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glynnisi · 8 years ago

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-A mutual birthday gift fic exchange- Happy Birthday (tomorrow, January 8, a birthday of awesome people, apparently... me, @bluecurls8, David Bowie, Elvis, Amber Benson from Buffy fame) to @bluecurls8. :)

She said that she likes the same kind of stuff I do, which played out since we BOTH randomly chose to resolve MUTUAL PINING in our gift stories for each other. :) Hers to me is AWESOME, of course. I hope she likes mine even half as much.

Here’s the prompt I chose: Person 1 and Person 2 try the polar bear plunge and end up spending the rest of the day cuddling with each other in front of a fire. “We’re never doing that again.”“Agreed.”

The Plunge

“Whatcha scared of, Cap? Is it the cold water? If it’s that, then I get it, but if it’s just about getting ogled by everyone when they see you in a bathing suit, then you’re chicken under all that muscle. Ooh! Is it that you think there‘ll be an actual Polar Bear there?” Darcy’s chiding echoed through the cavernous Avengers’ Gymnasium.

Steve paused mid-push up and looked up at Darcy, nearly hopeful. “Will there be a bear?” She’d been trying to convince him to do something called a ‘Polar Bear Plunge’ for several minutes. He’d spent most of that time staring at her luscious legs and missed half of what she said. Next to him, Sam stopped doing push ups and lay down, breathing heavily and struggling to mind his own business while Steve and Darcy danced badly around the heavy mutual attraction that EVERYONE saw clearly, but them.

Clint hit the target bull’s-eye for the one hundred and ninety-second time in a row and snorted a laugh. Natasha, meditating by a window, cracked a smile.

Darcy grinned and shook her head. “Nah. Just people imitating polar bears by running in and out of icy water.” She mock shuddered, pulling her arms in tight across her chest. After Darcy left Jane’s lab and became the Avengers’ media/social media liaison, her wardrobe shifted from bulky sweaters and ratty jeans to professional, vintage-chic pencil skirts and tailored, silk blouses.

Steve forced his gaze away from Darcy and reminded himself that she was in a relationship. He’d seen her having lunch with Ian just the previous day, laughing together with the lucky-as-hell young man (a sight that always bothered Steve so much he had to avoid them). He frowned at himself with impatient censure and resumed his exercise, giving Sam a look that chided his friend into resuming exercise as well. “Well, to be honest, I like my odds with an actual polar bear better than the idea of the other stuff you mentioned.” Steve resumed counting his reps in the vain hope of cooling his ardor. He could hardly walk sometimes after being around Darcy. She shifted closer and he reveled in the scent combination of spicy perfume and femininity that was unique to Darcy Lewis. Intoxicating.

Since the day Darcy Lewis arrived at Avengers Tower, he’d been gone on her. Meeting her boyfriend moments later had been a crushing disappointment, but hadn’t stopped Steve from wishing things different. Soon after her arrival, Steve went out on a long mission and tried to forget Darcy, but failed. He dreamed about her every night and fantasized about her every day, even more after he returned and got to know her. She watched movies with him sometimes, and he made a point of watching the classics that were on her ‘must-see, but haven’t seen yet’ list. It was fun for him to see films with someone who didn’t know what to expect anymore than he did, to just enjoy them without feeling like he had to understand why each film was a cultural touchstone for the other viewer. And Darcy was FUNNY. So, then, he liked and cared about her in addition to being sexually obsessed. He avoided knowing gazes from mind-reading Wanda on a regular basis.

Darcy unconsciously fanned herself with her StarkPad. She supposed that early and frequent hot flashes were inevitable, given that she’d been single for months now and was surrounded by specimens of perfection. She’d never known push ups could be so exciting, but Steve Rogers was doing them and he was unfairly beautiful. And nice. And sassy. And the literal man of her hottest dreams. It made her uneasy to know that there was someone around who could read her mind. The impatient looks Wanda Maximoff gave her sometimes confirmed that Darcy’s sordid fantasies weren’t totally private (and that the younger woman didn’t care to experience Darcy’s perspective on Steve). But, it wasn’t like Darcy could stop fantasizing about Steve Rogers. She hadn’t had it this bad for anyone, ever before.

The careful, seemingly infinite, distance Steve put between them drove her to distraction, like the rest of him. He’d obviously put her in the friend zone and she could only wish she was interesting to the one man she thought near perfection.

