Written for the Hermione Smut 2013 exchange
Author's Note: I have no idea if this turned out as the prompt writer was hoping, but fingers crossed I did it justice! Thank you for such a wonderful starting point, I was really excited when I read it. Thanks also (of course) to my Lancinate and Nathaniel Cardeau, for their wonderful job with editing and suggesting improvements. Y'all are awesome.
Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to their respective owners. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.
Prompt: By day Hermione Granger is an ordinary witch working for the MInistry of magic- doing her part to reestablish their world in the global Magical community and by night she is the 'insert superhero name'- heroine to the downtrodden- light in the darkest of shadow. She is famous for saving woman from the hands of dastardly men- for rescuing children from near death...until one night her plans are foiled by a man in a blue tight fitting suit.
Suggested Kink(s): Again as with the top prompt lol Hermione/Captain America in costume would be beyond hot.
...
Young Legends
...
Pink and orange, purple through to blue, and finally a deep, inky indigo. Dreams of infinity – everything and nothing all at once. Cold winter air, mixed with the oily, dirty stench of smog, snaking through the fine silk of a black mask that has the appearance of a dark nothing.
She shivers a little, and glances down into the alley where the outline of a man's body makes a black patch on the grimy asphalt. He's not dead, just sleeping. The police will think he's drunk, take him to the cells for the night, and ignore the scream that comes from the other side of the bars when he goes to use the toilet in the corner of the concrete box.
She smiles without mirth, and pulls a small piece of paper from her pocket, tossing it down to the ground. It lands on the man's forehead, and doesn't move in the light breeze funnelling down the narrow alleyway.
She leaves a moment later, running across the rooftops, almost flying between buildings. She runs and runs until the man feels years behind her, and she sees nothing but the never-ending stretch of darkening sky above the lights of the city.
…
"I had this dream once, where there were superheroes. Here we all were, minding our own business, when one day this billionaire dude decides he's going to go and build this insane metal battle-suit. The next thing you know, there's aliens coming through some kind of wormhole above New York. Then there're science experiments and gods and crazy ninjas, and Cupids saving the world, half the planet is losing their collective minds, and fuck me, I woke up the next morning and... well it wasn't all a dream, was it?"
There's a man sitting across from her. He's blond and tall, shoulders so wide she's surprised he can fit through doorways. He's wearing a blue button down, grey and white tie, and some grey slacks. He doesn't quite pull off the civvies.
"My favourite's Captain America," he says. "What about you?"
Hermione peers across the table. She narrows her eyes and frowns. "I didn't peg you for a narcissist."
He shrugs and smiles. "He's the only one I know well enough to make any kind of solid assessment."
"Nice save." She slides the folder in front of her across the table. "I appreciate that S.H.I.E.L.D. considers Mistress Quickly to be a priority, but she is one we are more than capable of handling ourselves. Regardless, you're welcome to a copy of the file MI5 holds on her. Some less relevant information has been redacted in the interest of maintaining domestic security."
He picks up the file and flips it open. Frowning, he lifts a sheet of paper, and turns it towards her, eyebrows raised. "This entire file is redacted."
Hermione raises her hands in a gesture of surrender, eyes wide in innocence. "Honestly, Captain. I had no idea."
The corner of his mouth turns up in a wry smile. "Yeah, I find that hard to believe. You spooks are all the same – silver tongued, sneaky, and full of shit." He holds the sheet up to the light, as if trying to see text beneath the thick black bars covering the page.
"Ouch. Language, Captain."
"Kindly go fuck yourself, Agent Granger," he says as he pushes his chair away.
"Awww, you're no fun. I was hoping for at least some kind of grovelling on behalf of Nick Fury. It's always immensely satisfying when that man gets on his metaphorical knees." She shoves her messy brown hair out of her eyes, and blinks up at him innocently.
He leans back down, the tips of his fingers pressing into the table as he looms over her. "I don't play games, Agent Granger. I can assure you, the next time you see me, belittling Director Fury will be the last thing on your mind."
She smiles. "Is that a promise?"
He makes a disgusted face, and pushes back off the table. The bell over the door jangles as he leaves the small cafe, and Hermione reaches across the table and picks up his coffee cup, tossing the lukewarm drink down in one gulp.
