He'd been watching her in the park for months. She liked to run in the mornings, too, and often would smile at him when he and he had to admit when Sam or Bucky, would pass her. He'd seen her laugh, once, when they all passed at the same time and he got a glare from Sam and a groan from Bucky. Her face, heart-shaped and sweet, lit up, and the laugh was nothing like he'd expected: no bells, no tinkling, just a full on belly laugh. Despite being petite, most likely almost a foot shorter than his own 6', she was built like a forties pin up girl, all breasts and hips and the most slender waist, even though she was usually wearing what Sam called, "white girl pants" which were loose and hung low on said curvy hips with a v-neck t-shirt in colors he'd bet his super soldier paycheck were called "sherbert" and "meringue" and "bluebonnet". She even usually had the bouncy ponytail going to compliment her very bouncy assets.
Steve sometimes thought he was going to hell as much as he thought about her breasts.
He'd fantasized about stopping her, asking her name, introducing himself, offering to take her to coffee or breakfast or bed. It was the last that had him tripping over himself, wondering how humiliating it would be if the tabloids caught a picture of Captain America's Empire State Building-sized hard-on for a fellow jogger in Central Park.
Luckily enough for him, neither Sam nor Bucky had noticed how interesting he found this one particular jogger out of all the early morning New York joggers. Except this morning, Tasha was going running with them and of all the people in all the gin joints in all the towns, Tasha was the most likely to notice his sidelong, yearning glances.
He'd already decided he'd just play dead and hope someone would take pity on a national treasure. He had no plan for the fact that not only was Tasha running with them, she'd invited the woman who'd just last night starred in a wicked fantasy involving her Cupid's-bow lips wrapped around his dick.
He had never hoped for an alien invasion or HYDRA attack quite so much.
"Boys, this is a friend of mine, Moira Mackney. Moira, this is Steve, Sam, and James."
Moira's eyes were forest green and serious and rimmed by long, dark lashes, her hair a rich mahogany that gleamed in the sun, and her nose tilted up just a tiny bit at the tip. She was also, he realized with a start, nervous; she kept shifting her stance and playing with the bright pink custom earbuds hanging from her pocket. It helped keep his eyes on her face.
Mostly.
"I've seen all of you running in the mornings. I really hope you don't expect me to keep up." Her laugh might be full and rich but her voice was sweet and tinkling, very feminine. When she offered him her small hand to shake, he took it automatically and lingered possibly longer than he should have, long enough for Tasha's eyes to narrow and Bucky to snort. Sam looked confused. Moira, however, flushed a pretty pink along her high cheekbones, her hand flexing in his in a way Steve was pretty sure wasn't meant to make his cock twitch. He gently released her hand, letting his fingertips trail over her palm as he did. Bucky sniggered and gently clasped her hand in his non-metal one, lifting it to his lips. She smiled at him which made Steve want to growl like a dog protecting his territory.
"I'll stick by you," Tasha promised, her warning glance not lost on Steve. He jerked a shoulder and raised his eyebrows. Hadn't she been the one encouraging him to ask out women in accounting, for Christ's sake? Now that it was a friend of hers, though, hands off.
He so wanted his hands on her. All over her. In her.
Yes, going to hell.
"So how do you know our lovely Tasha?" Sam asked when it was his turn to shake her hand. Steve, too, was interested in the answer, most especially when Moira hesitated and licked her lips, leaving them slick and shiny and reminding him sharply of the way she'd done exactly the same thing the night before after swallowing him down.
Empire State-sized hard-on: 1, Captain America: 0.
"I'm a professor of macromolecular chemistry at Columbia," she finally admitted as if confessing she was a serial killer.
Bucky stiffened and shot a look at Tasha, who nodded. "Consultant?" Steve asked and was absolutely enchanted with the way her lips turned down at the corners and her nose wrinkled as she nodded in apology. Sam sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face.
