( ever since tony had announced himself as ironman things had gotten much harder. it didn't help that he, then, named her ceo... something the media didn't take too well. it wasn't that she wasn't capable, no, she had been doing almost all of the work from behind the scenes anyway, but the time at which he had done so sucked. it was difficult to placate the fears of their investors that the company was still striving to be innovative. with its cash cow flying around in a tin can and constantly putting himself in harm's way it was next to impossible to reassure them that stark industries would continue to churn our forward thinking ideas and inventions. )
( a sigh fell from her lips as she ran a finger along the rim of her, now, empty glass. lost in thought she stared out the window, wondering if, perhaps, there had been anything she could have done to salvage the meeting, because it had been nothing short of a train wreck. she didn't drink often ( for a multitude of reasons ) but tonight she saw fit to indulge in a couple of drinks. if she could forget all about this afternoon, then maybe there would be some hope for the remainder of her trip yet. )
[ No matter how exhausted he is, Steve's nights are almost always restless, so he has developed methods for keeping busy between sundown and sunrise. Most of the time he turns to exercise to tire himself out, whether it's a long run or a visit to the Triskelion gyms (he won’t find reinforced punching bags anywhere else). When he’d rather stay in, he passes time by reading or watching something from the endless list of things he missed. None of these sleepless nights are particularly fun, but some are much worse than ever, and every now and then there comes a night that threatens to send Steve on a downward spiral unless he can drive his thoughts away completely. That’s when he goes looking for company — the kind that tends to require little talking and even less thinking.
It isn’t public knowledge that Captain America lives in Washington D.C. running missions for SHIELD, but Steve still takes small measures to avoid being recognized. Nightclubs are ideal for anonymity — loud, dark, and crowded — but he learned the hard way that they’re too much to handle when he’s already on edge. Bars are the next best thing; most are only dimly lit and well populated, and no one expects more than small talk. Hotel bars are even better, filled with tourists instead of regulars, and thereby minimizing any chances of future run-ins around town.
Steve hasn’t been to this hotel before, but he told the doorman he was meeting someone and got directed to the bar without further questions. He takes a seat at the bar, orders a beer, and looks around. After a moment of deliberation, he decides to approach the woman sitting alone at the other end of the bar. From her clothes he can guess she’s here on business, and her body language suggests it hasn’t been a fun trip, but she doesn’t so closed off that she’d turn away company.
By the time that Steve realizes he’s seen her before, he’s too close to turn around. They’ve never met but he’d know even if they didn’t have any mutual acquaintances — she’s Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries. And knowing Tony, she’ll recognize him too.
He only sees one option here: he has to play this like he knew who she was all along, and his real reason for coming over was to introduce himself properly and not to hit on her. So when he’s close enough, Steve smiles like he would when meeting a friend of a friend, and not like he would at someone he was hoping to spend the night with. ]
Ms. Potts? Hi, I’m Steve Ro — [ He cuts himself off, still wary of being recognized by anyone else if they’re overheard. ] Sorry, I hope I’m not bothering you. I just saw you here and thought I should come say hello.
( in her peripherals she notices that someone has joined her at the bar. pep doesn’t look up though she can feel their eyes on her. it’s not like she’d mind the company, but she’s not going to invite them over to watch her beat herself up about work. it wasn’t anything new, but she always tried to keep herself composed while in the public eye, because people twisted and turned things big and small. she sighed, having hoped that she could sneak under the radar, but that would have been too much to ask. )
I’d like another. Please. ( setting the tips of her fingers on the base of her glass she nudges it forward. ) …with a few extra olives.