Wanda magically crashed two weights together in mid-air and let out a noise like a low growl. Tony chuckled grimly and pushed himself harder than before. Clint shot another bull’s-eye, this time on a target flying through the air fifty feet away.

Steve’s muscles rippled with every movement. The idea of seeing even more of his gorgeous body left Darcy’s mouth dry and her lips buzzing with the ever-growing desire to nip at his skin. There was a place at the juncture of his neck and his sculpted shoulder. She wanted to taste that spot, had nearly assaulted him while watching movies together more than once. She imagined Steve moaning her name, then switched to imagining that she was lying beneath him as he parted her thighs and pushed home. His lips…

“Darcy? Do you hear me?” Steve paused push ups again, arms extended. His brow furrowed as he peered up at her, obviously concerned. Sam took the opportunity to lie down and rest again. He faced away from Steve and Darcy, determined not to get pulled into their nonsense.

Across the gym, Wanda gave up on her exercises and stomped out, muttering, “both are blind and determined to stay that way, unhappier and unhappier. I don’t know how much more I can stand.” Tony frowned as he heard Wanda’s rant. He restarted his movement combination, trying to regain his focus and concentration.

Clint glanced at Steve and Darcy, shook his head impatiently, and went after Wanda. “Hey, kid!” Natasha closed her eyes more tightly and continued her meditation.

Darcy fanned herself more and shook her head. “Yeah. It’s Coney Island people raising money for sick kids and their families, but I’ll just tell them you can’t be bothered.”

Hurt flashed across Steve’s face and Darcy opened her mouth to apologize. He forgave her even before she could speak. “I know you didn’t mean it, Darcy. You’re just trying to get me to do something good for people.”

She nodded, answering smile tremulous. He understood her so well. Why couldn’t he like her as more than a friend? Every insecurity she’d ever had chimed in to answer that self-destructive question.

Steve’s brow furrowed as he noted the distress in her face. He assumed he’d put it there with his lack of response to her request. Of course he wanted to help! He hated himself for being so caught up in lust for Darcy that he disappointed her by seeming uninterested in helping sick children. Guilt twisted his gut.

Across the room, Tony Stark stopped his martial arts workout long enough to roll his eyes in annoyance and offered, “both of you do it, and I’ll chip in a cool two million.”

Rhodey nodded. “Good thinking.” He continued his weight lifting routine. Natasha smiled serenely. Sam nodded and grunted as he resumed doing push ups.

Darcy whirled to face Tony, squeaking, “what?!” She found herself wringing her hands and shivering with dread. Not only had she practically forgotten that anyone else was in the room other than her and Steve, she loathed the idea of a savagely-cold polar plunge. But to bring in that much money for the kids? She’d have to do it.

The billionaire shrugged. “Why not? Don’t you want to help sick kids and their families, Lewis? And Coney Island?” He suppressed a grin as Darcy paled and Steve gaped, face reddening as his gaze swept up Darcy’s body for the fiftieth time that day. Darcy’s jaw tightened as she gave a short nod of acceptance. Tony waggled his brows. “You’re both hot enough in a bathing suit to look good handing over a giant check from me.” He called out, “Friday! Get Lewis set up for tanning and register these two for the Coney Island Polar Bear Plunge. Make up one of those awful check props and set up the deposit to occur the moment these two goofs take the plunge.”

He shot Steve a pointed look and prayed the Captain would understand his double meaning. Watching Steve and Darcy lust for and misread each other had lost its entertainment value months ago. Pepper insisted that it was important for them to figure their feelings out for themselves. But no one had explicitly said Tony couldn’t give them a helpful push by forcing them into a shared trial… that required them to strip down. And he could do something good for sick kids at the same time. Win, win, win.

Friday’s reply was immediate. “Done, Boss.”

---

It was the coldest day of the year. Icy winds whipped across the forbidding Atlantic Ocean waves. Snow fell lightly from dense, gray clouds.

Darcy shuddered and refastened a gold strap on her red surf boots, a gift from Tony that mollified her some since at least her feet would stay warm. Doing interviews on behalf of the Avengers was old hat to her by now, but this was her first time doing one wearing a bath robe and standing in front of at least fifty people (of all genders) dressed up as chorus girls from Captain America’s WWII USO show, in addition to the crowd of thousands that had shown up for the charity spectacle. It was a party atmosphere. Darcy’s robe was Iron Man red with gold piping and had an Avengers patch on the shoulder. She treasured the patch since she knew it was Tony’s way of declaring her part of the team, and the plush robe was sinfully soft. Its warmth would be more than welcome after she took the dreaded plunge. She glanced towards the water as the wind raised goose bumps on her forearms. She didn’t want to think about how cold it was going to feel to go into the ocean. She jerked the robe sleeves down and curled her fingers inside.