"You officially on the payroll or on the down low?" the Falcon asked and that had Steve wondering, again, why he was being warned away from this one if she worked for them. Or Stark. Either way.
"Down low, I guess?" She moved her shoulders and gave Steve a very tempting view of the deep valley between her breasts and a peekaboo glimpse of her grey sports bra. Those were not supposed to be sexy. Was it possible to have a mental breakdown from sexual frustration? How bad would Natasha hurt him if he just swooped in and kissed Moira until neither of them could breathe?
"And technically I work for Stark Industries as a consultant, not for the Avengers. Or, Stark pays for my grants and someone over there pretends to read my research while using it to make things I'd rather not think about." Moira swung her earbuds in a little circle, tapping her toes in the black and pink sneakers she was wearing. Steve wondered idly if she'd let him tie her up with the cord to her headphones.
"We gonna run or stand around yapping?" Bucky asked finally as the silence stretched.
"Run," Tasha and Moira said together and so everyone plugged into their respective listening devices and set out to get sweaty and gross in the park.
Steve regretted being a super soldier sometimes but never more than when it required him to pass Natasha and Moira several times rather than hanging back and enjoying the very tempting sway of Moira's hips as she jogged. He tried reciting the times tables as he ran and only managed to have a vivid, lucid sex dream about her bent forward over some hard surface while he palmed her hips and fucked her from behind.
Empire State-sized hard-on: 2, Captain America: 0
When they'd all finished, they met where they'd began. Moira was winded, her gorgeous breasts heaving, sweat gleaming on her forehead and dampening the V of her t-shirt, her throat a tempting line as she gulped down water. "You guys all suck and I hate you," she said when she was finished, the hint of a laugh in her voice. "It is so unfair to ask me to run with superheroes."
Tasha bumped her with her hip and grinned. "You did good, Moira. And Sam was checking out your ass, so there's that."
Sam's eyebrows shot to his hairline when Steve glared at him. He threw up his hands in a palms out, peaceful gesture, though the smile he shot Moira was all charm. "You do justice to yoga pants like Tasha does to spandex and leather."
She did laugh at that, teeth flashing, and shook her head. The muscles in Steve's belly clenched and shuddered in want. "Flattery will let you buy me a cup of coffee." If Sam bought her coffee, Steve thought he might have to kill him, friend or not. After Darcy killed him, but Steve could be magnanimous and share the bloodletting and screaming.
"Let's go have breakfast, too," Bucky invited. When Steve shot him a look, he smirked back and Steve realized Bucky was well aware of how much he'd been ogling Moira in the park this whole time. Shit.
Moira, however, glanced down at her watch and frowned. "I would love to but I have classes today and if I don't get home soon to shower and change and feed the dog, I won't make it."
A picture of her naked and wet and slippery had Steve swallowing hard and clenching his fists at his sides. This earned him another warning, narrow glance from Natasha.
"We're supposed to have dinner tonight at Stark's. You should come."
Everyone, including Moira, blinked slowly at Steve as if he'd just spoken in tongues. He did his best not to look sheepish or stupid or slow, instead giving Moira a patented Captain America smile that had her serious green eyes turning speculative and wary. It was Bucky who rescued him with an eye roll and a nudge.
"You should. Dinners at Stark's tend to be loud and chaotic and someone usually gets into a fight. Fun times are had by all." Bucky gave her a patented Bucky smile that had whisked women out of their panties. Steve was actually pretty sure Moira wasn't wearing panties. He hoped that was the normal way of things and that she'd wear a dress to dinner. Was it wrong to feel a new friend up under the table?
Moira looked to Natasha who shrugged. "I can add you to the guest list. It might be interesting for you to meet the guy who funds all your research."
"He probably doesn't know he does. But...okay. What time, where, and should I dress up?"
1900 hours, my bed, lacy undergarments. Maybe some red lipstick. Heels, too, if you feel particularly naughty.
