it well in hand,” Barnes picks up, steps closer, his gun loosely at his side. Still, Maria knows that the slightest movement from the man beneath her and that gun’ll be up in a blink. She lets herself set the UNSUB’s gun aside and holds out a hand.
Barnes grins and slaps a pair of cuffs into her palm. “Nice catch.”
Maria snorts, but Rogers is grinning.
“Looks like we don’t make a bad team after all, Hill.”
And even Maria can’t disagree with that.
After.
She is not excited.
She is not.
She is a seasoned FBI profiler that does not get excited at the prospect of going undercover with her boss-slash-boyfriend.
She hums to herself as she tucks her mascara away, twirling her curls around her finger to make sure they’re laying right against her jaw. She’s gone with heavier makeup tonight, a red for her lips that she knows would make Romanov proud. It should anyway, since it had been the redhead’s choice.
She is not excited.
Six months ago, this same situation had felt entirely different. Six months ago, she’d dreaded this exact kind of evening. Her stomach had been doing uncomfortable somersaults and even her makeup application had been a chore. Today, she’s looking forward to pretending she’s in love with her boss for a few hours.
Especially since she’s not totally sure how much of it will be pretend.
A smile stretches across her face at the quiet beep of the door, at the gentle creak of it as Steve enters. He comes into her peripheral vision in the mirror, leaning against the doorframe. Her mind flashes to their last undercover mission, a similar shirt, similar slacks, and the way her mouth had watered at the look of him.
“Hey.”
She smiles at him in the mirror, takes her time getting a good look at him. “Hi, soldier.”
“You keep looking at me like that and I’m going to make a mess of all your hard work.”
She laughs and fluffs her curls one more time, hyper aware of his gaze. She’s not even indecently dressed, but he watches her and she shivers. Even after six months she’s not used to the admiration in his gaze, with and without heat.
“You look good,” she murmurs to his reflection. “I’m fifteen minutes out.”
“Take your time.”
Yet she can’t help shifting beneath his gaze, feels the drag of it over her body. It makes her skin flush and her stomach flip in ways that she should be totally over after half a year together. She’s not. She’s very, very not.
But then something shifts in his gaze and worry takes over the blue she has some seriously intense feelings for.
“Hey.”
He tucks his hands in his pockets. “We don’t have to do this.”
She rolls her eyes and turns back to her own reflection, wipes at a smudge of lipstick on the corner of her mouth. “You know we can.”
He chuckles and steps up close, towers behind her in ways that she shouldn’t like near as much as she does. But she can’t lie: there’s something utterly powerful about this man, so much bigger than she is, and the fact that he more than knows she can take care of herself.
“Skill is not in question,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss her cheek. His palms feel good on her hips and Maria bites at the inside of her cheek to keep from turning and giving in. She tilts her head when he straightens. They look good together.
“Not exactly our wheelhouse.”
“It wasn’t last time either,” she reminds him, patting one of those broad hands. “We pulled it off. Rather well if I remember.”
“Brilliantly,” he retorts, presses his mouth to her neck. They’re both a little more handsy than is probably appropriate given they’re supposed to be professionals. “Despite distractions.”
She laughs and leans back into him, misses his hand when he removes it from her hip. It’s back a moment later, curled into a fist and while a part of her has no idea what’s going on, her memory is flashing alarm bells.
Sure enough, he unfolds his fingers to reveal a wedding set nestled in his palm.
Maria’s never dreamt of her wedding. She’s never been that woman and she’s sure as hell never liked the idea of wedding rings. It’s just not her, and certainly not with a man she’s only been dating for six months.
“So,” he murmurs, his chin pressed gently to the side of her head. “Will you do me the honours of becoming my fake wife, Agent Hill?”
She laughs but it shakes as she reaches for the set. He snaps his fingers closed, makes her laugh again, just a little less shaky this time. She finds herself wondering if that had been the point, if he’s aware of the heavy weight between them. Because for all of his single-minded intensity, he’s surprisingly good at helping her relax.
“You haven’t said yes.”
She turns in his arms, leans back against the counter. His face is amused, but there’s a careful seriousness hidden in the corner of his smile. Her heart thumps; his thumb rubs absently at her lower back. This isn’t real, Maria knows that, but that moment feels heavy enough for a lump to form in her throat.
She hides it with a rather impressive eye roll. “Yes, Agent Rogers. I’d love to be your fake wife.”
This time it’s his laughter that’s strained and rough, his hand that shakes as he separates her fingers. The metal is body-warmed against her knuckles as he slips them on and they both stare down at the way they sparkle in the bright bathroom light.
It’s a fight, getting a hold of herself again, but she manages it. “And yours?”
It takes him a minute. The shiver that drills down her spine this time has everything to do with his face as he pulls a plain silver band from his pocket. “You going to do the honours?”
She fights to keep her hand steady and hates it, not because it’s him but because it is not her. She would make a terrible wife and she knows it. No matter how warm and wanting Steve’s eyes are. And yet she still takes his finger, still slides the band on slowly.
“Maria.”