( but… thinking about it, maybe it’d help her take her mind off of, well, everything. mindless chit chat with a stranger. the more she thought about it the more she started to warm up to the idea. when she felt them looming alongside her she looked up with a smile, though it turned to surprise the moment she realized just who was beside her. ) Mr. Rogers. ( no, she’d never formally met him, but she knew who he was. who didn’t. tony had spoken of him a couple of times, because of his father’s involvement in the super soldier project. that, and she had gotten a chance to see some of shield’s files thanks to his inability to mind his own business. ) It’s nice to finally get to meet you and, no no, not at all. ( she motioned to the seat beside her. ) Sit. Please. I’m just trying to wind down after a long, very long, ( she amended. ) day. ( looking back at her newly refreshed drink she offered a sheepish smile. )
( she caught herself absentmindedly staring at him, because the pictures did him absolutely no justice. he looked a lot better in person. ) Can I get you something to drink? ( uncrossing and recrossing her legs she swallowed, unable to keep her mind from wandering as she combed her eyes over him. ) So what ( she felt her throat go dry as she once again tried to speak. ) what brings you here?
[ Technically, Steve Rogers is not coming home. As a fugitive from his own government and just about every member state in the United Nations, he doesn't get to have a home. Not on paper, anyway. Seeing Daisy is the closest he gets to the illusion of coming home—or at least of leaving the fight—but even visiting can be too great a risk under the wrong conditions. It took a month and some change for the dust to settle enough for him to get away, and that's actually pretty good given his recent track record.
He doesn't tell Daisy beforehand. After being forced to cancel on short notice the last two times he thought he'd get to visit, he's afraid to get her hopes up until he's absolutely certain he can make it. And since it's not as simple as just traveling from one city to another when you're an international fugitive, Steve can't be sure that he'll actually make it until he gets through the front door.
When he finally does reach Daisy's front door, Steve is exhausted from the latest mission, jet lagged from travel, and stomach-gnawingly hungry. Evading surveillance turned an eleven hour journey into a sixteen hour odyssey. And yet, Steve is in his best mood in weeks. He's so eager, in fact, that he doesn't bother knocking. He uses his key and announces himself loudly as the door swings shut behind him. Daisy is a SHIELD agent after all, and getting shot because she took him for an intruder would probably ruin their reunion.
When Daisy doesn't come out to meet him, he turns into the short hallway leading to the bedroom. The door is ajar, so he gives it a soft push and it swings wide open. And then he freezes in the doorway.
The first thing he notices, oddly enough, is that she's wearing his shirt. She's wearing only his shirt, lying at the center of the bed with one hand in a white-knuckle grip around the headboard and the other between her legs. Steve's pants suddenly feel uncomfortably tight.
He clears his throat to get her attention and tries to sound like he has it remotely together when he speaks. ]
Guess I can't blame you for getting started without me.
[ the shirt is warm, and by now, damp with sweat; it clings to the swell of her breasts and the dips above her collarbones even as the extra fabric swims around her waist, a barrier between the sheets that struggles to keep up with daisy's rocking motions. her arms aren't quite long enough to reach exactly where she wants them — the angle isn't quite right, and without it, the pressure not quite firm enough to accomplish the goal — but she's trying.
she has been, for a while, and she's nearly there when the door opens. it's a sound that's factored into many fantasies, the dream of a certain man stepping through the shadows after so many almosts and next times, and daisy falls into it without hesitation; her eyes slide close, a heady sigh and a name breathed out on a rough exhale, a grateful welcome and prayer both.
only then someone speaks — a surprise — and the fantasy falls away with shattering clarity. someone, as it turns out, the same someone called for, the same someone whose shirt clings to naked skin even now. the small toy formerly clutched in daisy's fingers is dropped unceremoniously, left to its own devices in order to roll over her thigh and onto the sheets, as her head jerks up to blink in his direction. ]
Steve? [ no... yes? the beard is new, but — no, that's definitely steve rogers, in the flesh. ] I — fuck.
[ her now-free hand curves over her inner thigh, fingertips teasing against the same place that had been so aggressively stimulated just moments before. suddenly, it's not even close to enough. ]
I guess you caught me. [ she has the decency, at least, to smile. a wicked, slow, decadent smile, but a smile all the same. ] Are you just going to stand there and watch?
[ please, no. (or maybe yes, if you want to torture her.) ]
[ Of the many images burned into Steve’s memory, the unfortunate majority are what one might consider disturbing, if not downright traumatic. This is the rare occasion when he is only too happy to feel an image searing itself into the very grooves of his brain. He won’t forget the way that Daisy's confused expression blooms into surprise, then melts under the heat of her gaze until all that remains is lust, pure and focused.