"Well, that went well."
…
Mistress Quickly is cold and deadly. Mistress Quickly is lethal but righteous.
Mistress Quickly takes no prisoners. Justice is black and white. Victim and offender. Punishment is grey. Filth deserves filth in return, moral high ground be damned.
She watches and waits, eerily silent. Even her breath makes no sound, as she stands in the corner of the bar. People glance over her, eyes skimming over the dark shadow of the mask, forgetting her existence moments after returning to their drinks.
She's been here for hours, waiting for a man who has slipped the notice of the police; tipped off by a note slipped into a charmed post box, on a street in Hamersmith. He's slimy and sleazy, and likes to take advantage. Tonight he's chatting up a woman at the bar, hands drifting too low on her waist, eyes wandering to every part of her body.
Eventually her target makes his move, steering his inebriated date towards the door. The Mistress shadows them, sliding out the door just before it closes.
The couple walks towards a blue Volkswagen, parked in a small lot next to the bar. The woman stumbles, and the man props her up against the side of the car, kissing her sloppily as she attempts to squirm away. It's then that Mistress Quickly strikes.
She sucks in a breath, and focuses on her magic. A tingle shoots down her arm before she feels a release, and the black of her costume flashes white for a fraction of a second.
A bolt of black nothing slips from her hand, striking the man in the back. He slips to the ground, lifeless. The woman screams and runs, but trips only a few metres from the car.
"Don't run. I'm here to help."
"You..." the woman crawls backwards, heels scraping against the rough surface of the car park. "...killed him. He's..."
"He's sleeping." Mistress Quickly gestures towards an old fashioned phone booth tucked away next to a brick wall at the far end of the row of cars. "I need you to go to that telephone box, pick up the receiver, and speak your address into it. Can you do that?"
The woman nods, and scrambles to her feet. Her legs are scratched from the sharp gravel, and she makes pained noises as she stumbles towards the box.
A few moments later, both the red box and the woman are gone. Mistress Quickly pauses for a moment before touching her right index finger to the man's forehead. He stirs, hands going to his crotch, and Mistress Quickly smiles a grim smile.
"You're welcome."
"Hey!"
She whips her head around, in time to see a shadowy form, dressed in navy and white, barrelling towards her. She ducks just as the figure dives, in an apparent attempt to tackle her to the ground. Scrabbling to her feet, she bolts to the far end of the car park, pressing her hand to her temple.
"You've got nowhere to go, Mistress. Give it up," the man shouts from behind her, but she's not listening. She's concentrating. Feeling the familiar compression sensation of Apparition, she pops out of existence just as he catches up to her, leaving nothing behind but a small piece of parchment, five neatly printed words dark, against the pale yellow.
Thou art an unjust man.
…
"You know, the last time we met, you said Captain America is your favourite Avenger. Now you're telling me you wish Black Widow were here?"
They're at another café, loud and cacophonous. The raucous laughter from a group of teens causes Steve to make a face, and Hermione shoves him in the direction of a table at the back of the room.
"That was a joke."
"I beg to differ."
"Oh?"
"Obviously, it was a cry for help. You're socially maladjusted after missing out on seventy years of humanity's screw ups."
"Agent Granger, I assure you. I'm doing just fine in this century."
"Somehow I can't imagine you and Tony Stark being BFFs."
"Well... he's all right. In small doses." He cocks his head to the side. "Tiny doses."
She laughs and claps him on the shoulder. "I've got a proposition for you." They sit, and she pours a glass of water from the carafe on the table.
"I'm not sure whether to be concerned, or kindly tell you I'm flattered, but I don't think that kind of thing is appropriate for a working relationship."
There's a beat, and Hermione's smile dims momentarily. "I'm not entirely sure I know how to respond to that."
"Wow, Captain forties managed to make the big bad MI5 agent lost for words. I'll admit, I'm a little proud of myself right now." He grins and puffs his chest out, and she bristles a little, covering for the slight blush she can feel colouring her cheeks. "I was in the army for long enough to have learned a pretty decent amount of innuendo, Agent Granger."
"How would President Ellis feel, knowing his symbol of American patriotism is flinging about f-bombs and dirty comebacks?"