Hell. In the proverbial handbasket. Empire State-sized hard-on: 3, Captain America: so sexually frustrated he'd need twenty cold showers and an ice bath before he calmed down.
"7:00, I'll send a car for you around 6:30, and yes. Tony likes to pretend wearing a suit to dinner means he can write it off as a business expense."
He held his breath until Moira said, quietly, "Okay." The look she gave him from under those long dark lashes had Steve suddenly understanding why Barton loved the Cake song "Short Skirt/Long Jacket".
Bucky's grin, Sam's frown, and Natasha's absolute stillness meant it was going to be a very long afternoon.
OoO
Moira was dressed and ready and pacing when the doorman called up at 6:30 to tell her the car had arrived. She'd changed her underwear twice, her dress five times, and dithered over whether to wear the sexy heels that would kill her feet or the flats she preferred. Finally, with a growled, "Fucking shit balls, Moira," she'd slid her feet into the torture that was her one pair of really expensive four inch heels and hoped they did a lot of sitting at dinner.
She flopped back in the Bentley Tash had sent and wondered if the driver would notice if she curled up in a ball and sobbed uncontrollably out of sexual frustration. How stupid did you have to be to develop a sexual urge for a superhero that probably had how many women chasing after him, anyway?
At this rate, she was going to have to buy a whole pack of batteries for her vibrator and tell Tasha they couldn't be friends anymore. Which was a shame because Girls Night with Tash and Darcy and Jane and sometimes Pepper and Wanda and Barton when he could talk them into it always ended in hilarity if not in drunken shenanigans.
"I am so screwed," Moira muttered and that just reminded her of the fantasy she'd entertained during office hours wherein Captain America had his head buried between her thighs under her desk.
There was probably some law against fantasizing about America's favorite son. Maybe even one against pushing him down onto your bed and riding him until he was begging for more.
God, she wanted to break that last one so bad. And now her panties were wet and she was sweating just a little and oh man, the driver was saying they'd arrived. She climbed shakily from the car, rearranging the skirt of her above-the-knee dress so it fell more naturally, and Tasha met her at the door with a little smirk.
"You took my advice."
Moira swallowed nervously and looked down at herself. She'd been tempted to wear a dress cut to there and completely out of her comfort zone, designed to make a man's eyes roll back into his head. Natasha, in her infinite superhero wisdom, had advised something sweet and charming that showed a little bit of leg rather than a lot of cleavage. So she was wearing a white cap-sleeved dress with a filmy white overlay scattered with pink flowers, a set of pearls that would make a grandmother proud, and fuck-me spike heels in the same petal pink as the flowers. Her bra, panties, garters, and garter belt were also pink and comprised entirely of lace. She felt a bit like a cupcake.
She really hoped Steve Rogers liked cupcakes.
"Tash, I feel badly for...you're trying to be nice but you said he doesn't date and I'm not exactly … and if he finds out..." She trailed off miserably and blinked when Natasha threw back her head and laughed.
"Sweetie, James says he's been panting after you in the park for months and you didn't engineer that; you've been running there every morning since you were a post-doc student or so says Darcy. And really, if you think about it, you didn't engineer tonight, either." Natasha squeezed her elbow as she steered them into the building. "In fact, if you recall, he invited you."
He had and then he'd given her a Captain America smile instead of the Steve Rogers grin she'd gotten used to seeing in the park when he passed her. Okay, so they were the same person, sure, and sometimes she thought about peeling him out of the costume and then licking every inch of exposed skin, slowly, but she had a suspicion he might think of himself as Steve when it came to being licked.
"I'm so screwed," she whispered again, this time to Tasha, as they stepped onto the elevator after being waved through by the guards.
"Hopefully," Tasha agreed.
OoO
Bucky had always been a sucker for red. Steve thought he was, too, until Moira stepped into Tony Stark's penthouse apartment wearing strappy pink high heels, slick pale pink lipgloss, and a nervous smile. God, for someone so short she had the most incredible legs. He bet they would just fit around his waist when he was...
