The first thing Diana does when she gets home is to step out of her heels. After living nearly twenty years in Man's World, she only marginally appreciates the acquisition of footwear. She can't believe how many pairs of shoes Pepper has in her cavernous closet. Diana does, however, appreciate the effect they have on Steve sometimes, when set off by certain outfits. All in all, she'd still rather be barefoot in a light tunic on a beach most of the time. But today there were meetings and she had to look, as Pepper described to her, "professional." The shoes are red, strappy, and have heels that are three inches high.
"Don't you dare even THINK about it. Put those back on and come in here." Diana puts down her purse and shrugs off her jacket. "I mean it, Diana, put'em back on and get over here NOW!" She laughs and reaches behind to unzip her dress, but she doesn't comply with the demand. She stays right where she is, blue silk puddled around her stockinged feet. The stockings are held up with garters, the way she wore them so very many decades ago..almost a century ago. They are also silk and they hug up to her mid-thighs like a second skin.
She knows he's getting impatient. She can practically hear him drumming his fingers in the doorway of their bedroom at the back of the house, and obviously, he can see her. She pointedly looks in another direction. Staring out the window at the big oak tree, which is finally growing its first spring leaves, she drapes one arm over her head. She moves slowly, almost making it a dance before she pulls the hair tie from her bun and lets her hair cascade down past her shoulder blades. The ribbon floats down and joins the dress on the floor at her feet.
"I MEAN it! NOW!" She turns around three-quarters of the way. She still can't see him, but she's pretty sure that from this angle, he's getting a pretty good silhouette, if not a better view of her breasts, which are barely covered in red lace. She bends forward practically in a swan dive and pretends to adjust a stocking. Her hair falls past her shoulder, blocking her face from his view. She smiles.
"Don't make me come out there," he warns, lowering his voice almost into a growl. That nearly makes her laugh out loud and she's glad he can't see her face. When she recovers, she takes her time rolling up, smoothing her palms along her hips, grazing her fingers past the lace panties that match the bra, and along her waist. She slides her hand up past one breast and pretends to adjust a bra strap. Only then does she turns to face him. For all of that effort, Steve is wearing an old SHIELD t-shirt and an even older pair of jeans. She smirks, and, looking straight at him, steps back into her shoes, extending her leg out and pointing each foot for the extra show.
Then she walks toward him, again taking as much time as she possibly can. For all his lack of effort, the jeans and t-shirt, the couple of days' worth of stubble and the mess of blonde hair sends a small shiver from her abdomen and downward. Maybe it's the look on his face: frustration and lust. His jaw and throat look tight. She can see the outlines of his abdomen and ribs against his shirt. And of course, there's that very interesting bulge pressing his jeans zipper out. Her hips feel almost fluid like she's walking through water to get to him. She keeps her pace slow and even, which is pretty much the only way to walk in these shoes, anyway.
When she stands about a foot away from him, he glowers down at her. His eyes narrow. "That wasn't funny, Diana," he says sternly. He reaches his hands toward her but before he can touch her, she thrusts her hands into his chest, pushing him back so hard he stumbles backward into the foot of the bed. Last night, in jest, he repeated what he's always found amusing since they've known each other: "Jeez, Diana, could you possibly be any bossier?" He's usually barely able to pretend he doesn't like it when she is that forward. So she replied, "Probably, but I won't be. Tomorrow you can be the bossy one. I'll do whatever you want." He worked from home today, and she had mostly forgotten the entire conversation. Steve leans back on his arms at the foot of the bed. His breath is heavy and slow. He's obviously trying to stay in control. "Well?" she asks. "I'm here now. I'm wearing the shoes. Was that all you wanted?" She sucks her lower lip in by a fraction to keep from smiling too much.
In answer, Steve looks her up and down, and then pats the mattress. Diana smiles as sweetly as she can and lifts her left leg, placing her foot down next to his hip. "Like that?" she asks.
"It's a start," he replies flatly with a bit of a shrug. He sits up straighter and slides his hands along her ankle, then her calf. He presses one index finger into the space behind her knee while he uses the other to hold her leg steady. She inhales reflexively and shivers. Next, he moves his hand to the top of the stocking and pushes a finger under its seam and around the garter. Then he pulls it back out again, changing his mind. Apparently, the shoes and stockings are staying on. He leans toward her and with his closed lips touches the space just above the seam. Without breaking contact with her skin, he moves them up her inner thigh and then opens his mouth and sucks the very top, right where her panties begin. Then he glides his lips and fingers back down, past her knee, to the highest strap of the shoe. He begins again. He does this four or five times, creating a rhythm to the movement. Diana had never realized, even after nearly eighteen years of marriage, just how aroused she could get by him touching her leg. Each time he gets to the top, she aches for him to move a little further in.