"President Ellis didn't even realise when his own VP was being controlled by a psychotic walking furnace. Somehow I think finding out Captain America is just a regular soldier won't be as big of a shock as that one.
She sighs, and crosses her legs. "Look, I didn't ask you here to flirt."
"Oh? Fancy that." His voice is wry, and his lopsided smile makes her mouth go dry. She runs her tongue over her bottom lip and clears her throat.
"I appreciate that S.H.I.E.L.D. sent you here to complete a mission, but there's more going on here than you realise."
"Like the statute of secrecy?"
There's a pause. "What?"
"You think I don't know what you are?"
"You sound like you're fishing for some kind of revelation."
"I may be from the forties, but I'm not an idiot."
She pauses for a moment, and frowns. "And what, exactly do you think I am, Captain Rogers?"
"Manipulating me into saying a word that will probably have a dozen others like you, bearing down on me with the force of a thousand Gandalf the Greys."
"I'm surprised you've found the time to read the Lord of the Rings."
"The Hobbit was released in nineteen thirty-two."
"Depression not on in your neighbourhood?"
"Stop changing the subject."
"What, did you steal it or something?"
He gives her a long look, and leans back in his chair, tipping it up on its legs until he's balanced, feet off the floor and arms crossed.
"I'm not here to banter with you," she says. "I want to come to an agreement."
"I'm not backing down on this - Mistress Quickly poses a threat, and she needs to be neutralised."
"What information has SHIELD given you on the threat? That she's murdering innocent people? Have they told you she's saving women from the hands of rapists? That she took out a man who was about to snatch a young girl from right outside her school? That she has saved dozens of people from hate crimes?" Hermione leans across the table, hands spread wide against the plaid of the tablecloth. "You tell me how that's a bad thing."
Steve's eyebrows raise, and his balance falters a little. She sees him swallow, and he lowers himself quickly, chair legs rapping against the wooden floor of the café. "I'll admit, Agent Granger. I'm struggling to understand your motivations. I thought MI5's goal was to capture Mistress Quickly and detain her." He says MI5 with heavy irony, and he narrows his eyes.
"It is."
"And yet you show sympathy towards her."
"Personally, I just want her out of my hair. That, and I kind of can't disagree with her motivations." She shrugs, and thanks the waiter as he brings their coffee. They're quiet while he walks back toward the counter, and Hermione bristles visibly.
"How do I know what you're telling me is the truth? How do I know you're not spinning some story, throw me off the trail so you can bring her in?"
"You don't."
"Why should I trust you? You're just like her, after all."
"Do you really trust SHIELD?"
"You've sure changed your tune since we last met."
"I have my reasons."
He looks at her, guarded and face pinched in thought. "What's your proposal?"
"Offer her a job."
…
She sees the hulking figure of a man at the entrance to the park, silhouette dark against the street lights and haze of the misty rain. The scum at her feet is still, eyes wide in terror, unable to move. She steps over him and walks towards the edge of the park.
"You know, it's generally frowned upon to attack unsuspecting people in secluded parks," the huge man calls out as she approaches.
"Then what are you here for, then?" He moves closer, the navy and white of his uniform becoming more visible as he approaches. She makes a face when her eyes glance over the shiny star that gleams on his chest. The suit isn't as ostentatious as the American flag number he was sporting during the Battle of New York, but it's not subtle either. The shield is there though, strapped to his back, just peeking out over his enormous shoulders. "You going to arrest me?"
"I've come to talk to you."
"You wouldn't be the first." Her right arm is extended in front of her, fingers spread wide - a threat.
"I really would appreciate it if you didn't zap me."
"Convince me not to."
"I have an offer for you." The rain is heavier now, and he has to shout over the racket of the drops pelting against the parked cars behind him.
"I'm not interested," she responds, stopping a couple of metres away from him.
"At least hear me out."
"What could you possibly offer me that isn't captivity or worse?"
"I want to offer you a job."
She laughs, short and clipped. "A job. You're suggesting I don't already have one."
"You've caught the eye of some powerful people, Mistress Quickly. They want you to join the good guys."
"Or what?"
"Or I kill you."
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline your offer." She holds her hand to her head and takes one last glance at him, eyes the only part of his face visible beneath the black balaclava. "I must say, I don't fancy your chances."