He caught the speculative look Tony was giving him and hoped the slacks he was wearing were just loose enough. He stepped forward and gently curled his fingers around her bicep, aroused beyond all sense when she flushed a becoming pink and smiled shyly at him. He grinned back, a real Steve Rogers "aw shucks, ma'am" grin before he could stop himself and was rewarded with a swift inhale of air, a tremble in her arm, and he could swear he saw her nipples tighten under the fabric of her dress.
Wait, what?
Experimenting, Steve danced his fingertips down her spine, slow circles like he imagined making around her clit, watching closely to find she arched into the touch of his hand and shivered, goosebumps rushing over her skin. When he let his hand fan out over her lower back, she shifted a tiny bit to let her hip brush against his thigh and looked up at him with her lips slightly parted.
Well, dinner was now much more interesting.
Introductions were made, likely by Natasha, and he didn't quite catch all of them except that Pepper smiled and squeezed Moira in a one-handed hug, mentioning she'd just known the Jimmy Choos were perfect for Moira when they'd bought them on their last shopping trip. He noted with gratitude and a certain sense of possession that Moira did not move away from him even as Jane, Darcy, and Wanda greeted her with smiles and waves, all of the men in the room frowning suspiciously.
Except Steve, who just wondered if maybe he'd been neatly manipulated by Natasha Romanov. When Moira briefly rubbed her cheek against his forearm, he was pretty sure he should buy Natasha something lethal and scary in thanks.
Dinner was announced and Moira threaded her hand through the bend of Steve's elbow and tried not to sigh with lust. His skin was warm to the touch even through the layer of his smart button-down shirt in a perfect shade of blue for his eyes and what she wanted to do instead of sinking into the plush chair next to him at the table was pet him until he purred. The way he used the excuse of pushing in her chair to sniff her neck and kept shooting her glances at her out of the corner of his eye was enough to make her ravenous and not for food.
This was going to be the longest dinner of her life. Would it be rude to excuse herself and Captain America to find the nearest handy surface?
Then his hand slid off of the table and spread over her knee under the tablecloth and she nearly dropped her fork.
"So, Moira. Pepper tells me I buy all your fancy shoes." Tony relaxed back in his seat as the salad course was exchanged for the soup course, nursing his second scotch.
"Well, it is your name on my research. But my tenure at Columbia buys my fancy shoes." She almost whined when Steve's long fingers traced the edge of her skirt, inching it up bit by bit, the pad of his thumb gliding hypnotically across her skin. When she started to let her own hand slide from the table, she saw him shake his head minutely, felt his fingers tighten around her thigh over her garter.
How did he know she had a serious kink for being told what to do? She didn't think Pepper would appreciate her coming at the table during dinner.
God, she hoped he made her come at the table during dinner.
"So why whosawhatsit chemisty?" Sam asked from his end of the table which had Jane snorting a laugh into her drink and Bucky covering Natasha's hand gently with his metal one.
Steve soothed Moira by tracing the suspender of her stocking up and up until he reached the clasp, flicking it with his fingertip. She jerked and parted her thighs a little wider for him. He thought he might come in his pants. Bright side, that would take the edge off when he had her naked and under him.
He hoped Tony had a room set aside specifically for dinner guest sex.
"She wanted to make sexy costumes for superheroes and she's a huge nerd," Darcy answered for her, smiling down the table from her seat by Sam. When her boyfriend shot her a disapproving look, Darcy glared back. "What? Moira and I went to Culver together in undergrad. We're bros. I know her secrets."
This started some sort of mini-argument that Steve mostly tuned out, catching only the fact that Jane had been one of the reasons Moira had gotten the tenured position at Columbia, it was Pepper who had recruited Moira for Stark Industries, Darcy and Moira had been rather wild in undergrad, and Wanda was auditing one of Moira's classes.
