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She doesn't always walk around consumed by lust. In fact, despite working with some of the hottest superheroes on the planet, her panties have remained remarkably dry. Oh sure, she's noticed that they're all smoking hot. It's never been a problem for her. She knows how to stay professional. She knows what falling into bed with one of them could mean. So she squelches her libido and even manages to be friends with some of them. At first she'd been afraid being around them would weaken her resolve, but again, it had never been a problem.
At least not until she sees Steve under the sink in the common room. His jeans and t-shirt stretched tight over his muscled body. Nothing she hadn't seen before. But he had a wrench in his hands and was currently tightening a pipe underneath the sink and holy fuck, she does love a man who knows his way around a wrench. It's a thing she's had since she was a teenager and let Bobby McKenzie talk her out of her panties behind the shop class building after she saw him fixing up his bike. If it had gotten her hot and bothered for Bobby, who was skinny as a stick and prone to acne, it positively sets her on fire for Steve who is pretty much a perfect specimen of a man and so damned good hearted, too.
It would, she thinks, probably be bad form to plop onto his lap and ask him for a ride. She makes a kind of strangled noise at the image that conjures up. Steve looks up just as Darcy is fanning herself.
“Oh, hi, Darcy!” Steve says with a grin. While she’s been able to suppress the thrill of those pearly whites in the past, she can’t seem to do that now. What she’d like to do is have that mouth of his on her pussy. Or those teeth tugging at her nipples. She feels them harden now and resists the urge to clamp her arm over them to hide them from his gaze. Her tank top and thick sweater should definitely be enough to keep him from seeing his effect on her.
She forces a smile and saunters over. Stepping over his legs, she hops up onto the island counter across from the sink. “You know your way around a wrench, I see,” Darcy says with a smile. Actually, she doesn’t see. He could be using the thing like a hammer, and she wouldn’t know if it was wrong or not for sure. However, he must be doing something right because the drip in the faucet that she sent a work order in for two weeks ago is now gone and her sanity is thus restored. Mostly “Something you picked up in the forties?”
He gets to his feet, closes the cabinet, and leans against the sink. “A little bit. I like to fix things, so I read up on it, watch some shows.” He smiles wiping his hands down his jeans. Darcy’s eyes follow the motion, and she can’t help but linger on his crotch for a second or two (or, let’s be honest, three) longer than is absolutely necessary.
She swallows, desperately trying to sooth her suddenly dry throat. “Well that sink was driving me nuts. So thank you.”
“I like to be useful.” God, she can think of multiple ways he can be useful. Most of them involve him inside her. Jesus, what is wrong with her? Her mind is blank. She can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t involve asking him to please have his way with her right now, thank you. She’s never had a problem talking to him before, but right now she’s concentrating on the fact that if he takes a few steps closer, and if she opens her legs he could be right there.
Luckily for Steve, and for Darcy’s dignity, Barton comes running in, making a beeline straight for the coffee maker. He has to walk right between Darcy and Steve to get it and Darcy takes the brief moment of sanity to snap her legs closed. Barton and Steve start shooting the shit about something or other, and Darcy tries to rein in her out of control hormones.
Barton’s presence helps. She’s never really been one for exhibitionist sex. Although she could get into it if Steve got in her. That thought doesn’t help. Heat floods her cheeks and she makes a hurried excuse before hurrying out of the room.
Getting herself off isn’t going to satisfy her, but it’s better than nothing.
—
A few days later, she’s still trying to get a handle on the situation. Darcy’s convinced that the next time she sees him without a tool in his hands, she’ll be just fine, and he’ll just be Steve, and she won’t burst in a fiery explosion of sexual frustration.
Alas, it isn’t to be. It’s like the tools took the blinders off, because when she sees him, she sees the tight fit of his shirt and the way his pants hug his ass, and the muscly arms that send shivers of longing skittering down her spine. It doesn’t matter what he’s doing, when she sees him, she wants him. When she sees him training in the tower gym with Bucky, she imagines him taking her there down on the mat. When she passes him in the hall and he’s wearing sweatpants and one of those body-hugging SHIELD t-shirts, she’d like to pull him into a supply closet and get down on her knees for him. Hell, she even thinks he’s sexy when he’s filling out mission reports, and if that isn’t a sign she’s lost it, she doesn’t know what is.
It’d be bad enough if it was just lust—and really, her hormones haven’t raged this hard since she was a teenager—but the more she thinks about it, the more she likes the damned man. Well she liked him before this—they were friendly, if not friends—but the whole situation has evolved into a stupid crush that she can’t seem to shake. It’s not just that he’s nice—if that was her thing, she’d still be with Darius from Level 5—but he’s got a dry humor that she doesn’t think most people actually notice, and he’s smart, and now that she’s really looking at him, he looks at her like he really sees her. It’s a heady thing. When she’s around him, her heart flutters, and her skin prickles, and her palms sweat in a way that has nothing at all to do with wanting to jump his bones. Although she definitely wants that, too.
It’s like her teenage hormones and her middle school feelings are trapped in an adult body, and if that isn’t an entirely discomfiting feeling, she doesn’t know what is.
