Prompt #4 – Crimson
Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers
Rating: M
"Is it there yet?"
"No, Darcy!"
She rolls over onto her stomach, arms bent so that her hands can form a pillow under her chin. One leg dangles off the edge of the couch, and it, along with her barefoot, are yet another distraction. Steve angles his head just a bit to the left, trying to close out the image and maintain his distance. Darcy's been taunting him all morning, offering up little comments or glimpses of skin, anything that dances right up to the line of provocative and then flits back, all innocence and smiles.
He doesn't want to read intelligence reports, not now, but he has to. Darcy knows that, she even respects it, but that doesn't mean that she has to make it easy. She made that abundantly clear early, along with some very heavy handed allusions to hard.
She props up on her elbows, and the deep V-neck of her t-shirt gapes open. Her breasts, which are never not at the forefront of his imagination, are on full display, round and soft and right there, so close to touch. But he doesn't. Duty before play.
"Is it there yet?" she demands again, sticking her tongue out.
Steve throws the paperwork on the table, and leans forward for inspection. She's smiling, clearly thinking she's won, but he's not so quick to concede to her antics, especially not when he has his own bag of tricks. One easy tug on a wrist is enough to flip her up, so that her back is pressed up against the couch. With nowhere for her to move, Steve launches his own assault. The sucker clatters to the floor, deep red and sticky against the hardwood. Her mouth is sweet and warm, like strawberry jam on a lazy summer afternoon, and her body is soft, but this is merely a border skirmish, a way for him to call her bluff. Before Darcy can take it any further, Steve is back in his chair, body tingling, but mind focused.
Darcy slams her palm against the couch cushion and huffs dramatically, "You are such a tease!"
"Says the woman who's been flashing me cleavage and asking me what color her tongue is for the last hour."
"And you didn't answer!"
Steve laughs, and turns a page. Twenty more and then payback is his. Between now and then, well, it will be torture for both of them, but who's to say that won't be enjoyable later on, too?
"Crimson," he says. "Not quite red, but not purple either. Happy now?"
"No!" She's pouting, but it's all for show. "Fine, just for that, I'm going to go experiment with blue. It will match the metaphorical blue balls that your professional life is giving me at the moment."
She jumps up, off the couch and stomps into the kitchen. He can hear her, rustling through the giant bag of suckers he surprised her with the night before. There will no doubt be three or four viable candidates, and he'll have to endure another hour of oral onslaught, trying not to stare at her, or think about exactly what she's doing to that very round, very blue sucker with her mouth and tongue.
"Check and mate, Miss Lewis," Steve mumbles, as the words all blur together on the page. He may be the tactician, but she's the master strategist, and the next sixty minutes are going to be some of the longest of his life.
He may have won the battle, but she'll most definitely win the war.