Steve's lips were warm against her ear when he leaned in and whispered, "Am I the only person at this table who isn't..." He let his fingertips dance back down the suspender and up, higher, tracing over the lace covering her sex. "Intimately acquainted with you?" She bit her lip, eyes big and wide as they swung to him.
"You're the only man at the table..." She rolled her hips, her short, candy pink nails scoring the tablecloth in little half moons as his fingertips teased and tempted. She caught a look from Darcy, smug and knowing, and a toast with her glass from Jane. Did everyone know Steve Rogers was playing with their dinner guest under the table? Did she care? "With whom I'd like to be intimately acquainted."
He grinned, quick and sudden, and slid his finger smoothly under her panties and into her warm, wet heat. Moira nearly keened though all anyone saw at the table was Steve smirking in a very un-Steve-like manner and Moira leaning slightly drunkenly toward him. "Run away with me?"
"Oh, God, yes."
Tony, Sam, and Thor stared in varying degrees of bemusement as Steve rose to his feet in a rush, sweeping Moira up with him. Vision tilted his head and blinked, rather like a confused bird. "Lovely dinner. You'll excuse us, won't you?"
There was silence at the table for all of ten seconds after Steve ushered Moira out the door. It was of course Tony who broke it.
"What the fuck just happened?" He looked from Pepper's haughty brow to Darcy's smirk to Wanda's calm to Jane's pink cheeks, settling on Natasha who tilted her head in his direction. "Why you sly bitches!"
Bucky barked out a laugh and leaned his elbows on the table. "We takin' bets on whether Steve comes to work tomorrow?"
Natasha elbowed him. Sam sighed. Vision laid his hands in his lap and looked perturbed. Thor stared from Jane to his glass and back again. "Steven is becoming a man?" the God of Thunder ventured finally. Jane patted his arm and Darcy choked.
"Yeah, big guy, Steve's gettin' laid."
"Most excellent! We should have more mead in celebration!"
Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sure, Thunderhead. More drinks, all around."
OoO
Moira was giggling uncontrollably, leaning on Steve who has cradling her gently against his chest. "Their faces," she gasped and went off into another round of giggles. Steve pressed a kiss to her temple, swamped with affection.
"You are such a bad influence, Moira Mackney," he scolded, turning to crowd her into the corner of the elevator. She immediately slid her arms around his neck and leaned into him, purring when his hands glided up and down her back, stroking her spine.
"But you love it," she returned, rising on tiptoe to meet him halfway for the kiss. They were still kissing, Steve's tongue teasing the seam of her lips and Moira's hands mussing his golden brown hair, as the doors to the elevator slid open. Tucking her smoothly against his side, he tapped the end of her nose with the finger that had earlier slid so teasingly between her folds. She tried to nip at it and he laughed, leaning down for another kiss as he led her out of the elevator into the cool, damp darkness of the garage under the building.
"How long before they realize we must already know each other?" he wondered, handing her the extra helmet he'd brought for his bike. Moira shrugged, tucking the long strands of her wavy hair up before pulling it down over her head.
"About the same time they discover where you went this afternoon for a couple of hours?" she teased, swinging a leg over the bike and showing an amazing amount of leg and the lacy tops of her stockings once she did. He slid on his own helmet and then pressed his palm hard between her legs. He praised her with a low growl when her back arched and her eyes fluttered closed, grinding his palm against her clit.
"Office hours were meant to be kept, Dr. Mackney. And you were such a good girl; no one knew I was under your desk with my tongue and fingers buried inside you."
"Steve," she whined when he mounted the bike in front of her. She immediately scooted forward and wrapped her arms around his waist as he gunned the engine. Because he took safety seriously and because she knew that was mostly for her benefit, she behaved herself all the way to the apartment they'd been sharing for the better part of three months. Their dog, Fido, whom Steve had named when they picked him out together at the pound, met them at the door and did a little happy dance when he saw Steve was with her. He had not been a happy mutt to discover his mom had come home without his dad at breakfast.