Her eyes meet his and she has to dig into wellsprings of self-restraint. “Oh my God, no. We don’t have time for that.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, sparks of mischief mixing with the arousal in his eyes. “I can make it quick.”
She tilts her head back because, look, she is shorter than he is in bare feet. “That sounded better in your head.”
Laughter breaks the tension, even the underlying heat of it and he smacks a kiss against her cheek. “Fifteen minutes, you said?”
Warmth races through her as he heads back to the main room, the ease with which heated arousal became affection. The last six months have been easy. She’d expected him to overshadow her, expected him to step in her way, protect her as the alpha male. But she’d underestimated him, the ways that he’d shown her he has the utmost faith in her before they were so much as friends. Not that she’ll ever tell him that.
She has a reputation to maintain after all.
Steve fiddles with his collar in the mirror above the dresser, his eye catching on the wedding band. He can’t lie and say he hasn’t thought about what it would be like, marrying Maria. He just hadn’t been sure of her opinion on it.
He still isn’t.
Maria is careful, methodical, even in this. As it is, they really haven’t told the team. Not outright. They’ve figured it out, of course, a byproduct of just how much time they all spend together, but it’s never outright discussed. Ever. Not that either of them have made strides to change it.
Point is: Steve knows he’s more invested than she is.
He’s okay with that. He is. Because he also knows Maria chose him and things like this are not things she takes lightly, by any extent of the imagination. To be honest, he’s still reeling over the fact that he can even kiss her, let alone thinking about a future with her.
“Ready?”
Unlike last time, Steve doesn’t hesitate to turn and face her. But it’s still too late and Maria smirks as she tightens the belt of her jacket.
“When you are,” he answers, crosses to her in a few easy strides. She’s pulled familiar black heels from the closet and he offers an arm. She doesn’t need him, but she uses the arm anyway and he watches her feet slide into the killer shoes. She meets his eyes as she settles on the heels and this time, gives into the urge to wrap his arm around her to splay a hand against her back. Feeling the way she molds herself so easily against him will never get old.
Everything settles in him as he cups the back of her neck, presses his forehead to hers. Last time, the rightness of this moment had felt irrational. Now it feels good.
“Rogers.”
He has to swallow and force himself to pull back before they never make it out of the hotel room.
This woman.
This time they stand shoulder to shoulder in the elevator, a last moment of quasi-intimacy before they’re subjected to the chaos of getting hooked up to earpieces and mics. He can’t keep his eyes off her, watches her slide the earpiece in, check her mic with Darcy back in Quantico. They get the debrief while they do, the reminder of their date night setting, the warning of residual sedatives in the victims’ systems, the bruises and pin pricks.
He almost jumps when Bucky slaps his shoulder. “Cab’s at the curb. It’s show time.”
Maria’s eyes burn as they meet his, the first time since they’ve stepped from the elevator. A smirk tilts the corner of her mouth and her heels click across the lobby floor. He offers his hand when she gets close. “Mrs. Rogers.”
She lets him open the cab door – long since having given up on trying to change his chivalrous ways – slips in with a roll of her eyes. “Typical.”
He chuckles as he closes the door behind her, jogs around the vehicle to climb into the other side. He doesn’t have to reach for her this time. She takes his hand, tangles her fingers with his. Her rings press into his skin as he raises her hand to his mouth.
“Can’t a husband do something nice for his wife?”
He doesn’t need to see her face to know she’s hiding amusement behind exasperation. He figures she’ll drop it, maybe say something a little sarcastic. She surprises him by leaning over and taking his mouth, fast and deep and scorching hot.
“Don’t get carried away,” she murmurs against his lips.
His smile flashes fast and fierce.
“Don’t count on it,” he replies. “Game on.”
She should have seen this coming.
She should have known better than to put a challenge in front of Steve like that because he hasn’t left her side all night. She can feel the hard length of him against her back where he’s got her boxed in against the bar.
“That dress is killing me, Lieutenant.”
She shivers at the voice in her ear, his hand against her hip. Her mouth tilts into a smirk because yeah, that had kind of been the point. She knows how much he loves her in red. His fingers slide down, flirt at the edge of the skirt that ends at her mid thigh and brush against the bare skin beneath. The heat in her body throbs in response and she squeezes the fingers he has splayed against her stomach. Her rank doesn’t help. He has a way of saying it that is less commanding and entirely sexy. The laugh she releases is deliberately low as she pushes back into his body. He growls in her ear.
“Oh my god are you two serious?” Darcy’s voice comes over the comms. “You are literally on eight million security cameras, this is freaking weird.”
Steve goes stiff against her back, not that she blames him. The team knows, yes, but they’ve never been this blatant about it. Then again this is their first undercover op since they’d started.
“Awe Lewis, come on. It took them long enough to get to this point,” comes Barnes’ voice.
“This is much better than the tension,” Clint agrees.
Maria buries her face in Steve’s chest to hide her helpless laughter. Steve’s face is rueful. She leans up easily, feels the thrill of kissing him in public and on the job thread through the heat of arousal already pooled in her stomach.
“Case,” she murmurs against his mouth. “Then me.”