She hears the beginnings of a curious response before popping out of existence, and smiles as she imagines the confused Muggle superhero she has left behind.
…
"Hermione, if you don't sort this Mistress Quickly fiasco out in the next week, I'm going to have to hand the case off to another Auror. We've already got enough Muggles sniffing around speculating about chaos magic and aliens and Merlin knows what else, the last thing I need is for some idiot of an actual MI5 agent to get their hands on her and start asking questions. The Americans are already trying to find excuses to get us kicked out of the UMN, and I don't want this to be the straw that broke the dragon's back."
Hermione crosses her arms and frowns, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. "I really don't think that would be prudent, Harry. For starters, this is a woman who is stopping crimes against other women, and considering I'm currently the only female Auror on staff – a statistic that is frankly disgusting, by the way – I really don't feel anyone else is qualified to handle Mistress Quickly with an appropriate amount of sensitivity. Secondly, we've got S.H.I.E.L.D. and Captain America sniffing around already, and I'm fairly certain if you sent Ron or Gobbs in, they would make an inappropriate joke about ice or Tony Stark's famous sex tape or something, and cause an incident. If you're concerned about the Americans shitting all over our international credibility, I'm really your only chance here."
Harry scratches at his head, and bites at his lip. "I'm taking a risk with my career even letting you have the case."
"Bloody hell, Harry. I'm a glorified goddamn paper pusher. You know I'm the best you have, and you're letting me have this case? The first chance I get to do some actual investigation since that debacle with the trolls and the... stuff, and you're throwing me a bone?"
"I didn't mean it like that."
"Bullshit."
"Look, it took a lot of gratuities to convince the Wizengamot to offer you the lead investigator role, the least you could do is be-"
"Don't even bother finishing that sentence."
"Hermione-"
"No, Harry. Don't bother. I have it under control. Just let me deal with this my way, okay?"
"What are you going to do?"
"Make a deal." She turns and heads for the door to the large office, tugging on her coat as she goes.
"You're not autho-"
"Tell it to the Wizengamot, Harry." She slams the door.
…
"I had this dream once." She's quiet for a long time, and he waits. "There was a woman, and she had two faces... I don't know how it worked, it was weird but then that's dreams right?" She laughs, and shakes her head, looking down at her black-gloved hands. "Anyway, one face is light. Pale and smooth like a doll's. The other is grey. The same as the other, but with no colour to speak of, like most of the light has been sucked from the air around it. I don't normally remember my dreams, but that one just... stuck. So when I started doing what I do, I just decided to take that grey all the way to black."
"There's a metaphor in there."
"Why did you do it?"
"Do what?"
"The heroics."
He shrugs. "It's all I know."
It's been like this for weeks now. At first, he would find her at the scene of a crime, she would slip through his fingers and he would trudge back to his hotel, empty-handed once again. Then there was a shift. She asked him a question - What would you do, Captain? Would you stand by and let it happen, or would you step in? If you weren't the puppet doing the puppeteer's bidding, of course.
He doesn't remember answering, the blood rushing in his ears, and mouth and tongue moving at their own accord. She had grabbed him by the arm, and led him to a rooftop, where they talked for hours. Those words he remembered. Words about politics and religion. Lost lovers and lifelong enemies. Words about existing in a world that is constantly changing.
"Look at us... a couple of idiots masquerading as vigilante superheroes. Keeping our real selves secreted away."
"I like it that way. Sometimes you can know too much about people. Besides, I'm officially sanctioned, not a vigilante."
"You keep telling yourself that, one of these days you'll find yourself cast out. You'll remember this moment, and think 'Mistress Quickly was right'." She thinks back to a time when discovering the person beneath the mask was something she would spend months on. Now, the rose coloured glasses are murky with the stains of blood and dirty souls. "Do you think it's possible to know everything about someone, without feeling the burden of their indiscretions creeping under your skin?"
He thinks for a moment, before turning towards her, peering beneath the hood to the blackness beneath. "I don't know, do you?"
"Sometimes I think maybe it's possible. But then..." She rubs her hand against her thighs, and kicks her heels against the crumbling concrete of the wall. "I don't know, humanity's fucked up."