"You, bedroom, lose the dress, keep everything else including the shoes," Steve ordered and Moira saluted him smartly as he prepared Fido for a quick walk.
"Yes, Captain Rogers, sir!"
"Cheeky wench," he muttered, leaning in to nip her lower lip, hard, before the door closed behind him.
Moira carefully hung the dress, which whatever Tasha thought had been in all actuality chosen by Steve, back in the closet. She was lying across their bed, pink lace and heels and pearls and a come-hither smile, when he closed the door to their bedroom behind him, Fido happily ensconced in the kitchen with his chew toy and a treat.
"Christ, Moira, look at you," he murmured hoarsely, his bluer than blue eyes stunned and full of wonder and for a minute, she was back there three months ago when he'd bumped into her as she was leaving the Avengers tower after a meeting with some Stark flunky.
Moira knew, as lukewarm coffee splashed all over her, that this was cosmic punishment because she'd already wondered if today could get worse than being raked over the coals by the Avengers because she wanted to publish her latest research results regarding the new polymer she'd developed for Black Widow's under armor. Even her university wasn't on her side, despite their "publish or perish" mindset. And now she was covered in coffee and some big dumb lummox was peering down at her in concern.
The universe had a sick sense of humor.
"Oh, I am so sorry, ma'am," the big dumb lummox blurted, his hands settling on her shoulders, his classically handsome face set in lines of concern and contrition. She laughed, sort of, and watched his blue eyes go wide and surprised as they searched her face, his hands flexing on her shoulders. "You're the girl from the park!"
"No, I'm the girl who's covered in…" She trailed off and took a closer look and dammit, dammit, dammit, this day was the worst ever, because it was Captain freaking America peering down at her. The very same Captain America she ogled every morning in the park as he ran circles around her and, well, everyone else. She bet she wasn't the only woman who jogged in the park and thought about his firm ass and loping strides and the fact that he was staring at her mouth like he wanted to devour it.
Wait, what?
"Coffee. You need another." He was hustling her back toward the elevators before she could blink, his strides determined, his hand firm on her elbow. When the doors whooshed closed, she could only stand stupidly next to him and try to breathe, slowly. Oh, God, he smelled amazing, like soap and motor oil and, faintly, Old Spice. She wanted to climb him like a tree. At the faint sound she couldn't quite stifle, she heard him mutter something unintelligible, the hand on her elbow tightening and a muscle in his jaw jumping.
He seemed disinclined to conversation even once they reached the parking garage. Instead, he shoved a helmet, obviously his, into her hands and then pointed at the motorcycle. "What's your address?" She was sort of glad and sort of sorry that she was wearing pants as she slid onto the powerful machine behind him after telling him where she lived. He reached back, wrapped her arms around his waist, and yelled, "Hope you like to go fast."
"You have no idea," she called back, pleased when his eyes darkened, and then they were speeding out and around and through New York traffic and she couldn't contain the laugh or stop herself from pressing her breasts against his back and her hands against his abs.
She was almost sorry when they reached the tidy brownstone in Brooklyn where she rented a cozy two bedroom apartment. Or was until he said, quietly, "Gonna invite me up for coffee, girl from the park?"
"Moira," she said breathlessly. "I'm Moira and yes, please, come up for coffee."
Stay for fantastic sex.
"I'm Steve," he said, watching her closely. Whatever he saw in her face must have reassured him for he gestured to her door. "Lead on, Moira."
His hand on her back was a delicious weight as they climbed the stairs, his smile charming when he plucked her keys from her hand and unlocked the door for her. When he saw she had a French press, he steered her to her bedroom. "Go change, Moira. I can make the coffee."