Steve recognizes the daring glint in her eyes and knows he is doomed. He couldn’t pass up the challenge if he tried and Daisy knows it. That kind of transparency would be a vulnerability in the wrong hands. Hell, it’s a vulnerability in her hands, but he can’t summon the concern he should feel. It’s exhilarating. ]
Maybe. [ He gives her a one-shouldered shrug as he steps into the room, as if he could just leave her to it. They both know better, but where’s the fun in that?
Looks like you were getting along just fine without me. [ He nods toward where the toy lay discarded among the sheets. He isn’t so insecure as to feel jealousy over an inanimate object—after all, it’s his shirt she’s wearing—but that doesn’t mean that he has nothing to prove. And he does intend to prove himself, but first he wants to tease this out past the limits of Daisy’s own self control.
Steve retrieves the armchair in the corner, sets it down at the edge of the bed, and takes a seat. He leans back against the plush cushioning and tries to look relaxed. His new vantage point makes it significantly harder, but he manages not to betray the rush of excitement shooting through his veins. ]
Don’t tell me you’re finished already. [ He doesn’t even try to keep the smirk out of his voice. ]
No, [ breathed out over a laugh as she settles back against the pillows, piled up just so to give her the closest thing to the right angle as possible. it's still not quite exactly what it could be — nothing ever is, no matter how hard she tries to replicate it. nothing is ever quite as right as the weight of him against her body, the heat of his breath against her jaw as he groans her name, the rush of touch and sound and everything else all at once. but she tries, because it's either that or go crazy. ] Not even close.
[ the interruption set her back, anyway. it derailed her fantasy brain, dropped her right off that cliff of pleasure into reality, and though daisy's all too eager to yank him out of that chair and into the bed, she recognizes the challenge he's bouncing back into her court just as well. ]
I never thought you were such a voyeur. [ not a complaint. she considers peeling the shirt off her skin, but there's no denying the way his gaze skims over it, recognition obvious. she'll keep it on for now. ] I might need a little help getting started again, actually.
[ a lift of her brows betrays her intentions. ]
Do you remember when you called me from Paris? All those things you whispered into the phone?
[ tell her again. tell her all the things you've wanted in all the places you've been. if you're going to punish her by not providing them, you'll suffer through thinking of them too. ]
[ Even if the serum hadn't improved his memory recall, Steve would remember every last detail of that conversation. He had called her just a few hours after landing in Paris, an attempt to distract himself from the sour mood that had clouded over him since he arrived in the city. Nostalgia always hit him hard in Europe, where the cultural emphasis on preservation of history kept the ghosts alive for anyone old enough to remember them. Paris had changed, of course, but it also hadn't. The Howling Commandos' preferred bar in town was now a refurbished, upscale restaurant, but the outer facade had barely been touched. Steve had been on the lookout for it once he was oriented enough to more or less recognize the streets, but it still knocked the air out of him to see it there, a relic of the past that was hollowed out to suit the needs of the modern world. A little too on the nose, really.
He was in need of distraction when he called Daisy, but he hadn't meant for the conversation to get so filthy. It started with Daisy asking him how Paris was and him naively answering that he'd rather be wherever she was. Naturally, she asked what he would be doing if they were together, and the conversation quickly escalated from there. ]
I remember. You sent me a selfie from the Capitol rotunda. You were wearing that blazer with the neckline that I still can't believe they allowed in a televised congressional hearing.
[ That one selfie had, without exaggeration, turned Steve's entire mood around. Memories of Paris in wartime were pushed out of his mind to make room for vivid daydreams about what he would have done if only he were close enough to barge into that hearing and steal Daisy away. ]
If memory serves, I said I wanted to pull you between the stacks of the library of congress and slip my hand between the lapels of that jacket. Find out for myself whether you were really wearing a shirt underneath.