"I'm really beginning to realise that."
"Gosh, you must be young. Either that or incredibly sheltered."
He laughs, and shakes his head. "I... it could go either way, really. Or neither. I don't know."
"Lie back."
"What?"
"Lie back."
"Why?"
"To look at the stars."
"What? We're in the middle of a huge city, and it's cloudy."
"How do you feel about hand jobs?"
"What?" His voice comes out in a high-pitched squawk, and she grins beneath her mask. "We barely know each other!"
"I find you attractive, do you find me attractive?"
"I... you don't even know what I look like."
"I can see your mouth, that's mighty attractive. And I'm pretty sure I can figure out the rest from those grainy shots from that huge alien invasion thing you fought against. Besides, that's not answering my question."
"Wh- I... um... was it even a question? I mean it was phrased more like a statement, really and-"
"Do you find me attractive, Mister secret SHIELD agent man?" She's leaning close to him now, nose against his neck, their skin separated only by thin layers of fabric.
"I- Yeah. I do."
"But you don't even know what I look like." Her voice is teasing. She pushes him back against the flat roof, and straddles him, her masked face still tucked in against his shoulder as she rolls her body against his. He sucks in a sharp breath, and his hands grip her hips.
"We're right on the edge of the building," he says, voice breaking a little.
"You're the kind of guy who likes it on the edge, aren't you?"
"You seem to be taking that idea far too literally."
She grinds herself down on him and smiles beneath her mask, as she feels him hard beneath her. "You're not doing anything to contradict my point."
He shudders, hands going to her hips. She can feel his legs tense, gripping on to the edge of the building as he pushes himself upright. "Can I kiss you?"
"Mask, remember?" She can feel his skin heating up beneath the fabric of his collar, and she smiles.
"Take it off." His voice is rough, broken. Not at all the confident, deep tone she has become used to.
"I can't," she whispers, as she presses her torso tight against his. "Not without revealing myself to you, and I really don't think we're at that point in our relationship yet."
"But we are at the point where hand jobs are acceptable?"
"Isn't it every woman's dream to get Captain America off on a secluded rooftop?" Her hands are at his belt now, flicking and untucking. After a few moments of fumbling, she groans, and grips at the belt to pull him tight up against her. "How does this suit even work?"
"It has zips."
"Look, I'm just going to..." she trails off, and mutters a spell.
"What did you just... oh." Her hands are running along his bare thighs now, tracing the defined muscles, revelling in the fine smattering of blond hair brushing up against her palms. "I um..."
"Shh." She places a finger on his lips, and he swallows audibly, nodding.
"You're not going to tell me to lay back and think of the President, are you?"
She chooses that moment to grab his cock, running her hand up in a long, slow stroke. He groans, and thrusts up in a desperate jerk.
"No," she says.
It's only minutes before he's coming all over her hand and his jacket, gasping and shaking as she thrusts herself hard against his leg.
…
"I don't see how Mistress Quickly poses a direct threat to SHIELD, Director. She currently engages only with those she deem-" Steve stops in his tracks, half way through his diatribe, while Director Fury continues striding in to the Helicarrier conference room. Hermione smiles, as Steve's eyes fall on her, swivelling her chair a little.
"Well hello, Captain Rogers. Long time. No see."
Steve glowers at her, and stomps towards an empty chair, as far away from her as possible. "Agent Granger. I was led to believe MI5 was taking a step back from Mistress Quickly for the mean time."
"You know what? I think it's time we stopped with the bullshit." She turns back towards the table, and meets Steve's eyes, before glancing at Fury, and gesturing back toward Steve. "He's sitting there in his star spangled leotard, vibrating with the righteousness that can only come from an American idealist, and I think it's only fair that I lay everything out on the table."
Agent Fury, sir. Cameras are down on level eight. Please confirm response procedure.
Fury raises his one visible eyebrow. "I can't possibly imagine what you mean, Agent Granger. Please do enlighten me."
"Excuse me, for a moment." She stands, and raises her hands to her head, focussing on a transformation she has only ever done privately. She feels the moment her appearance changes, a tingle running through every cell of her body. "I imagine you will understand why I've taken the liberty of interfering with your surveillance equipment?"