She sucks in her abdomen to steady herself. As exquisite as her left leg feels right now, and even with this much anticipation of more hands and more mouth, her right leg aches standing in that confounded shoe. "Steve," she begins. He interrupts, "You don't get to make a single demand." He sounds almost irritated, as if she had interrupted his concentration on something important. She closes her mouth and tries to hold still, even though she really wants to swivel her hips and push them into him. He finally presses his tongue into her panties between her legs. She rocks her pelvis forward involuntarily and her breath quickens. She strains the muscles of her standing leg so much that it burns a little and her leg shakes. It is nearly impossible to hold still.
Finally, he sits back up and takes his hands off of her. He snaps his fingers and points down. She obeys by lowering her leg back down. She shifts her weight into her left leg and sighs with relief. He stands up and they are practically touching. Both her legs shake and when she looks down she can see how much he's straining as well. He doesn't put his hands on her right away. She is keenly aware of her breasts as she breathes, and the way the lace barely brushes against his shirt. She fidgets to get closer but he pulls away, wagging a finger at her. "Sorry," he tells her smugly. Then he reaches around and pulls the shirt over his head, tossing it on the floor. She lifts her hand toward his chest. She can feel how warm he is, and his scent and heat are magnetic. He shakes his head "no." "Unh-uh," he teases, and taking each of her wrists in his hands, lowers them back down to her sides.
She isn't sure if she's shaking from standing in these heels or because she might explode if he doesn't let her touch him soon. He has a breathtakingly beautiful body. He doesn't usually accept the compliment since he looks this way as a result of scientific experimentation. She lowers her eyes and stares at the lines of his chest, his abdomen, and the arrow of his hips that point down to his erection. "My eyes are up here," he reminds her. She looks up into his eyes. They are almost all pupil, with just hints of sky blue around the edges. She wants more than anything to kiss him right now and reach her hand down his jeans and run her fingers up and down his length. She wants to trace her fingernail around the tip. She wants him. She swallows hard and keeps her hands to herself.
He hovers his hands just a few millimeters above her waist, slowly tracing the outline of her figure in the space around her. If his fingers would bend just a tiny bit, they'd caress her breasts and right now she deeply craves for him to touch her anywhere at all. Instead, he motions for her to take a step back backward. She complies and closes her eyes. She feels him circle around her. When he is behind her he tells her, "Turn around." She does so and he reminds her, "Eyes up here." She opens her eyes and looks him in the face again. She wants to push him back into the bed, grab his waistband, and literally tear off the rest of his clothes. Every inch of her skin tingles excruciatingly. She wants to put her mouth everywhere on him. Her hands tremble as she struggles to keep her arms at her sides. He holds his palms just barely over her breasts for a moment and she thinks she is going to die. Then he traces from each nipple out to the tops and edges of her bra. The friction between his fingers, her bra, and her skin is almost overwhelming. He takes his time tracing them over and over. The sensation travels in a direct line to between her legs. Her knees feel weak. She is so wet that she can't even feel her panties anymore. She's sure at this point this discomfort has nothing to do with her earlier discomfort. Steve gestures with his chin and, mercifully, commands, "Into bed you go."
Diana backs up and sits at the edge of the bed where he had been. She is careful not to break eye contact again. He uses his knee to spread her legs apart and looms over her. Her entire body practically quakes with want now. He nods his head once and tells her, "Go ahead."
It is a mighty act of restraint and willpower not to rip Steve's jeans and shorts from his body in one fell swoop. Barely in control of the agitation in her fingers, she fumbles with his button and zipper. She slips her fingers underneath the waistband of his shorts and her finger lightly brushes over the tip of his penis. She feels him tense and shudder, and he scowls at her. She does her best to avoid touching it again as she pushes his clothes down as far as she can reach. He wriggles them off the rest of the way down. His hardness is right in front of her face and she is losing her resolve to be still, as he'd instructed. She reaches toward his hips and lowers her head but he backs off, out of her reach. "Is that what you really want?"
