A/N: Hola! This is my first story on here, so I hope you enjoy it. That also means I am looking forward to your constructive criticism *wink wink*. This is also rated 'M' for a reason. Yes, there is some sexiness involved, but it's not a major part, and I will not go into major detail . . . I'm not a pervert like that. But, still, it is there, and if you don't like that kind of stuff then . . . YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. But, in case, I will put a warning in the beginning of each chapter so you know what to look out for. For example:

WARNING: Brief consensual, heterosexual intercourse. ('Cause I want to sound all professional and stuff *winky face*. But seriously, I'm cracking up at myself for actually writing it like that. Oh gosh... *facepalm*)

Disclaimer: Marvel is obviously not mine. Unless I'm Stan Lee and I just don't know it. Though that would be fricking awesome, that would also be weird on a number of levels.

Part 1 "Like a Virgin . . ."

Gonna give you all my love, boy

My fear is fading fast

Been saving it all for you

'Cause only love can last . . .

~Like a Virgin, Madonna

The tall, blonde man peered out the corner of his eye at the skinny-as-a-stick brunette on the far end of the bar. She smiled seductively at him and waved her fingers in his direction. He smiled awkwardly back and turned back toward his drink, a blush creeping up his neck.

He didn't know what he was doing here. He doesn't go out to bars, he doesn't drink, and he certaintly does not do all this in the middle of a crisis. Well, it's not a big crisis. Just a bank robbery a couple blocks down. And Natasha had willingly taken it. He shouldn't be feeling bad about it. Someone else was there. But still, he was the leader, after all!

Steve Rogers's conflicting thoughts were cut short by someone slipping onto the barstool next to him. He heard a bold, feminine voice call out for "a bottle of Jack Daniel's . . . and just bring the whole damn thing this time." Steve turned slightly to see the person next to him. There sat a woman in about her early twenties, wth close-cropped auburn hair, and the build of an athlete: lean and muscled.

She must've felt Steve staring because she looked over at him curiously. Their eyes met, and instantly, Steve was overwhelmed. Her eyes were the color of a dense, tropical forest. Or of Dr. Bruce Banner's skin when he was Hulked-out.

"Hey," she greeted warmly. "I know you. You're, uh, Captain Rogers, right?" She held and small calloused hand out to him. "I'm Grace Carter. 'S pleasure."

Steve took her hand in his, finding it surprisingly soft, despite its rough outward appearance. "The pleasure is all mine, ma'am." He let go of her hand reluctantly.

"So," she took the bottle into her hands once the bartender laid it down on the counter, screwed off the cap, and took a long swig before continuing, "what brings you to a place like this? Figured you'd be saving the world, or something. Or, ya know, at least stopping that robbery on Clark Street." She raised her eyebrows at him, grinning.

Steve smiled awkwardly back. "Well, apparently, the world doesn't need saving. And that robbery is under control." He took a long slug of his beer, cringing at the taste, but relishing in the waves of dizziness it caused in his head. If he got lucky, maybe he would stay drunk for a while before the super-soldier metabolism he had burned the alcohol out of his system.

Grace held out her hands in mock-surrender and took another sip of the alcohol. "I wasn't doubting you there, big guy," she chuckled. "If it wasn't under control, you wouldn't be here right now."

Steve's eyebrows furrowed in confusion and he glanced over at Grace, finding her staring at him with wide eyes. "Why do you think that?" he asked softly.

Grace shrugged and turned back to her bottle. "Because you're just that kind of man," she replied, her voice muffled by the bottle at her lips.

"And what kind of man is that?" the Captain scoffed, placing the beer bottle back on the table and swirling it around between his large fingers. "I'm not much."

Steve felt a hand on his shoulder and, when he turned his head, Grace's face lit up in a smirk. "A good one. You're a good man."

They sat there at the bar for a while, just chatting. It seemed they really didn't need to do anything else. And, luckily for Steve, they didn't talk about anything important or personal. Just small nothings. Well, for most of the time anyway.

"So, what's the craziest thing you've ever done, Mr. Rogers?" Grace asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Steve threw his head back and laughed, the chuckle bubbling from deep within himself. The first real laugh he'd had in a while. "The craziest thing I've ever done was probably this time I sat in a bar talking to a drunk woman about the craziest things we've ever done." There was a large grin on his face for the first time in a while.

Grace giggled and punched Steve playfully on his shoulder. She poured herself another shot and threw it back. Her seventh one, Steve observed. She really can hold her alcohol.

"So, what about you, Miss Carter?" Steve asked, peering at her from the corner of his eye. He noticed how, even though she smelled strongly of alcohol, she was still wonderfully beautiful. He studied her full, pink lips and imagined how they would taste if he kissed her. Like Jack Daniels and something sweet. He was sure of it.

"What about me?" Grace asked sarcastically. She made her eyes wide, going for innocent, but they still held that mischievous glint that Steve was already, surprisingly, getting used to.

Steve rose his eyebrows and chuckled. Thanks to his liquid courage, he continued on with the question. If he had been in his regular condition, none of this would have been happening. He would've been to awkward to do more than nod and refuse to make eye contact. Even though he was-Steve had to admit-pretty good-looking, he'd only been that way for, though technically 70 years, it still felt pretty new. Since the better part of the past 70 years had been past by Steve trapped in a block of ice, he hadn't really had much time to speak with the ladies.

"What's the craziest thing you've ever done?"