Steve is frowning, while Director Fury is swearing rather creatively and loudly, as he presses a button and speaks into the intercom. It's Steve, who finally breaks the tension. "All of this... the smoke and mirrors and... violence. All because what? You wanted a job?"
"Well, to be fair, Rogers. The violence was only directed towards disgusting excuses for human beings, and I did save a fair few innocents along the way."
"And the... other stuff."
She looks at him innocently. "I can't imagine what you mean."
He pushes his chair back and stands. She can feel his anger as he strides towards her, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her towards the hallway.
"Hey manhandling is not cool, Captain Hostility."
He stops and turns, eyes hard and cold. "Don't even start with me, Granger."
"Okay, okay. Drag me to your mancave, oh wronged one." He takes hold of her shoulders, and steers her towards a door at the other end of the corridor. "Wasn't it all a bit obvious? You can't really be that surprised. I thought you at least suspected when-"
"If you finish that sentence I swear I will..."
"You'll what?" He's opening the door and pushing her through now, chest tight up against her back. "Put me in a cell? Restrain me? Good luck."
"You tricked me." They're in a waiting room of some sort, hard looking armchairs around a glass coffee table. "All along the only thing you were interested in was getting an in with S.H.I.E.L.D."
"Honestly, Steve. That wasn't-"
"Save it." He's breathing hard, odd considering his physiology. She winces, guilt and a little panic creeping into her otherwise cool exterior. He's holding her against a wall, palms flat against her shoulders. "I studied you, you know. I read as much about you as I could. I got far enough into your past to learn about magic, and underground wars, and all these things I thought to be unbelievable. Then I saw Mistress Quickly in action, and I knew it was all true. But you – you, I never even picked to be the spy type."
"I'm not. I'm-"
"A magical police officer, yes. I know." He pauses, and takes a hand away from her, running it over his face and rolling his head on his shoulders. "You seemed like an anomaly. I was focussing so hard on understanding why you would take a career in law enforcement that the thought you might be taking the law into your own hands never even crossed my mind."
"When you've seen the things I have, any chance at making the world a better place is something you jump at."
He frowns. "You do realise you're preaching to the converted, right?"
"I never meant for this to happen."
"Don't bother lying." He's stepped away from her now, hands crossed over his chest.
"No I mean... obviously I meant to be here. I'm talking about... us. Meeting you, talking to you, liking you." She mirrors his pose, rubbing her hands up and down her upper arms. "I thought you would be this macho, gung-ho military man with muscles where you should have brains. I was wrong. I was so, so wrong."
"Tell it to the World Security Council." He turns and strides back towards the door.
"Steve. Steve. Shit." She transforms back to her normal form and apparates, popping back into existence in between him and the door. He tries to step around her, but she mirrors him. He's clearly not trying very hard to avoid her, and she takes his complacence as a chance to touch him in her real form. Taking a step forward, she places her hands on his torso, and pushes him backwards. He goes willingly. "Just stop. Please hear me out."
"I'm not real interested in listening, right now."
"Then maybe you're interested in this." She's up on her tip-toes before he can object, hand on his neck pulling his head down to her.
He kisses like he talks; passionate yet measured, with a hint of anger simmering beneath the calm. He comes to his senses after a moment, pulling his mouth from hers and pressing their foreheads together. The heat from his body is seeping through her clothes, warming her hands where they're gripping his neck, and she shivers despite the warmth. "Tell me you're not interested, and I'll walk away."
Instead of answering, he kisses her again, hot and hard. He snakes one hand around her back, and lifts her with the other, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist. She feels powerful and in control, despite her prone position, and sucks his bottom lip into her mouth. He gasps against her lips, and manoeuvres them into one of the chairs, and she straddles him as soon as he's settled, pressing hard up against him, grinding and teasing until he grips her hips hard in warning.
Her own hand drifts to his face as he pulls away. She presses her fingers to his lips, and he breathes softly against them. "We shouldn't be doing this." His hand is in her hair now, twisting against her temple and tugging almost painfully.
"Yeah, but I want to." He closes his eyes and groans as she ripples against him again, moving her fingers to her shirt. Before she can undo the top button, he's already pulled it apart, buttons popping and scattering away beneath the other furniture. "Hey, that was Dolce."
