[ 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.
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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.