Chapter Text
Some days, he hated the shield and the costume. Hated pretending to be perfectly polite and a shining example of the best and the brightest. Some days, he just wanted to be a man.
Some days he just wanted.
Mostly, he had a handle on it. He’d smile and blush and pretend Little Miss Darcy with the hungry blue eyes was just playing with him. Her little joke with good ol’ Captain America. Nothing serious at all.
But then he’d feel her eyes on him, and catch her out in the half-lidded gaze that only seemed to fall on him. She would look away, and he’d watch her drag that thick lower lip between her teeth as she took a deep breath, long and slow and absolutely riveting.
He wants, he wants, he wants, and the worst thing is that he knows he’s not the only one. She’s forever clapping her hand over her mouth and apologising and trying to explain how things are different now, and she’s sorry she’s such a …
He never does hear exactly what she is, but he gets the idea. Too naughty for straight-laced Captain America. Too raw for sweet, shy Steve.
(He wants to walk his fingers up her thigh under the table, all the way to where her stockings end, and then even higher. Wants to dip into her wetness, and slick around her button, and tweak it until his fingers are sliding free. Wants to drive into her, three fingers wide, and make her twist and writhe while Coulson drones on, less than a dozen feet away.)
He adjusts himself discreetly, and turns his body so that he can’t see her in his periphery. Doesn’t mean he can’t feel her, or the thick, heavy air that stretches between them, just waiting for … something. Tip the balance, change the game, break the tension - doesn’t matter which cliche he chooses.
They all need him to be someone else.