"I thought you were a..."
"It's okay, you can say it. Nobody's going to come and snatch you away." She kisses him again, and shrugs off the blue fabric. He whimpers her name into his mouth, and she stiffens.
"What?"
"You've... it's just you've never called me by my name before."
"I'm sorry should I not have? Do you-"
"It's fine. It was just a surprise, that's all." She's trying to unzip his uniform jacket, but her fingers aren't cooperating. He does it for her, and the harsh noise of the zip being pulled fills the room, covering their heavy breathing. He doesn't bother pulling the jacket off fully, instead just shrugging it over his shoulders and letting it remain attached at the belt to his trousers, which have already been miraculously unzipped. His cock is free, resting against his stomach, and he's trying to help her with her own pants, when she sighs in frustration, and stands, shoving them to the ground along with her underwear in one brisk motion.
She's on him again immediately, grinding herself down against him, shivering as she hits the right spot, just as one of his hands snakes beneath her bra and tweaks a nipple. "Oh, fucking hell Steve that's... unh." Her forehead is pressed hard into his neck, and she bites down on his shoulder.
"You okay," he gasps out, as she tugs hard on his short crop of hair. His head jerks back, and her lips are on his again, this time hot and desperate. It's all teeth and lips and no tongue, no finesse. Just tugging and biting and sucking, until she can feel his bottom lip swelling against her own.
"Yeah, I'm great, you?" she finally responds. "I didn't expect you to have so much initiative." Her voice is rough and throaty, and he grins at her in a clear attempt being cocky. In his flushed state, mouth dark and swollen, he only succeeds in looking debauched.
"I have a very friendly neighbour."
"Should I be jealous? I feel like I should be je-ohhh."
He silences her by pressing two fingers into her, and she arches back, body breaking out in goosebumps. Pressing his thumb to her clitoris, he rubs the pads of his fingers firmly inside her, until she's shivering and begging him to stop. That it's too soon, and she wants to fuck him before she comes. He ignores her, and moments later, she's shuddering and whimpering against him, pulsing hard against his digits. Her legs are twitching and shuddering, and he pulls her hard up against him, kissing her as she lays boneless against his chest.
"You have a really nice chest," she finally says, and he laughs.
"Thanks."
"You have a really nice everything, actually."
He smiles sadly. "It all came from a bottle and a magic chamber."
She lifts her head and taps a lazy finger against his forehead. "From what I hear, it all came from what's in here." She's moving against him now, back arched so she can rub herself against the head of his cock. After a few moments she becomes frustrated, not quite managing the right angle, and grabs him roughly. She forces herself down hard, she's slick and ready after her orgasm, if a little sensitive.
It's not long before the muscles in her legs are trembling, struggling to maintain the brutal pace she's set, and he pushes off the chair, switching their positions so she's sitting on the edge, and he's on his knees on the floor. He thrusts into her hard, one arm around her back, the other buried in her hair, as she bites down hard on his shoulder once again. There's nothing but the sound of skin on skin, the wet sound of his flesh against hers, and their harsh, gasping breaths.
She loses herself in him, sensation and want and a little anger mixing in together until she's shivering against him again, orgasm just out of reach.
"Can you...?" Steve doesn't finish his question, just presses his thumb against her clitoris, and she shouts out a word that could be his name, or god, or any number of other indecipherable terms. The word ends in a laugh, as he shudders against her, still thrusting as he comes. She flops back against the chair, chest heaving, nipples poking out above the cups of her bra, which had been shoved down at some point. He leans forward into her, replacing the view of her breasts with one of his still clothed buttocks, and sighs heavily. They stay like that for a long time, not speaking, just breathing.
It's not until they're pulling their clothes on once again, cleaned up with a little help from her wand and his keen eyesight, that she begins to laugh.
"So... are you still mad?"
He looks over at her, where she's pointing her wand at her top button. "Yes."
There's a knock on the door, and the voice of Nick Fury interrupts her response.
"If you two are quite finished having inappropriate, loud, angry sex, I have a proposal I would like to go over before the motherfuckin' helicarrier needs replacing, if you don't mind."
He snorts a laugh, and she shoves him towards the door.
End.