It all comes to a head when she goes down to one of the garages in the basement in the tower, where all the SHIELD mechanics work on their shiny toys. She’s dropping off a work order for Coulson’s precious Lola. Even though there are online forms that he can fill out or he can just call and talk to someone, Phil still insists that Darcy bring the form down by hand to make sure that the mechanics know exactly what he wants done.
It’s ridiculous, but it gets her out of the office. She’s never been on this level before—she’s never needed to—and it’s always fun to see a different floor of the tower.
And of course the first thing she sees is Steve, sitting next to his motorcycle, putting down a wrench and wiping the grease from his hands. There’s still some grease streaked across his fingers, and she licks her lips. In her mind, those hands are suddenly on her, pulling up the crisp whiteness of her blouse, staining her pale skin with oil fingerprints as he lifts her against the wall and moans her name—
“Hey, Darcy!” His voice pulls her out of her daydream. He’s grinning up at her, which fades into a sweetly concerned expression on his stupid, handsome face. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she lies, knowing that he’s probably worried because her own stupid face is so flushed she probably looks like a tomato. “Just ran down from my office.” Ugh, no, Darcy.
“From your office?” he repeats skeptically.
“Yes,” she says breathlessly, because her brain has somehow disconnected from her mouth.
He lifts a brow. “You ran down sixty flights of stairs?”
She fixes a smile on her face and tries to brazen it out. “Gotta get that cardio in somehow.” Before he can ask any more questions, and before she can make herself look like even more of an idiot, she asks, “Is anyone around?”
Because if not, she’s in major danger of jumping him. Right now.
She’s still trying to decide if that would be a good thing or a bad thing when Steve nods towards a glass door in the back of the spacious workshop. “Raoul’s in the office. Have you met him?”
Darcy shakes her head. “I’ve never even been down here. SHIELD won’t let me drive any of the cars, so why torture myself with what I can’t have?”
“Well come on, I’ll introduce you,” he says as he pushes himself to his feet. “Do I wanna know why they won’t let you drive the cars?”
“They fed me some line about not being mission certified, but I think it might have something to do with a teeny incident involving my commandeering a civilian car during a situation and…you know…an explosion.”
He stops, staring at her incredulously. Well, the “you’re absolutely nuts” look nips the whole lust thing in the bud. For now. “That was you?”
“Moving on,” Darcy mutters, hurrying past him, because her finest moment that was not and she’d rather not relive it, or Coulson’s version of punishment, which had involved more Supernanny than she’d ever wanted to know existed and becoming his assistant. She moves the conversation to safe things, like motorcycles and ice cream. Maybe it’s mundane, but it’s better than #4 on the highlight reel of Darcy’s Most Embarrassing Moments or favorite sexual positions. Which she’d ask if she was okay with adding fuel to the sexual frustration fire. So she doesn’t ask.
Now that he’s smiling and laughing and not looking at her like she’s insane, the lust starts to build again and it’s hard—it’s so hard—not to lose herself in fantasies, and maybe the mysterious Raoul isn’t in his office, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she just ripped open her blouse and offered herself to him—She feels her cheeks growing warm again.
By the time they reach Raoul’s office, Steve’s telling her about this ice cream place he loves and she’s wrinkling the edges of Coulson’s order form, clutching it hard to keep from fanning herself with it.
The door to Raoul’s office opens. “Steve, who’s your pretty friend?”
Darcy registers for a moment the easy familiarity with which Raoul addresses Steve, and she wonders just how often he’s down here when she sees the man. He’s beautiful. There’s no other word for it. Dark to Steve’s light, and just as sturdily built. He’s got a smile that probably makes panties drop all over the place.
“Darcy Lewis, assistant extraordinaire,” she says with a smile, offering him her hand.
He takes it in his but doesn’t shake it, just clasps it warmly in front of him. “Raoul Campari, humble mechanic.” He catches her eye for a heartbeat, letting the moment draw out. “How can I help you, Miss Lewis?”
“Lola,” she says, extricating her hand from his.
“Ahh, yes, Agent Coulson’s car.” He takes the work order from her and she dutifully repeats every thing Coulson made her memorize, and not for the first time she wonders why he hadn’t just come down here himself. Still, Raoul makes her chore at least a little more bearable. He’s friendly and professional, and he still manages to make it respectfully clear that he’d like to take her to bed. Which would be fine, except that she feels nothing aside from an objective appreciation of his face, and it’s all because of the big lug next to her. Introductions complete, she fully expected Steve to go back to his motorcycle, but he’s stayed by her side, making himself a huge distraction.
Her vagina’s had its heart set on Steve for the last few days, and all of her senses are just fixated on him. Even if Raoul ripped his pants off and showed her the best cock she’d ever seen, it still wouldn’t do anything for her libido.
She needs to do something about this situation, and fast, because if she doesn’t have sex with Steve, is she going to have sex with anyone else again?
—
This is probably not one of her better ideas. She knows that, and she goes through with it anyway because she doesn’t have a better plan. And really, it’s not like she’s going to think of a better one anytime soon. She’s not entirely sure how he feels about her, but she figures she can open his eyes to her physical attributes and then after a round or ten in the sheets, she can dazzle him with her wit. Once she finds it again.