Her clitoris is pulsing and her panties are soaked. She shakes her head slowly. "Then what do you say?" A smile begins to hover at the edges of his mouth. When she tries to speak, she finds that her voice is barely there. "Please," she whimpers. "Okay then," he replies as if giving in to a child.
She tries not to scramble back onto the bed, although she is certain that she's clinging to only shreds of the remains of her dignity. She's on the verge of exploding without him even getting into bed with her. She props herself up on her elbows and bends her knees. The heels poke into the mattress and their height make the position awkward. He crawls toward her just as a leg slips, and the heel grazes his arm. "OW! Dammit!" Then he laughs…a real, genuine laugh. He yanks her shoes off of her feet and tosses them over his shoulder. Sitting back on his heels, he smiles down at her. He is truly the most beautiful and perfect person, human or god, she has ever seen. When she smiles back at him she feels hot tears well up in the corners of her eyes. Her mouth is dry.
One at a time, he flicks open the garters and rolls her stockings down her legs and past her feet. His fingers on her instep send another shock of sensation right up her center. She is shaking so much she's sweating. He crawls over her and unclasps the front of her bra while he lowers his head down and kisses her. She can't possibly open her mouth wide enough. She wants to taste all of him: the insides of his mouth, his lips, and his skin. She wants to swallow him whole. She wants him to breathe for them both. She moans loudly when he breaks off the kiss and moves his mouth first to one breast, then the other. Then he pulls the panties down past her legs. They leave a wet trail on her inner thighs.
He crawls back up and grins down at her. "This was really sexy and I felt really stupid," he informs her. In reply, she drops onto her back and reaches up for him. He kisses her again as he enters her. He comes up for air and gasps, "Sweetheart I don't think I'll be able to last…" she interrupts him with what sounds like a half-moan, half-scream. Her body is all fluid, all ocean. Its waves emanate from inside of her where the two of them are merged, spill through every pore, and crash over him. He follows suit and pushes into her hard when he climaxes and they finish together. They don't separate right away. He gazes down into her eyes and practically whispers, "I love you like crazy, Mrs. Rogers." She giggles and says, "I love you, O Captain My Captain!"
She closes her eyes and rests her head above his armpit after he rolls off of her. They reach across each other's' bodies and intertwine their fingers, resting. "You okay?" he asks after a few minutes.
"Mmmmm…what do *you* think?" she replies without opening her eyes. She feels the slight jolt in his abdomen that happens when he laughs with his mouth closed. "Pretty good for a couple of middle-aged parents." Diana opens her eyes and looks at him. "Middle-aged?"
"Ish," he says. "In a 115-year-old man with about a 40-year-old's body, and a couple of millennia-plus-change woman in the body of a timeless beauty sort of way!" Diana giggles again and nuzzles back against him.
Gradually, softly, real life settles itself back into Diana's brain. "What time is it? Do you want to get Joie or Sarah?"
Steve extricates himself from her and rolls onto his side. He weaves his fingers between hers again. "As it turns out, Joie is going to sleep over at Kristen's house after drama club, and Sarah is going to sleep over at Gracie's house after softball practice."
"Diana does her best to frown, but she's not feeling it. "You let them go to sleepovers on a school night?! When did that become okay, and how did you convince other parents that it's okay?"
His voice is soft and calm. "We agreed that as long as homework got done it was fine." He pauses and kisses the tip of her nose. "And I told Kristen's mom and Gracie's dad that we had a mandatory late-night training exercise."
That makes her laugh out loud. He looks very pleased with himself as she reacts. She squishes up next to him as much as she can and drapes her arm across his abdomen. She nestles her head under his chin. "That was incredibly hard to do, by the way," he says. She can feel his smile against the top of her head. "I don't think I can handle the responsibility of being in charge very often."
She laughs again, but he laughs too this time. She climbs on top of him and rests her hands on the pillow he's lying on. "Does that mean this was a one-time adventure?"
He grins up at her. "Nope! But I think it's gonna have to be a rarity. I was having a VERY rough time of keeping it together!"
Diana leans in to kiss him again. He kisses her back, gently prying her mouth open with his tongue. He reaches up and caresses her breasts again. "Does this mean I'm in charge again? I think there are some things I need you to do right now," she teases him.
"I was thinking maybe a joint decision-making effort," he says. He reaches around and brings her head down to kiss her behind her jaw. Her entire body nearly liquefies. She sighs, "Do that again."
Before doing so, he asks, "Anyone ever tell you you're bossy?"