[ 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.) ]
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.) ]