It’s a simple plan, and, she acknowledges, a completely nutso one. Step one is to break something in her apartment, which when you plan it is so much easier said than done. She doesn’t want to cause so much damage to ruin her apartment, but she also doesn’t want to make it something so simple that he’ll think she’s an idiot for not being able to fix the problem herself. Incredibly stupid scheme aside, she’s still got her pride. In the end she fiddles around with the pipes under the kitchen sink enough so that it leaks when she turns the faucet on. She doesn’t even know how she did it, let alone how to undo it, so she’s pretty satisfied with her handiwork.
Next is getting Steve to coming to her apartment. It should just be a simple matter of asking Steve for help, because he said himself that he likes to fix things, and he’s never turned down a friend in need. In this case, what this friend actually needs is him inside her, and she lets herself daydream a bit about what he’d say if she actually just came out and it. She giggles. Worst-case scenario, he’d be horrified, but best case, he’d end up with his head between her thighs. Losing herself in that fantasy doesn’t help matters any, and she sighs, heading to the bathroom to take care of herself because if she goes to find Steve in her current state, well…plans wouldn’t be necessary.
When she finds him later, he’s in the common room, sitting at the island counter and reading a book. He looks adorable, concentrating on the page in front him so hard he’s got a little frown line etched between his brows. All she wants is kiss it away. Okay, so that’s not all she wants to kiss, but—no. Bad Darcy. She is not going down that road now.
Looking around the room to distract her from her lustful thoughts, she notes that they’re alone. Perfect, she thinks as she sits down across from him at the kitchen island.
“Hey Steve,” she says brightly, trying not to wince at just how cheerful she sounds. She never sounds this happy unless she’s up to something, and she’s sure Steve doesn’t know her well enough at this point to know that. She’d just like her voice to not sound like Minnie Mouse on helium.
Luckily, he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Hi, Darcy,” he says as he just carefully slips a bookmark between the pages (thankfully, because if he dog-eared the pages it would just be unfortunate) and smiles at her. How is it even fair that his grin is both heart-stopping and panty soaking? If there were any justice in this world, it would be one or the other.
She manages to think up some small talk that does not involve the current state of her underwear, although she nearly blurts it out a time or two, and oh so casually brings the conversation around to the current problem in her apartment. At least she thinks it’s casual. She could very well have just blurted it out—that part is kind of a blur.
What she does remember, however, is Tony walking in at the precise moment Darcy asks Steve if he can help her out. He feigns a hurt look. “Lewis, as your landlord I’m insulted that you’re not asking me,” Tony says before Steve can answer one way or the other.
Darcy rolls her eyes. “Tony, when I moved in last year, I told you that one of the recessed lights was out. You said, and I quote, ‘well what the hell do you want me to do about it?’”
“Did I say that?” Darcy raises her eyebrows in answer. “Well I’m turning over a new leaf. You have before you a kinder, gentler Tony Stark. One who’s concerned about all his tenants’ needs. So lay it on me, Lewis, how can I help?”
“I’m happy to do it,” Steve says. “I’ve got dinner with Bucky and Nat, but I can push that back to fix your sink.”
“Oh, no, it’s no rush,” Darcy says a little breathlessly. “Tomorrow’s good. That is, if you’re free.” It gives her time to prepare.
“Well in that case, why don’t you come to dinner with us?” Darcy’s heart flutters. Bucky and Nat have their strange on-off thing going on, and if she goes with them she can pretend like it’s a double date. Her palms start to sweat, and she feels all of fifteen again.
“I’d love to,” Tony says brightly.
“Uh—well—“ Steve starts to say. Tony, however, will not be refused, and in the end, it’s not just Tony who comes along. Somehow, all the other Avengers end up tagging along, too, and Darcy finds herself seated between Tony and Thor, shooting wistful glances at Steve. He’s not even in shouting distance.
So much for her double date fantasies—although in hindsight, maybe Nat and Bucky aren’t the most romantic couple to double with anyway. In any case, she grins and bears it. She’s got her plan, and tomorrow, she’ll have Steve all to herself.
—
Butterflies have taken up residence in Darcy’s stomach, and they don’t feel like they’re leaving anytime soon. She’s queasy with excitement and nerves and fear all at once. Her dumbass plan will work. She knows it will, if she can just figure out how to be seductive. Truthfully, she’s never actually had to seduce anybody. Everybody she’s slept with has just kind of happened…one person offered and the other person said yes, and then wham, bam, thank you, ma’am, they’re either in a relationship or they go their separate ways. So with this scheme, she’s a little out of her depth.
Maybe she should have taken Nat up on those seduction lessons she’d oh so subtly offered, knowing eyebrow twitch and all.
But really, how hard can seducing someone be? She’s got the outfit—a sheer pink nightgown with a plunging neckline that’s a bitch to actually sleep in but shows off all of her best assets, because whoever said that less was more? She’s got to bring out the big guns for this, and her girls—well, those are the biggest and best guns she’s got. A flimsy robe tops off the outfit, to help give the impression that Steve startled her out of bed and to hopefully help toe the line between obvious and desperate.
