Nat was always trying to get you to go to open mic night at Loaded with her. She knew it wasn't your style but she kept pestering you until you caved. So here you was praying that some of the "performers" were decent. The place had a more upscale look than you had expected. It wasn't fancy by any means but it was nice enough you wouldn't expect to see a junkie shooting up in the corner or a couple going at it at the bar.
"Hey, quit daydreaming. I wanna get a good seat before all the fun starts," Nat nudged your arm a bit more roughly than strictly necessary. You walked down the short hall from the entrance to the lounge area. The tables and chairs were set up in a semicircle around a small stage set in one corner, the room obviously not designed for performances. The lighting was low and warm, the bar top smooth from years of people drinking their worries away. You swing by the bar and order a couple starters. "Vodka red bull for me and…?" She glanced at you.
"Painkiller. Straight up. Uh, let's make that a double. And a couple B52's. And a Kamikaze."
"Woah! It's not gonna be that bad." She rolled her eyes.
With a put upon sigh, that was totally not over dramatic at all, you followed her to a small, slightly sticky, table in a dark corner. It had a perfect view of the stage but even with the house lights up would keep you in shadow.
Natasha settled herself in the chair directly facing the stage knowing you would prefer to have your back to the wall. She knew it gave you the creeps to have your back exposed in a public place. She had always been keenly aware of your comfort level.
"If I hear a single Hillary Duff song, I'm outta here," you grumbled as the waitress set your drinks on the table with a shy smile. "Thanks sweetie." You gave her your best 'imitation thrilled' smile.
After the third rendition of "Hit Me with Your Best Shot", and your second Kamikaze, the first having been downed during what you think was supposed to be "Endless Love" you told Nat you needed a minute and stumbled to the bathroom.
After giving your reflection a pep talk in the mirror, and splashing your face off with some cold water, you took a deep breath and headed back into the nightmare.
As you moved back toward the lounge area you heard the opening bars of "Behind Blue Eyes" strummed softly on a guitar. You stopped where you were and just listened for a seconds. It had always been one of your favorite songs. The person on the stage felt the same way. You could feel the passion bleeding through the notes. Everyone could. There wasn't another sound. Just the guitar. And then a voice. A silky tenor that sent chills racing over your skin.
No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes
And no one knows
What it's like to be hated
To be fated to telling only lies
As you stood there, listening, eyes closed, you knew you would never forgive yourself if you didn't get back out there and see who was singing. You used all your years of training to move silently, not wanting to break the spell the man was weaving. You stepped around the corner just in time for the second verse. Your jaw dropped and you felt liquid heat soak your panties.
No one knows what its like
To feel these feelings
Like i do, and i blame you!
No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through
You stumbled back to your seat and made it just in time for your knees to give out and drop you into the chair. You're eyes were glued to the man on stage. His eyelashes making dark crescent against his cheeks, eyes closed against the lights, the crowd, against the emotion. You had fought beside this man against aliens, monsters, and his own demons yet you had never seen him so vulnerable. So exposed as he was up on that stage.
Steve "Captain fucking America" Rogers, the man you had been in love with from the first moment you laid eyes on him. He had been out jogging and you and Nat ran into him. You're pretty sure you had not made a single articulate sound at that first meeting.
Steve was singing his soul out on stage and it was all you could do not to rush up there and ravishing him. To strip his clothes off in front of everyone and worship that perfect body with your mouth.
No one knows what its like
To feel these feelings
Like i do, and i blame you!
No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through
"How long, Nat?" You fidgeted in your chair. Apparently you weren't as good at hiding things from her as you had hoped. You were unable to take your eyes off the scene in front of you and she knew it. You could here the smirk in her voice.
"About this? Or about you?"
"Nat." You very much wanted answers but you also desperately didn't want to miss a single sound, or move, he made.
"You've never been able to keep secrets from me and as soon as I learned about this I tried to get you here. Next time listen when I try to talk you into things." Nat grumbled. "See if I try to do you any more favors." You lightly punched her in the shoulder and barely suppressed a moan when you turned back to the stage and found depthless blue eyes locked on you.
No one knows what its like
To be the bad man, to be the sad man
Behind blue eyes.
"You know he feels the same way, right?" She looked at you, expectantly. And smacked her head down on the table at your wide-eyed, disbelieving look. "Oh God, you didn't." She groaned in frustration.
For a split second you froze. He had barely disappeared behind the curtain and you were off your chair, headed backstage.