[ It was easier to keep a steady voice when he did this over the phone, with only his imagination for supplemental imagery. He isn't quite sure how he managed to string together full sentences when Daisy is lying spread out before him, nothing but his own self control keeping him in his seat. His resolve won't last very long, but he's determined to drag this out until he has Daisy where he wants her: trembling with desperation and begging for his touch. ]
I would've had to cover your mouth to keep you quiet while I sucked a few marks into your neck. Then I'd send you back into that hearing so those decrepit senators who couldn't keep their eyes off you would get my message loud and clear.
[ She's breathless and flushed in the aftermath, fingers still curled through his hair and the unbuttoned shirt hanging off his broad shoulders, her forehead pressed to his and lips hovering over his, colour long since kissed off them and smudged at the edge. Can't hear much of anything over the pounding of her heart or the soft groan lost in the gasp of space between them as he lowers her from how she's hitched up around his hips, pinned between him and the wall, knees still shaky even as her bare feet come back down to solid ground. ]
Bloody hell, [ Peggy manages, her voice more laughter and air than anything of substance. She's hyperaware of everything — the serum's like that, and months after she's woken up in this not-so-foreign future she's still getting used to the changes in her own body — but it's no burden. The buzzing nerves, the hot rush of endorphins in the comedown, the way Steve smells of soap and sweat and her lingering perfume clinging to his skin from how they were pressed flush together during their frantic, passionate lovemaking.
Barely even made it to the bed, not three feet away. It's like that, sometimes, how they get carried away with each other, careening through space and time as always until they meet a (literal) brick wall. Her silk blouse is rumpled, trousers caught around her ankles, and she barely notices any of it as she leans up to drag him in for another kiss, languid and shamelessly open. And they carry on like that until her phone buzzes on the dresser.
Peggy moans into his mouth in protest, hand fumbling blindly until she locates the damned thing and hits a couple buttons until it goes silent. (It may ring again, if it's urgent — and she's rebuilding SHIELD in the ashes of the new world, so it may very well be, but for now they have peace and quiet.) ]
Sorry, [ she murmurs, cradling Steve's face between her hands. ] Where were we?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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( a sigh fell from her lips as she ran a finger along the rim of her, now, empty glass. lost in thought she stared out the window, wondering if, perhaps, there had been anything she could have done to salvage the meeting, because it had been nothing short of a train wreck. she didn't drink often ( for a multitude of reasons ) but tonight she saw fit to indulge in a couple of drinks. if she could forget all about this afternoon, then maybe there would be some hope for the remainder of her trip yet. )
no subject
It isn’t public knowledge that Captain America lives in Washington D.C. running missions for SHIELD, but Steve still takes small measures to avoid being recognized. Nightclubs are ideal for anonymity — loud, dark, and crowded — but he learned the hard way that they’re too much to handle when he’s already on edge. Bars are the next best thing; most are only dimly lit and well populated, and no one expects more than small talk. Hotel bars are even better, filled with tourists instead of regulars, and thereby minimizing any chances of future run-ins around town.
Steve hasn’t been to this hotel before, but he told the doorman he was meeting someone and got directed to the bar without further questions. He takes a seat at the bar, orders a beer, and looks around. After a moment of deliberation, he decides to approach the woman sitting alone at the other end of the bar. From her clothes he can guess she’s here on business, and her body language suggests it hasn’t been a fun trip, but she doesn’t so closed off that she’d turn away company.
By the time that Steve realizes he’s seen her before, he’s too close to turn around. They’ve never met but he’d know even if they didn’t have any mutual acquaintances — she’s Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries. And knowing Tony, she’ll recognize him too.
He only sees one option here: he has to play this like he knew who she was all along, and his real reason for coming over was to introduce himself properly and not to hit on her. So when he’s close enough, Steve smiles like he would when meeting a friend of a friend, and not like he would at someone he was hoping to spend the night with. ]
Ms. Potts? Hi, I’m Steve Ro — [ He cuts himself off, still wary of being recognized by anyone else if they’re overheard. ] Sorry, I hope I’m not bothering you. I just saw you here and thought I should come say hello.