She lingered at the door and he raised an eyebrow. "Are we…are we going back out?" It was the closest she could come to asking him to stay as he stood larger than life in her tiny kitchen wearing jeans and a t-shirt and generally looking like a fantasy made flesh. He shook his head, slowly.
"Not today." Something moved across his face, tightening the skin over his cheekbones, something that made Moira shiver. "Put on a pair of the pants and one of those t-shirts you wear to the park." His grin flashed, white teeth and a gleam of mischief. "I like the one the color of bluebonnets, particularly."
She wore the shirt the color of bluebonnets and sat with him on her meager bit of balcony to enjoy coffee and a slice of blueberry lemon loaf she'd baked the day before. He told her stories about growing up a skinny kid in 1920 and 1930's Brooklyn. She told him about being a square peg in a round hole, a science geek on a farm in the Midwest. Then she made lunch, homemade tomato soup that she'd made and frozen weeks ago and huge grilled cheese and turkey sandwiches on homemade bread she tended to make on the weekends when she was lonely, and he praised her cooking, which made her admit it was her favorite hobby and the reason she ran every day in the park. "Never going to be skinny," she said ruefully and was startled when he reached across her two person café table and brushed a fingertip over the curve of her breast.
"You remind me of the women they painted on the sides of airplanes during the war." His voice, hoarse and growly, and his eyes, slumberous and dark, told her he approved. Then he sat back and picked up his sandwich and told her he liked to draw as a hobby. They discovered a mutual interest in Art Deco architecture, 1950's modern furniture, and all kinds of books and music. When he asked her to dance to Billie Holliday and held her against him as they swayed around her living room and then joined her for a rousing rendition of "Be Brave", she felt her heart stutter in her chest and threaten to fall at his feet.
He called out for thai food for supper, insisting it was his turn to feed her. Over som tam and pad kra prao and sweet mango sticky rice where she used chopsticks like a pro and he opted for a fork, she told him what she did and why she'd even been in the Avengers tower. He regarded her thoughtfully for a minute, fingers tracing the condensation on his beer bottle. "So you're friends with Darcy and Jane?"
"And Pepper and Natasha and Wanda and Barton," she admitted. When his eyebrows winged up, she shrugged a shoulder. "Girls Night." His bark of laughter as well as the way he sank deeper into his chair, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, told her for now it was okay she was tangentially part of his Captain America life.
She really wanted to be part of Steve Rogers's life. Preferably in his bed. Or hers. Either way, God did she want to jump him.
After supper, they moved to her lipstick red sofa with popcorn and soda to watch movies, Moira's head pillowed on his shoulder, his arm around her. As the credits to Alien rolled and no, Moira insisted, she had not fallen asleep, Steve set aside the popcorn bowl and turned to her, his hands framing her face. "I'm going to kiss you, Moira," he warned huskily and then he did, sweet and soft and searching that turned quickly into heated and tongue and teeth and Moira crawling into his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, hands fisted in his hair. She was panting when his mouth skated down her neck, his big hands palming her hips. "I really, really want to have sex with you. I've been fantasizing about it since I first noticed you in the park," he groaned into her shoulder. "I'm going to hell."
She laughed, she couldn't help it, a laugh that quickly turned to a whimper when he cupped her breasts, his palms gently abrading her nipples through thin cloth of her t-shirt and the sheer lace bra she was wearing. His dark golden stubble was a sweet pain against the sensitive skin of her neck; she ground her ass down into his lap and relished his deep, rumbling moan. "Steve," she began, then had to stop when he whisked her shirt up and off, tossing it aside. His low curse was both flattering and arousing as he again filled his hands with her breasts, as was the sudden noisy breath he blew out of his nose as his head fell back. She could see him trying to master himself, trying to rein himself back in, and she was lost. "Steve," she tried again, tracing his cheekbones with her fingertips, until he raised those gorgeous, aroused, wary blue eyes to hers. "I've fantasized about you, too." She saw the shift in him, knew what he was thinking, and quickly shook her head. "No, wait, not just about Captain America though, hey, you look good in the uniform with my polymers in it." His eyebrow winged up in surprise and interest as she combed her fingers through his hair. "But today, today you've just been Steve, the hot guy from the park who can run circles around me, who likes my cooking, who spent the day with me just because you wanted to." She swallowed when his thumbs brushed over her nipples, arching her back in invitation. "At the risk of appearing too eager, we've had five dates today: coffee, lunch, dancing, dinner, and the movies. Please have me for dessert."