The doorbell chimes. Darcy steals a glance at the clock. It’s ten minutes earlier than Steve said he’d be there, but hey, that’s ten minutes Darcy doesn’t have to work herself up into best-case-scenario-the-planet-explodes mode.
Giving her hair one last tousle for that bed-rumpled look, Darcy hurries to the door and arranges herself in what she hopes is a seductive pose in the doorframe. She opens the door, a sultry smile on her face—
Just as quickly, she slams it shut with a shriek.
That is definitely not Steve.
Her doorbell rings again, and Darcy feels her cheeks turning red once again. This time it has nothing to do with lust.
Maybe if she ignores it, the man will go away. The doorbell rings again, and then there’s an insistent knock on the door. So much for that plan. Cinching her robe shut, Darcy pastes on her most distantly professional smile and opens the door.
“Hi, how can I help you?” she asks like she’s not wearing next to nothing. The man on the other side of the door stares, and Darcy huffs out an annoyed breath. She has to snap her fingers in front of his face. “Eyes up here, bucko. Yeah. Hi. How can I help you?”
The kid—and he does look like a kid, never mind that he’s probably older than her—swallows hard. “I—I’m here to fix your sink. Mr. Stark sent me.”
Of course he did. Darcy refrains from rolling her eyes, and she pauses to take stock of the situation. Steve isn’t here yet. She could send the kid away, and Steve would never have to know about this little kink in her plan. Except if she sends him away, Tony would definitely find out, and unless she can bullshit a good enough reason, it won’t be too hard for him to guess her ultimate objective. Which, of course, would lead to either an eternity of mockery or him telling Steve and no, that is not something she’d like to explain right now. Or ever.
She lets the plumber in. The kid doesn’t introduce himself, but his nametag says Darwin and he seems to have no problem finding the kitchen sink. What he does have a problem with is keeping his eyes off of her person. She leaves the front door open because at least this way it feels like she’s not alone with this kid. He seems relatively harmless but she’s made that mistake before and she’s not going to make it again. She explains what’s wrong with the sink, carefully hedging around potential causes for the problem, then hurries to her room to put on enough layers to make Darwin the plumber forget that she has curves.
She’s just stripping off her robe when she hears Steve’s alarmed voice call, “Darcy?”
With a curse, she slips her robe back on and throws open her door. Steve’s standing in the kitchen, eyeing Darwin the Plumber suspiciously. “Hi, Steve,” she says brightly.
Steve glances at her, does a double take. When she pictured this moment in her mind, she hadn’t imagined there’d be a pasty-faced plumber named Darwin in her kitchen, but by the way Steve’s eyes widen when he sees her, she’ll take it. And there’s always the possibility that she can transform that look now into a little slap and tickle later, once the kid leaves.
She pulls her robe shut and gestures airily to Darwin. “This is Darwin. He’s a plumber. Apparently Tony’s taking his responsibilities as landlord seriously this time around.”
“So I guess you won’t be needing me, then,” Steve says lightly.
“I wouldn’t say that,” she mutters under her breath, looking him over. Tight t-shirt, well-worn jeans, and oh sweet Jesus, is that a tool belt? Heat spirals through her straight to her core and she has to catch her breath.
“What was that?”
“Oh, nothing,” she says with a breezy wave of her hand, eyes still firmly locked on the tool belt. Lord almighty, she needs to get a grip. Preferably on Steve’s cock—no, brain, Darcy scolds herself firmly, and she tears her gaze away from his tool belt (and his crotch) to find Steve staring at her. She hopes like hell it isn’t because she’s slack-jawed and drooling, because that is not her best look. Surreptitiously, she reaches up under the guise of brushing her hair behind her ear, letting the back of her hand swipe across her mouth, just in case. She swallows. Okay, mouth closed, drool firmly contained.
A moment of silence stretches between them, pulling taut and tense and Darcy can’t tell if it’s desire or awkwardness or both that’s made the moment so tense.
“I should go,” Steve says finally, and it’s all Darcy can do to not let her shoulders slump in disappointment. But then Steve’s eyes flick to Darwin, who’s half concentrating on the pipe, but mostly staring at Darcy. Steve’s lips firm up in a frown of disapproval. “Or I could stay. Keep you company while you waited.”
Spending time with Steve? That’s a no-brainer, even though she knows it’ll be the best kind of torture. “I’d like that.”
“Great.” His eyes sweep over her one more time. Darcy suppresses a shiver of awareness, and she can tell the exact moment he realizes that her nipples are hard because his eyes widen slightly. Maybe seduction will be easier than she thought.
“You should probably change,” he says finally, his voice strained. “You don’t want to catch a cold.”
It takes the kid almost two hours to fix her sink—something Darcy almost feels guilty about—and then he suggest taking a look at the plumbing in the bathroom, because he’d never seen a problem like the one in her kitchen before and he wants to make sure that it wasn’t a problem with the apartment. Darcy hopes like hell that her cheeks aren’t burning. Darwin tells her that he’s going to tinker with the pipes a bit to make sure everything’s in working order. Darcy waves him ahead, because whatever, she’s not paying for it. When Darwin the plumber is done, he gives her a list of things that he improved, which Darcy doesn’t really pay attention to, because Steve in a tool belt is sitting in her living room and how is that not more interesting to absolutely everybody?