Because dear God she’s burning up.
Steve pulls her back into him, hums in pleasure when she stumbles, unprepared. “Then let’s go make a spectacle of ourselves.”
It’s counterintuitive for both of them, but the minute the crowd shoves them together, the minute he has her against him again, his face goes intense and his hands come up to her hips. She gasps when he fits her against his body in all the right ways. Her arms come around his neck as he leans in. Her body arches as he tucks his head down to brush his mouth against her neck. Maria lets herself whimper, a sound he catches and reacts to if the hands on her waist are any indication.
“Sweetheart.”
She growls. She hates that endearment. She does, despite the way her heart thumps hard and her thighs start to quiver. It hits her then, the easiest way to make this happen, to be noticed:
Let go.
She pushes into him, a little harder, a little more demanding, nips at his ear because she damn well can. They’ll never live it down, either of them, when they get back to the team but Maria’s never been the type to do anything less than exactly what it takes to get the job done.
And if she gets to spend a couple of extra minutes grinding up against the guy she’s seeing?
Bonus.
The feeling of her teeth on his ear has his breath catching, his hips stuttering into his despite the control he’s trying so hard to maintain. She’s killing him. Deliberately, because at this point he knows every movement of hers and each roll of her hips against his, caress of her hands over his neck, his shoulders, is designed to destroy his control.
It surprises him. Maria is contained, reserved. They barely allow themselves a brush of hands while they work, feel guilty about how anal they are when checking each other’s vests before a takedown. This is new. This is different.
This is a damn thrill.
And yeah, okay, maybe he has a kink for making her lose control. He can’t help it. The look on her face is always stunning, the fact that he’s the one responsible for it a trip and a half. Except when he lifts a hand from her hip to wrap around her neck, to bring her eyes to his, she certainly doesn’t look like she’s lost control. Quite the opposite.
“Maria.”
“Spectacle, right?” she says, just loud enough over the music. She surprises him when she turns in his arms, actually grinds right up against him, arches. She turns her head, mouth against his cheek. “Let’s get noticed.”
At first he blanks on what she could even mean. Then she presses back against him, rolls her hips and oh.
Oh.
He is not an exhibitionist by nature. He, like her, is private. He holds the things that mean the most to him close to his heart, protect them with everything he’s got, and a part of him does flinch at the idea. It’s against his nature. But Maria turns again to face him, wraps her arms around his neck and leans in.
“You and me, Rogers. Just us.”
He closes his eyes, leans in and breathes for a moment. Light lavender because scent is not her way, hairspray from the curls and the light sheen of sweat from the club and the heat.
“They’re going to be merciless.”
“So let’s make it worth it.”
He’s never seen her like this, can’t get a handle on it, but as he reaches up for her hands and wraps his finger around her wrists, he finds he’s not sure he cares. Not when she looks like this, with heat and mischief shining in her eyes.
Playing her part.
Now it’s his turn.
And he is going to take advantage.
He uses her wrists to tug her along, moves easily through the crowd because of his bulk and size. She doesn’t take her eyes off him, tugs on his right and left arm to steer him just a little. His back takes the initial impact of the wall and then the entire weight of her, pressed up against him with a writhe that, were they at home, would have him on his knees.
It feels forbidden and naughty and a giant mess of things he just loves about her and them that he never gets like this and he spins with her, pushes her up against the wall. Her fingers spear though his hair as she yanks his mouth down to his. Not that he needs any encouragement.
He opens his mouth as she dances her tongue over his bottom lip, his thumb stroking at her hipbone through the dress, up her side so his knuckles brush against the side of her breast. She arches into him and he feels her shin wrap around his calf, the edge of her heel despite his pants.
And the fist across the jaw.
He stumbles, of course he does, goes down because his ears are ringing just a little and he’s tripped over the ankle Maria has around his leg. He hears her cry out and feels his vision go red. The man towers over him, his hand in the hair at the nape of Maria’s neck and she has one hand wrapped around the guy’s wrist. He’s leaned into her, obviously speaking right against her ear and Maria’s eyes find his, clear, aware, sure.
He wants to let her handle it. He has every intention of letting her handle it. She trains alongside a legendary ex-assassin, he’s not really that worried, especially since the guy’s left her legs and her arms free.
However, the man reaches behind him and Steve’s mind flashes to the profile, the traces of drugs and the syringe marks. He kicks out, takes the man down, trusts Maria to go after the skittering needle while he subdues the man who has to be their UNSUB. The guy growls and struggles beneath him, almost bucks Steve off – they had not anticipated this level of strength, not with his profile – until he sees the flash of Maria’s heel out of the corner of her eye.
She stomps right on his hand, and the howl their UNSUB releases is loud enough to be heard by a radius around them. People are starting to notice. Maria bends down and he expects her to say the same. Instead, she leans down further and Steve just barely catches her words.
“That’s for calling me a whore.”
And okay, if Steve wrenches the man’s arm a little tighter, no one has to know. Instead, he looks up at Maria, teeth flashing. “Looks like we still make a good team, Lieutenant.”
She smirks back. “Indeed we do, Captain.”