He paused, blew a noisy breath out of his nose, and when he looked up at her again, his eyes were stunned and full of wonder. "Okay."
Afterward, when he was a boneless weight pressing her down into the mattress and she was dazed and languid under him, he nuzzled her throat and whispered, "Moira Mackney, girl from the park. Aren't you something?"
"Steve Rogers, guy from the park. I think I might be in love with you," she whispered back.
"Good, would hate to be the only one with feelings," he returned, rolling over onto his back and tugging until she curled against his side, her hand over his heart, his hand petting her hair. After a minute, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Why hasn't Natasha tried to set you up on a date with me? She's tried it with everyone else."
Moira yawned and snuggled closer. "She mentioned it to me. I told her no." When he blinked at her in confusion, she leaned up to give him a light kiss, lingering over it until he pulled her over atop him. She felt him, still slick from their earlier exertions, grow hard again and with a little wiggle took him inside her, blessing the Pill and super soldier stamina as they both sighed. She sat up, shivering as the angle let her take him even deeper, and braced her hands on his chest. "She says you don't date. And I didn't want to get my heart broken when you told her no."
His smile was all Steve Rogers as his hands slid up her ribcage and he thumbed her already pouting nipples. "You should tell her yes. See how long it takes everyone to figure out we're already dating. But later."
"Mmm, gonna keep me a secret 'til then, Captain Rogers?" She rolled her hips and deliberately clenched around him, pleased when he arched beneath her and pinched her nipples.
"I'd like you all to myself, I think, for a while," he mused, leaning up to take one peak into his mouth and sucking, hard. He released her aching flesh with a wet, wicked pop, helping her settle into a slow, lazy rhythm as his fingers found and circled her clit.
"Okay," she agreed, and it was the last they spoke until dawn was just peeking over the horizon and he was slipping out of her bed with a kiss, promising to see her in the park later.
"What are you thinking about, Moira-mine?" Steve asked, his button-down already neatly folded on the chair in the corner, his undershirt quickly following suit. Her smile tipped into sweetness, her dimples flashing, and Steve felt his heart stutter. God, he was crazy about her, this petite curvy scientist with the devious streak and mothering soul. Who knew lusting after a girl in the park could turn out quite so well?
Empire State hard-on: 3, Captain America: Winner.
When she said, "Our first date," he knew, just knew, he produced the goofiest smile ever in the history of Captain America/Steve Rogers goofiness. To compensate, he fell on her with a mock growl and whispered, "Gonna let me tie you up with your headphones again?"
Later, curled up together, sweaty and hot and sated, his head pillowed on her magnificent breasts, he mumbled, "Nat's gonna kill us when she figures it out."
The next morning, Moira and Steve found their apartment crowded with Avengers and their significant others. Moira made French toast, Steve made coffee and bacon, and Nat sat smugly in the middle of the kitchen and declared, "I love it when a plan comes together."
When Pepper, Jane, Natasha, and Darcy clinked glasses and Wanda snickered into her orange juice, both Steve and Moira realized they'd both been had. She sank down into his lap and shrugged philosophically. He grinned and kissed her.
"What the fuck?!" Tony whined, completely lost until Pepper leaned over and whispered something into his ear. Sam dropped his forehead onto Darcy's shoulder, Bucky winked at Natasha, Thor just kept eating as Jane beamed, and Wanda and Vision turned on the television.
Maybe he wasn't going to hell after all.