For some reason, Grace's smile turned sad. "Fall in love," she whispered, looking down at the empty shot glass in her hand. Her eyes suddenly got big and she looked up at Steve, her mouth in a small 'o'. "I-I'm sorry," she stuttered on. "I don't know where that came from!"

He chuckled, though a little more seriously this time. "It's okay. You don't have to apologize. Thank you for telling me, even if you didn't want to."

Steve realized his mistake, right as the words fell out of his mouth.

"Why would you thank me for something like that?" Grace murmured, her eyes wide once more. This time, however, they were full of innocent curiousity.

Steve gazed back down at his drink, twirling it in small, circular motions. "To be perfectly honest, I don't know." He looked back up at her, a lopsided grin on his face. "But it probably doesn't even matter. I say a lot of stupid things when I'm drunk. Or so I've been told."

Grace giggled and rose the shot glass to her lips yet again. "I can't say I really get drunk that often, but, uh, when I do . . ." Grace trailed off a moment, her face already a deep crimson. She took a deep breath and continued. "I've been known to be a little . . . out of it. Sometimes, I act like the exact opposite of how I usually am."

Steve gave her a little smirk. "How are you usually?"

Grace mimicked his smirk. She leaned close to his ear. When her breath hit his lobe, he shuddered at the warmth and the feel of it. "I'm pretty damn wild," she murmured.

Gosh dang, he couldn't take it anymore! He knew now that she was trying to seduce him. Thinking back to the past few hours, he finally saw that her advances began the moment she started talking to him, some just more subtle than others. Right now, she was not being subtle.

Grace leaned back from Steve's face a little, but, if he wanted, he could probably stick out his tongue and touch the tip of her nose. "I've never done this before, but, uh, will you . . ."

Grace didn't get to finish her request because Steve had already grabbed her by the hand and led her out the doors of Vinnie's Bar. But not before leaving a substantial amount of money on the counter for the drinks and, of course, a nice tip.

As they walked down the street, Grace clutched to Steve's arm to keep her balance. Her eight shots had left a little more than buzzing, and it was hard for her to stand by herself, let alone walk. Pretty soon, becoming more impatient at the minute, Steve snatched Grace up, carrying her bridal-style. The whole time after that up to Steve's loft in the Stark Tower, they were both giggling giddily.

After getting into his apartment, he set Grace down on his bed. Steve soon started to panic, as Grace's hands immediately started to travel toward the buttons on her shirt. He watched in amazement as she stripped down to nothing but her bra and panties, if Steve could even call them that. Steve noted her G-string and small, lacy bra. Steve was surprised at himself for remembering what a G-string even was. He was slow on remembering all the gadgets of today.) He also noted that her hands were deftly removing his wife beater and white undershirt.

As she did so, Grace took in every nook and cranny of Steve's body, relishing in the thought that he would be on her . . . kissing her . . . in her.

When Steve's shirt hit the floor, Grace's hands explored his chest. Her fingertips traced his collar bone and she could swear she heard him moan an almost inaudible moan. Egged on by his reaction, Grace continued her trek down Steve's chest and stopped for a pit stop at his right nipple. She craned her neck a little so she could flick her tongue over the little bud. Even though she was kneeling on the bed (which was already two feet off the ground), Steve still towered over her when she was on her knees.

Her fingers slid down his waist, stopping at the zipper in his pants. She could already sense the buldge forming in Steve's pants. She smiled deviously and slowly, agonizingly pulled down the zipper. She slid both Steve's slacks and his boxers down to his ankles. She then grabbed his wrist and led him down, on top of her on the bed.

Steve's fingers did the same as Grace's had done a few moments earlier. They slid from her collarbone, taking a detour to her breasts. He cupped the mounds through the satiny fabric of her bra. She almost instantly reacted as Steve's mouth found her left nipple, his forefinger and thumb tweaking the right one. Her back arched into him, a low, guttural growl radiating from her chest in pure pleasure.

Grace suddenly shot up and, as fast as she could, slid off the rest of her clothes, leaving them both wonderfully naked and already panting. Steve instinctively lowered himself between her thighs and entered her in a diliberately slow thrust, not wanting to injure her in any way.

He continued his slow rhythm until Grace started meeting him halfway. He took that as an indication to take things a little faster. Upping his pace, her felt himself nearing his own climax, but wondering whether Grace was, as well. (This was, in fact, his first time.) He took into consideration the fact that her eyes were closed and she made low, animalistic groans with every thrust, but Steve didn't fully know. He was never good at reading women.

Suddenly, her walls contracted around him and her groans turned into . . . well, they turned into screams. For a whole minute, all Grace did was grasp Steve's hair and shout obscenities that could only translate into curses of pleasure. He definitely needed to learn how to read women.

Because of her sudden release, Steve found himself giving into the urge of release, but was unsure of how she . . . wanted it to happen.

He sped up his pace and his grunts became louder as the wave of pleasure started to course through him.

He could vaguely hear Grace beneath him, screaming through yet another climax.

After his climax, he slipped out of Grace and held her tight against his chest. He felt her lips turn upward into his shoulder. Steve reveled in the feeling of euphoria he had after making lo-er, having sex with Grace. Steve reminded himself that this was probably going to turn out to be a one-night-stand, like Tony and Clint had mentioned they'd had plenty of times after getting drunk at bars. But he still enjoyed the feeling of Grace in his arms . . . her face buried into his neck . . . her chest moving up and down with every breath she took . . . knowing that she hadn't run right after. For some reason, Steve thought, I could get used to this.