Steve, in addition to all she always loved about him, was a PR dream. Her only concern at events with him was the behavior of his overzealous fans. He wore a blue robe and surf boots and smiled good-naturedly to the crowd. If the USO-chorus wannabes fazed him, it didn’t show in his smile for the cameras. Darcy had heard him curse Tony as their car arrived at Coney Island, so she was impressed by Steve’s deception skills. He finished an interview and returned to Darcy’s side.

His lips tightened to a thin line as he glanced at her covered hands and took a deep breath. “It’d be better to start cooling down, Darcy. You don’t want the water to be too much of a shock. It’s pretty cold.” He turned and looked out at the snow-specked ocean. Seeing him in profile always made her think of an eagle, noble and untouchable.

Darcy looked around and realized that others were doing as he suggested. It was almost time for the plunge and the wise were cooling off to gradually acclimate. Lifeguards circled in the crowd and Paramedics watched the throng of participants carefully. People set aside bathrobes and bared winter-white skin, giggling and hopping awkwardly from one foot to the other. Officials were waiting at the announcement stand for Steve and Darcy to present Tony’s check. Darcy unbelted her robe and gestured to her assistant, Charlotte, before taking the garment off and handing it to her.

Steve turned his gaze back to Darcy. His mouth fell open and he forced it shut and swallowed hard, afraid of actually drooling over the sensational sight of her in a bikini.

Wind gusted and Darcy bit back a whine, closed her eyes tight, and groused, “well, fuck me thoroughly,” as icy fury set her to shivering more than she ever had before. Her only consolations were that her skin wasn’t as ghostly white as usual for this time of year and the new bathing suit Tony had paid for was cute. She knew that she looked good. Regardless of that kindness, she wanted to shove Tony Stark into an industrial freezer and leave him there.

Steve blurted, “gladly,” and then choked as though wishing he could unsay the word. It took Darcy a few seconds to realize what he’d said. He blushed deeply and handed his robe to Charlotte, too. Charlotte raised her brows and turned to take the robes to the car without a word to either of them.

Darcy opened her eyes and stared at Steve. “Wait. What?” She was almost too shocked by what he’d said to ogle him. Almost. His bare chest was a work of art that set her to shivering in a different way. That spot at the base of his neck called to her. She held her bottom lip between her teeth.

He ducked his head. “’m sorry, Darcy. I… You’re beautiful and wonderful. I’m crazy about… I shouldn’t. Well, I… Damn. Sorry.”

She stared at him, too stunned to reply or even to respond to the organizers gesturing them over.

Steve reached out and gave her hand an apologetic squeeze and led the way. Darcy squared her shoulders as wolf whistles sounded from the crowd. She guessed that sort of thing was inevitable. Steve’s physique was glorious and her figure had always attracted attention. Again, she cursed Tony. Then, replaying Steve’s words in her head, she stumbled as they took the steps. He tightened his hold on her hand and she heard him apologize to her again, sounding agonized.

Onstage, Darcy’s professionalism took hold and Steve watched her, proudly awestruck by her poise and still reeling from the sight of her beautiful figure. He’d never been so glad for his serum-induced perfect memory. He would forever remember how gorgeous she looked. She said words of thanks to the organizers, expressed the Stark Foundation’s admiration for the Coney Island Polar Bear Club’s dedication to Camp Sunshine, and worked together with Steve to present the gigantic check prop. Then, she introduced Steve.

As her nerves settled, Darcy watched him and listened. The muscles of his back flexed as he talked with his hands, highly distracting. Those muscles might now fascinate her as much as that spot at the base of his neck. She struggled to escape a fantasy of licking her way over every dip and rise of his back. Steve’s USO presentation training showed. More than that, his innate goodness won the crowd over. Even some of the inevitable protesters against Avenger-related collateral damage quieted while Steve talked about being sick when he was a child and how hard it was on his mom. Darcy fell even more in love with him.

All too soon, they were at the start line, facing the icy waves. The herd of excited participants shivered- some screaming happily and some looking faint. A leader gestured for Steve to get in position. Steve grabbed Darcy’s hand and pulled her close. “I’m not trying to be inappropriate, but please stay with me. It looks like things might get crazy and I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

She gave him a small smile of appreciation while gathering her courage.

