New fic. New people. Non canon. Blame my beta, kyrstal214, for feeding my Avengers hunger and getting me into AO3. So now I'm addicted and I love Darcy. So yeah, it's a new frontier people.
I sit in the near dark, with the only illumination coming from the glow of the various machines hooked up to him. I bite my lip, a habit that equally annoys and arouses him, and squeeze his fingers. Super serum my ass. He should be in our bed after having showered the mission away, playing with my hair and blushing when I ask him to stroke my kitty because we don't have a kitty - I'm allergic - and him knowing damn well what kitty I'm talking about.
His stomach should be grumbling louder than the Hulk's war cry because missions always make him hungry - hell watching TV makes him hungry - but he never takes care of that or any post mission crap until he's seen me. He told me that he didn't think a mission was done - over, finished, whatever - until he got his "Welcome home, Soldier" kissfrom me. So I took it as my patriotic duty to make sure those kisses were downright sinful after that. Tongue porn. I think Tony threw a hundred at us once and asked if he could watch the rest of our debriefing. Wonder where that went? I think fucking Clint took it.
He should be lying on top of me, sated and spent, hearts hammering in both our chests as we come down from our orgasmic high. No matter how we start fucking because after a mission it's hardcore fucking on any and every available surface, he always winds up on top me with my legs wrapped tight around him as he pushes deep inside me as if he's trying to crawl inside my body using his dick as I scream his name over and over. Things knocked off shelves. Paintings - dude we made an original Van Gogh fall off the wall and the frame broke - as causalities. Vases fall. The dining room table has been broken more than once, ass has our bed until Tony made us one of reinforced steel or some crap along those lines. Oh wait, it's made out that stuff his shield is made out of. He also made us cuffs of the same stuff if we were ever feeling kinky he teased. Um, they've been used a few times.
He should be in one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s many conference rooms doing the debriefing thing as I wait, impatiently I might add, in some comfy chair with my IPod set on my Debriefing playlist because yeah, I so have one. When he walks out he of said conference room he heads straight to me, presses a kiss upon my forehead before helping me to my feet because he's a chivalrous dork like that. He should be pulling me towards the elevator, deciding where we should go eat, knowing damn well he's going to pick Chinese as and usual that we can take it back to our place to eat naked before getting horizontal, or vertical, again.
That's what he should be doing.
But he's not.
He's in a fucking coma.
So I do what I can. I take his hand in mine and whisper, "I love you, Captain Dork." My voice cracks and I take a deep breath, refusing to break down. I haven't cried. I refuse to do so. I swallow them back and speak again. "I love you so fucking much, Steve."
Yeah to the press it might be Captain America in a coma. It's front page news. On all the major news channels. But to me? It's Steve Rogers that isn't waking up. I stand up and press my lips to his always baby butt smooth ones and say against them, "Steve, I need you to wake up. I'm not leaving 'til you do."
I sit back down when he doesn't.
I wait because he will wake up. He's a stubborn ass that way. With that last thought I fall asleep, holding his hand firmly in mine.