Steve stays the whole five hours that Darwin’s sniffing around her place—she thinks it might be because of the way Darwin was staring at her chest like he could set her sweatshirt on fire with his eyes. Darcy could have this kid knocked out cold with a shock from a Taser, but it makes her feel all warm and fuzzy inside to know Steve’s looking out for her.
Now to get him to sleep with her…
—
Plan A wasn’t a complete disaster. After she changed into comfy sweats and an oversized sweatshirt—because really, there was no point torturing herself when she couldn’t do anything about it—she at least got to spend some time with Steve, getting to know him better. And if she thought her libido wanted him before, the fact that he’s just so good, inside and out, only serves to fan her lust to even greater heights. It’s like he’s tapped into some heretofore unacknowledged Eagle Scout kink, but only if the Eagle Scout served in World War II and has the body of a Greek god.
Her heart falls a little harder, which really just serves to make her want him even more, and Jesus, she needs help. Instead, she has plan B. Okay, technically she supposes it’s just a different way to go about plan A (namely, luring him into her bed and then showing him how awesome of a girlfriend she’d be), but the point is she has a plan to get Steve alone in her apartment for wild and extremely gratifying sex.
This time, she doesn’t want anyone overhearing so she doesn’t leave it to chance. She texts him.
new bookcase. assemble?
Steve, being the sweetheart he is, agrees and he tells her he’ll come over in a couple of days. Of course, that means she actually had to go out and buy the new bookcase, but that was a sacrifice she was perfectly willing to make. And really, who didn’t need more storage? Darcy doesn’t worry about that. She’s got other fish to fry, like figuring out what to wear. She’s already used the lingerie, so there’s really no point in pulling it out again. Besides, the more she thinks about it, the more sure she is that sultry isn’t the way to go. Instead, she decides to go casual sexy. At least, she hopes it’s sexy and not just plain stupid.
She examines her appearance in the mirror, hair half-tamed so it’ll look like he interrupted her while getting ready, explaining the fitted t-shirt/no pants thing. If all goes according to plan, the only explaining he’ll want from her is of the “ooh yes, just like that” variety.
She’s debating on makeup or no makeup when the doorbell rings. Darcy grins. Right on time. Glancing down to make sure everything’s in place, she hurries to the door and throws it open, a smile on her face. “Sorry, I’m still getting dressed—“ she stops, eyes widening when she sees the ridiculously hot man standing on the other side of the door.
Too bad it isn’t the ridiculously hot man she wants to bang. Well, he’s there, too, but she can’t even appreciate it.
“Well,” Bucky says with a grin, eyes raking over her, “that’s some greeting, dollface.”
She feels the heat creeping up her neck and into her cheeks and she wills it down. By the way Bucky smirks, she’s pretty sure it’s not successful. Oh, this is bad. “Barnes. What are you doing here?”
Steve’s the one who answers, dragging his eyes away from her legs to stammer, “I…uh…thought we might be able to use the help. Buck’s good at this kind of stuff.”
The look in Bucky’s eyes tells her he’s realized exactly what she’d had planned for today. She bites back a groan, because as far as people you didn’t want in your personal business, especially when your personal business involved Steve, Bucky was way up there on the list. He edges his way into her apartment and gives her another once over.
“Please, do come in, Barnes,” Darcy says drily.
He just smiles. “You always answer the door in your underwear?”
“When the occasion calls for it,” she says, trying to act like she’s not both horrified and mortified that Bucky knows. She turns to Steve, who’s still standing out in the hallway. His eyes are glued to her legs, and she takes a moment to preen, Bucky be damned. She puts her hands on her hips, and her shirt rises to reveal a sliver of stomach, which Steve’s eyes zero in on. Good. “You gonna come in?”
He steps in, and she takes a minute to appreciate the tool belt that he has once again donned. That’s all she gets though, because Bucky says, “Alright, D, so where’s this bookcase we’re supposed to be putting together.” She can almost hear the “alleged” implied.
“Right there.” She nods to the box behind the couch, thankful she’d discarded the “why buy a bookcase when you can just pounce as soon as the door opens” plan. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to put on pants.”
“No need to on our account!” Bucky calls after her. She flips him off.
Between the three of them, it probably takes longer to assemble the bookcase than it would have if it was just Darcy (seriously, the directions are rightthere, so of course none of them look at it). It’s almost fun, actually, except Barnes keeps shooting her these looks and Steve’s not acting like a man consumed by lust, although she supposes he wouldn’t show it even if he was. But he seems distant, and that worries her.
“Where do you want this?” Steve asks as he sits back to admire their handiwork. It’s a good set of shelves and if she doesn’t get a roll in the hay with Steve, at least she isn’t coming out of this whole thing empty handed.
Darcy brushes her hair out of her face. “In the bedroom.”
“I’ll bet you did,” Bucky says with a wink.
Do not blush, she scolds herself, do not blush do not blush do not blush. Do kill him.
She leads the way to the spot she’s cleared, across from her bed, and she has a brief moment of regret for the sex she isn’t having right now. Bucky clears his throat, and when she turns to watch Steve and Bucky carry her new bookcase into her room, the little shit is smirking. She glares at him.