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I’d like another. Please. ( setting the tips of her fingers on the base of her glass she nudges it forward. ) …with a few extra olives.
( but… thinking about it, maybe it’d help her take her mind off of, well, everything. mindless chit chat with a stranger. the more she thought about it the more she started to warm up to the idea. when she felt them looming alongside her she looked up with a smile, though it turned to surprise the moment she realized just who was beside her. ) Mr. Rogers. ( no, she’d never formally met him, but she knew who he was. who didn’t. tony had spoken of him a couple of times, because of his father’s involvement in the super soldier project. that, and she had gotten a chance to see some of shield’s files thanks to his inability to mind his own business. ) It’s nice to finally get to meet you and, no no, not at all. ( she motioned to the seat beside her. ) Sit. Please. I’m just trying to wind down after a long, very long, ( she amended. ) day. ( looking back at her newly refreshed drink she offered a sheepish smile. )
( she caught herself absentmindedly staring at him, because the pictures did him absolutely no justice. he looked a lot better in person. ) Can I get you something to drink? ( uncrossing and recrossing her legs she swallowed, unable to keep her mind from wandering as she combed her eyes over him. ) So what ( she felt her throat go dry as she once again tried to speak. ) what brings you here?
eudio verse let's roll
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@evite
He doesn't tell Daisy beforehand. After being forced to cancel on short notice the last two times he thought he'd get to visit, he's afraid to get her hopes up until he's absolutely certain he can make it. And since it's not as simple as just traveling from one city to another when you're an international fugitive, Steve can't be sure that he'll actually make it until he gets through the front door.
When he finally does reach Daisy's front door, Steve is exhausted from the latest mission, jet lagged from travel, and stomach-gnawingly hungry. Evading surveillance turned an eleven hour journey into a sixteen hour odyssey. And yet, Steve is in his best mood in weeks. He's so eager, in fact, that he doesn't bother knocking. He uses his key and announces himself loudly as the door swings shut behind him. Daisy is a SHIELD agent after all, and getting shot because she took him for an intruder would probably ruin their reunion.
When Daisy doesn't come out to meet him, he turns into the short hallway leading to the bedroom. The door is ajar, so he gives it a soft push and it swings wide open. And then he freezes in the doorway.
The first thing he notices, oddly enough, is that she's wearing his shirt. She's wearing only his shirt, lying at the center of the bed with one hand in a white-knuckle grip around the headboard and the other between her legs. Steve's pants suddenly feel uncomfortably tight.
He clears his throat to get her attention and tries to sound like he has it remotely together when he speaks. ]
Guess I can't blame you for getting started without me.
no subject
she has been, for a while, and she's nearly there when the door opens. it's a sound that's factored into many fantasies, the dream of a certain man stepping through the shadows after so many almosts and next times, and daisy falls into it without hesitation; her eyes slide close, a heady sigh and a name breathed out on a rough exhale, a grateful welcome and prayer both.
only then someone speaks — a surprise — and the fantasy falls away with shattering clarity. someone, as it turns out, the same someone called for, the same someone whose shirt clings to naked skin even now. the small toy formerly clutched in daisy's fingers is dropped unceremoniously, left to its own devices in order to roll over her thigh and onto the sheets, as her head jerks up to blink in his direction. ]
Steve? [ no... yes? the beard is new, but — no, that's definitely steve rogers, in the flesh. ] I — fuck.
[ her now-free hand curves over her inner thigh, fingertips teasing against the same place that had been so aggressively stimulated just moments before. suddenly, it's not even close to enough. ]
I guess you caught me. [ she has the decency, at least, to smile. a wicked, slow, decadent smile, but a smile all the same. ] Are you just going to stand there and watch?
[ please, no. (or maybe yes, if you want to torture her.) ]
no subject
Steve recognizes the daring glint in her eyes and knows he is doomed. He couldn’t pass up the challenge if he tried and Daisy knows it. That kind of transparency would be a vulnerability in the wrong hands. Hell, it’s a vulnerability in her hands, but he can’t summon the concern he should feel. It’s exhilarating. ]
Maybe. [ He gives her a one-shouldered shrug as he steps into the room, as if he could just leave her to it. They both know better, but where’s the fun in that?