Bookcase in place, there’s no reason to linger. Steve doesn’t, making some lame excuse about sparring with Barton, and it’s such a contrast from the last time he was at her place that she’s left disheartened and disappointed. She’d thought—well, she doesn’t know what to think.
Bucky, being Bucky, lingers. The smirk is gone and he settles on the edge of her bed, staring up at her intently.
“What?” she demands, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. The way he’s looking at her makes her feel almost like she’s on trial and she doesn’t like it.
“What kind of game are you playing, Darcy?”
“I’m not playing games.” And it’s not a lie. Sleeping with Steve is just step one of the master plan for Happily Ever Right Now. Maybe even Happily Ever After. So this isn’t a game. Not for her. “I’m just—“
“I think it’s pretty clear what you’re doing.” There’s a hint of a smile, but his eyes are serious.
She tilts her chin up mutinously. “What, you don’t approve?”
“You and Steve…a tussle in the sheets…I’m sure it’d be hot as hell. But when emotions are involved, it gets tricky.” Her breath catches, because she hadn’t realized she was quite that transparent about the feelings part of the whole thing. “You gotta know what you’re doing. Hell, even when you think you know what you’re doing, it’s hard.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying be careful.”
“I’m not—”
“Deny it all you want, dollface, but if you decide to go down this road, you gotta realize there’ll be consequences. You don’t want anyone to get hurt here.”
“I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
He studies her for a moment, and she wonders if the Russians gave him freaky mind reading powers because she feels like he can see into her head. And really, that’s one of the many places that no one wants Barnes hanging out. Then he smiles, patting her on the shoulder as he passes, but his words linger until they’re all she can hear.
—
The words follow her, and she can’t stop herself from turning them this way and that to examine them in her mind. It’s a warning, that much is clear, but what Darcy can’t figure out is if it’s a “proceed with caution” or “just don’t do it.”
The one thought that settles deep in the pit of her stomach is that Steve must not feel for her what she feels for him (whatever that is, but she’s not about to get into that now). Otherwise, why would Bucky warn her about consequences and getting hurt? It’s not a surprise, really, since she’s been operating on that assumption from the jump, but it sucks to hear and she isn’t quite sure where to go from here.
She stubbornly maintains that if she could just get the man in the sack, he’d be much more receptive to the idea of a relationship. From the way he’d stared the last two times he was at her place, she’s pretty confidant that he found her attractive enough to want to sleep with, which is one hurdle jumped. And she understands that Steve probably wouldn’t sleep with anyone he didn’t know and/or like, but they do know each other and she’s pretty sure he likes her.
Her face falls.
Unless he doesn’t actually. Sure he helps her out and they talk, but maybe he doesn’t really enjoy that. Maybe he’s just being nice. Or maybe he does like her but not enough to want to have sex with her. Maybe those times when she thought he wanted her, it wasn’t her he wanted. Maybe it was just a natural reaction to a scantily clad girl all about throwing herself at him. God, maybe he’s known her plan the entire time and the reason he brought Bucky along the other day as a buffer between himself and her feminine wiles (such as they were). It doesn’t bear thinking about, but that doesn’t stop her from thinking about it anyway.
Part of her thinks, well fuck that, because she’s a Lewis and Lewises don’t give up easy. Until she gets a clear indication that no, he does not want to have sex with her, she’s gonna do everything short of slipping into his bed naked—although really, at this moment, she’s not sure she’s even above that.
The rest of her—the part that’s got Steve buried so deep in her heart she doesn’t think he’ll ever be out of it—doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable. That part of her doesn’t want to push him—and if she’s being honest with herself, which she hates doing, she doesn’t want to face the possible rejection.
It’s a dizzying conundrum, and Darcy isn’t a big fan of indecision.
It keeps her awake the night after her conversation with Bucky. She should be sleeping, but instead she’s staring at the ceiling freaking out. Sure, she’s used to many a sleepless night courtesy of one Steve Rogers, but this one doesn’t even involve any solo fun time, and damn it, she is still horny as hell. But only for Steve.
Frustrated in more ways then one, she pushes out of bed and heads into the bathroom. She looks at the corner of the tub, where she’s left her toy from her last solo session, and debates taking care of business now. But she’s surly and taking the edge off is bound to piss her off more than it’ll help. Instead she leans over the sink, scowling at her reflection in the mirror. More for something to do than any real need, she turns on the water to splash cold water on her face. Well, that’s the plan.
But as all things plan-related in her life these days, it doesn’t work out that way. There’s a low sound that she’s never heard before, but before she has time to contemplate it, all hell breaks lose.
Darcy shrieks as freezing water geysers out of the sink, so forceful it shoots out of the bowl and over everything. Including Darcy. Shielding her face, she tries to turn the water off, only to have the faucet come off in her hand. “What the hell?” she shouts as the undirected water shoots straight up into the air. It completely soaks her by the time she hurries into her bedroom and taps in Steve’s number.
It’s four in the morning, which means there’s still a hint of sleep in Steve’s voice when he answers.
“Help!” she shouts into the phone, then hangs up to see what she can do to save her bathroom. Which, really, at this point, is nothing because she knows nothing about this kind of stuff.