Looks like you were getting along just fine without me. [ He nods toward where the toy lay discarded among the sheets. He isn’t so insecure as to feel jealousy over an inanimate object—after all, it’s his shirt she’s wearing—but that doesn’t mean that he has nothing to prove. And he does intend to prove himself, but first he wants to tease this out past the limits of Daisy’s own self control.
Steve retrieves the armchair in the corner, sets it down at the edge of the bed, and takes a seat. He leans back against the plush cushioning and tries to look relaxed. His new vantage point makes it significantly harder, but he manages not to betray the rush of excitement shooting through his veins. ]
Don’t tell me you’re finished already. [ He doesn’t even try to keep the smirk out of his voice. ]
no subject
[ the interruption set her back, anyway. it derailed her fantasy brain, dropped her right off that cliff of pleasure into reality, and though daisy's all too eager to yank him out of that chair and into the bed, she recognizes the challenge he's bouncing back into her court just as well. ]
I never thought you were such a voyeur. [ not a complaint. she considers peeling the shirt off her skin, but there's no denying the way his gaze skims over it, recognition obvious. she'll keep it on for now. ] I might need a little help getting started again, actually.
[ a lift of her brows betrays her intentions. ]
Do you remember when you called me from Paris? All those things you whispered into the phone?
[ tell her again. tell her all the things you've wanted in all the places you've been. if you're going to punish her by not providing them, you'll suffer through thinking of them too. ]
no subject
He was in need of distraction when he called Daisy, but he hadn't meant for the conversation to get so filthy. It started with Daisy asking him how Paris was and him naively answering that he'd rather be wherever she was. Naturally, she asked what he would be doing if they were together, and the conversation quickly escalated from there. ]
I remember. You sent me a selfie from the Capitol rotunda. You were wearing that blazer with the neckline that I still can't believe they allowed in a televised congressional hearing.
[ That one selfie had, without exaggeration, turned Steve's entire mood around. Memories of Paris in wartime were pushed out of his mind to make room for vivid daydreams about what he would have done if only he were close enough to barge into that hearing and steal Daisy away. ]
If memory serves, I said I wanted to pull you between the stacks of the library of congress and slip my hand between the lapels of that jacket. Find out for myself whether you were really wearing a shirt underneath.
[ It was easier to keep a steady voice when he did this over the phone, with only his imagination for supplemental imagery. He isn't quite sure how he managed to string together full sentences when Daisy is lying spread out before him, nothing but his own self control keeping him in his seat. His resolve won't last very long, but he's determined to drag this out until he has Daisy where he wants her: trembling with desperation and begging for his touch. ]
I would've had to cover your mouth to keep you quiet while I sucked a few marks into your neck. Then I'd send you back into that hearing so those decrepit senators who couldn't keep their eyes off you would get my message loud and clear.
mumbles something about future au idk
Bloody hell, [ Peggy manages, her voice more laughter and air than anything of substance. She's hyperaware of everything — the serum's like that, and months after she's woken up in this not-so-foreign future she's still getting used to the changes in her own body — but it's no burden. The buzzing nerves, the hot rush of endorphins in the comedown, the way Steve smells of soap and sweat and her lingering perfume clinging to his skin from how they were pressed flush together during their frantic, passionate lovemaking.
Barely even made it to the bed, not three feet away. It's like that, sometimes, how they get carried away with each other, careening through space and time as always until they meet a (literal) brick wall. Her silk blouse is rumpled, trousers caught around her ankles, and she barely notices any of it as she leans up to drag him in for another kiss, languid and shamelessly open. And they carry on like that until her phone buzzes on the dresser.
Peggy moans into his mouth in protest, hand fumbling blindly until she locates the damned thing and hits a couple buttons until it goes silent. (It may ring again, if it's urgent — and she's rebuilding SHIELD in the ashes of the new world, so it may very well be, but for now they have peace and quiet.) ]
Sorry, [ she murmurs, cradling Steve's face between her hands. ] Where were we?