Steve shows up moments later. In hindsight, she realizes when he comes bursting into the door that just screaming “help” into the phone was not the best idea, because now on top of a broken sink, she’s got a busted in door, too. But she’s sure Steve can fix that, right?
“What the hell?” There’s something almost comical about seeing him standing in her bathroom door in sweats and a t-shirt, shield at the ready, being pelted by water droplets.
“My sink is broken,” she says, just in case he somehow missed it.
“I think I got that part.” He lowers his shield and sighs. “I’ll get my tools.”
“My hero!” she calls after him, and proceeds to continue to get soaked.
It takes Steve five minutes to go get the things he needs to get her sink to stop spewing, but to Darcy’s mind it feels like twenty. When he comes back, she doesn’t know what to do. She’d feel bad going to get dry while he works on her sink getting soaked with cold water, so she awkwardly stands there, freezing and getting soaked in solidarity. It’s not the most rational decision she’s ever made, but it does allow her to watch Steve at work. It takes him fifteen minutes to figure out a way to shut the water off.
“I’m sorry I can’t do more right now,” he says, still tinkering with the faucet fixture. “You’ll probably need to call a professional. Or if you wanted, I could take some time tomorrow to figure it out.”
“I’d appreciate that, if it isn’t too much trouble,” Darcy says with a small smile as she wipes off the lingering water drops from her glasses. “I really rather not call Darwin the Plumber over here again.”
A grin spreads across his face as he puts his tools away. Her heart stutters at his laugh. “Probably a smart idea. I’d be happy to do it for you.”
Darcy shivers and wraps her arms around herself. “Well thanks, Steve. For all of your help.”
He looks up at her and smiles. “Always.”
There’s something in his voice that makes her breath catch, her heart beat faster. And as she stares at him, she watches as the amusement fades from his eyes, leaving something else, something that has her skin tingling.
For a moment she wishes she were in anything but the ratty old sleep shirt that’s currently soaked through, that she hadn’t put hair up in a ratty bun before bed, that said bun wasn’t now plastered to her head because of the wet. But it’s only for a moment, because the look Steve’s giving her shoots straight to the core of her. It makes her feel sultry and sexy. Her eyes dip down to his crotch—she can’t help it—and sucks in a breath. The wet sweatpants, clinging to his legs, leave nothing to the imagination.
“You want me,” she breathes.
He straightens, nodding solemnly. “Yeah.”
“That’s really good.”
She doesn’t know who moves first, but it doesn’t matter because then their lips are fused together in a kiss that sears her all the way down to her toes. She stands on tiptoe, arms twining around his neck, her hands clutching at his hair to draw him closer. Steve’s hands are heavy and hot through the wet material of her nightshirt, and it sends a thrill through her when he pulls her roughly against him, his erection hard against her stomach. She wriggles against him, making him groan.
“I want you, too,” she breathes when they break apart for air.
He laughs into her mouth. “That’s really, really good.” He captures her mouth in a laughing kiss, lifting her so she’s perched on the counter beside the sink. It’s wet, but so’s she, so why the hell not. She pulls him close for another kiss, and his cock is right there between her legs, right where she wants it. She rubs herself against him. She could come like this. Just like this, kissing him, touching him, but not yet.
“Off,” she demands tugging at his shirt, and he pulls away long enough to oblige her. His lips press against her neck, his tongue flicking out against her pulse, sending every thought skittering out of her head. Her hands tighten on his shoulders. “Oh. Oh damn.” She feels his lips curve against her skin, and she melts against him. He moves to kiss her again but she shakes her head and pushes him back. “I want to see.”
“See what?” he asks.
“You.”
There’s a faint tinge of red to his cheeks, but he leans back to oblige her. A hint of mischief dances in his eyes that she dismisses because his naked chest is right there, and damn if it isn’t the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. Sure she’s seen him shirtless before—it’s impossible to work with these people and not see them bare chested because it seems like someone’s always whipping off a shirt somewhere, but this is the first time she’s been up close and personal with Steve’s chest and she’s going to savor this moment.
Running her fingers down his smooth, muscled chest to his abdomen, she stops at the waistband of his sweatpants, toying with the drawstring. Steve closes his eyes, sucking in a sharp breath, and she smiles, reversing the path her fingers had taken. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of feeling him beneath her fingertips. She has the overwhelming urge to taste him, and decides she’s not going to deny herself, so she leans forward and run s her tongue along his collarbone. She shrieks when Steve suddenly takes her in his arms and carries her to her bedroom.
“I wasn’t done yet,” she grumbles, even as her lips explore his neck. He lays her on the bed.
“You can play again later,” he says, gently removing her nightshirt and releasing her hair from its bun. His eyes are hot as he stares down at her, hair scraggly around her face, naked except for her panties. “Now it’s my turn.”
Yeah, okay, she’s not going to argue with that.
“I want to kiss you all over,” he says, leaning over her, kissing her hard. “Is that okay?”
Oh, God. This is actually happening. She thinks she might melt. “I—“ she sucks in a breath as he kisses along her jawline. “I can live with that.” And then his hands and his mouth are everywhere, or at least that’s how it feels to her. “Slow down,” she gasps, because she wants to feel everything.
Steve, being the gentleman he is, does immediately, lavishing a breast with a long, slow kiss that has her dissolving into a puddle of sensation on the bed. Her fingers stroke through Steve’s hair as he turns his attention to the other. Slowly, he licks and kisses his way down her body. She’d known sex with Steve would be hot, but she didn’t know it would be…like this.
And when he buries his tongue laps against her through the panties, she nearly comes off the bed and she can’t think at all. He licks and strokes until she’s screaming his name. But she doesn’t want to come like this. Not yet. She tugs sharply at his hair.
“Fuck me,” she demands, and Steve chuckles, nuzzling her neck affectionately, notching his cock between her legs. It feels damn good, even through her underwear, through his sweatpants. She rocks against him, making them both groan. God, how is it possible to be this horny and this happy all at the same time? “Now.” She turns his head, meeting his lips, tasting herself on them.
He manages to stop kissing her long enough to say, “I don’t have any—I don’t have—“
Her brain is so fogged by the way he’s moving against her, it takes her a moment to figure out what he’s trying to say. “Condoms. Drawer. Nightstand.” She’d bought them before plan A. Just in case.
He doesn’t want to let go of her, rolls with her to grope blindly at the nightstand drawer. She ends up on top. His mouth is too preoccupied with hers to actually look at the nightstand, but he manages to find the box after a moment. He breaks the kiss, separating from her long enough to grin triumphantly and fumble with the box. Apparently he decides that finding the opening is taking too long and he tears the box open, sending foil packets flying.
Jesus, that gets her hot for him. Not that she hasn’t been. Neither of them wants to break skin-to-skin contact, so it’s a little awkward shoving off their remaining clothes. Somehow, they manage to get it done without falling off the bed, and Darcy grabs one of the spilled packets. She makes quick work getting the condom on him, though she can’t resist taking a quick taste of his cock before she does.
“Later,” she promises his erection, laughing as it twitches under her fingers. And then she lowers herself onto him, moving over him until they come together with a cry. After, she collapses on top of him, Steve’s arms come around her, cradling her close. As she falls asleep, listening to his heartbeat, she thinks that this is nice. Really, really nice.
—
Darcy walks into her apartment and pauses to watch Steve put the finishing touches on the light fixture she’d ordered for the dining room. It wasn’t something she’d ever cared about before, but now that Steve’s moved in, she wants this place to feel like home for the both of them. He taps the chandelier to make sure it’ll stay and climbs down the ladder, Darcy admiring the view on his way down. He’s wearing a tool belt again, and even now, it gets her hot. Then again, everything Steve does gets her hot.
“You ogling again?” Steve asks when he turns and sees her standing in the doorway.
Darcy laughs and walks over to give him a kiss hello. “Always.”
“Don’t let me stop you.” Of course, he contradicts that a moment later when he captures her mouth in a deeper, hotter kiss, so Darcy settles for a little fondling. He pulls back and nods towards the chandelier. “What do you think?”
“Looks good,” she says absently, more interested in the skin above his t-shirt’s collar.
“You didn’t even look at it,” he says with a laugh. “And after all the hard work I did to put it up. Should have known you only wanted me for the sex.”
Darcy pulls him down for another kiss, tangling her fingers in the collar of his shirt. “You know, your Mr. Fix-It routine is what opened my eyes to your hot bod in the first place. And that tool belt gets me all hot and bothered for you.”
Steve grins. “I know.”
“In fact—wait, you know? You knew?” She’s intrigued and vaguely horrified that he knew all about her tool fetish, one that tied in really nicely with her Steve fetish.
Especially when he does that thing with his lips on her neck, an erogenous zone that heretofore had gone unnoticed. She let her head drop back to give him better access as he continues his explanation. “Mmhmm. I didn’t see it at first, but Bucky insisted—“
Squeaking, she pulls back. She knew Bucky had knownabout more than she'd wanted, but… “Exactly how much did Barnes know?”
“He’s the one who suggested the tool belt in the first place. And he convinced me that you were trying to seduce me.” Darcy groans and rests her forehead against Steve’s chest. Steve chuckles and propped his chin on the top of her head, tucking her close. “What you didn’t know was I was trying to work up the courage to let you seduce me. I really liked the part where you broke your bathroom sink to get me to come over.”
“Believe it or not, that was not planned.”
He chuckles, running his hands down her back, and just like that her embarrassment turns into arousal. She brings her hands up to rest in his back pockets. “I know that, too. Bucky broke it.” A long slow kiss has her melting against him before his words register.
“What?”
“I didn’t know ’til after, but apparently he felt guilty for interfering.” A grin crosses his face. “That, or Nat made him do it.”
“That sneak!”
Steve threads his fingers through her hair. Another kiss. “You were planning to get me in bed. Are you complaining?”
She feels his erection between them and grins, running her fingers along the hard ridge in his jeans. “Maybe not now. Wanna know what I’m planning right now?”
“Getting me out of my tool belt?” he teases.
“And everything else.” Steve laughs and picks her up, carrying him to the bedroom. Their bedroom. Just where she wants him.