A few people got rowdy and a drunken fight broke out. Others jeered as the troublemakers were led away by the police. Most of the people in the crowd applauded the officers and called for the plunge to begin. Someone started a silly two-part chant.

“Polar!”

“Bear!”

It gained speed and volume as the excited throng volleyed the words back and forth. The crowd jostled together restlessly.

Unable to wait any longer to ask, Darcy turned to Steve. “Before. Did you say…?”

Steve grimaced. “I’m sorry. I know you’re with Ian and just think of me as a friend. I find you so attractive…” He couldn’t help a lust-filled glance down her figure as he continued, “and I like you. I expressed myself poorly. And my timing was awful, just before you had to speak to the crowd. I can’t apologize enough. I hope you can forgive me.”

Darcy shook her head, dazed. “I’m with…? I’m not dating Ian. After we came to New York, we realized that he and I wanted different things. Ian and I are just friends now.” She bit her lip again, excited by Steve’s confession. Her heart filled with hope.

Steve blinked, hard. “I didn’t know. Jane introduced him as your boyfriend that first day.”

Darcy shrugged, attempting and failing to seem blasé. “We broke it off while you were away on a mission. I’d imagine that Captain America and the Avengers have more important concerns than the sad status of my love life these many lonely months.” She chastised herself for not making it clear to Steve that she was single sooner.

His lips twitched into a small smile. “Well, uh, what about Steve Rogers?”

She tilted her head, expression quizzical. “Huh?”

He chuckled nervously. “God. I’m so bad with women. I should stop talking. It’d be terrible if I talk about myself in the third person.” A nervous giggle escaped her. He sighed. “I’m crazy about you, Darcy. I’ve had it bad for you since we met. Would you please go out with me sometime?”

Darcy smiled, ecstatic. “Yes! I mean… sounds good. Stuff of my dreams kind of good, to be honest. When?”

Steve’s eyes went wide and a big smile lit up his face. It suited him. Darcy reached up and pulled his head down so that she could give him a quick kiss on the lips. They stood close together, overwhelmed by emotion. Darcy’s training kicked in and she realized that their kiss would probably be caught on camera. She couldn’t find it in herself to care.

The chanting died off as someone initiated a countdown. “10…9…8…7…6…” Overeager ‘plungers’ pushed against the start tape, stretching it and moving towards the water. “5…4…3…2…” The last number was lost amid a cacophony of shrieks, curses, and laughter as people dashed forward.

Darcy and Steve grinned nervously at each other and ran into the surf together, hand in hand. She shrieked as the icy water washed over her feet and ankles. Someone screamed, “it doesn’t count unless you go all the way!” Though another swimmer argued with the first speaker, Steve and Darcy trudged further, both determined to finish anything they started. Darcy cursed as a wave slapped into her chest. Steve echoed her sentiments soon after. They both ducked their heads under the water and turned back, shivering. For a few seconds, Darcy gasped and nearly hyperventilated. Involuntary tears ran down her cheeks and she shook from head to toe. Steve grasped her around the waist, partly to steady her on her feet and partly just to touch her.

People thanked Steve for coming and took last-second pictures as he hurried towards the car, Darcy still shaking against his side. Charlotte had towels for them both. As Charlotte held the robe to cover her, Darcy shucked her icy-soaked swimsuit and moaned with pleasure while closing the robe around her chilled body. She sat on the back seat of the car and peeled off the surf boots and scurried inside. The heat was on and it felt fantastic. Darcy groaned with relief, pulled on thick socks, and watched Steve change from his swimsuit to sweatpants under his robe. He leapt into the warmed car after her, sighing happily as he pulled on socks and shoes and retied his robe. Charlotte handed him a thermos of hot chocolate and got in the front seat with the driver. The driver considerately put up the privacy shield to help heat the back seat more quickly for the frozen duo.

When he saw how she still shivered, Steve pulled Darcy onto his lap and wrapped her in his warm embrace. Hugging her felt like the most natural thing in the world, a huge relief after months of thinking her out of his reach. Her teeth chattered, “y… you must have melted lots of Arctic ice. You’re so warm!”

He shook his head and kissed her on the temple. “That’s terrible. You’re about as smooth as I am when it comes to romance, Darce.” She laughed until she started coughing. He held her close and rubbed her back soothingly, his broad hand covering the expanse of her back from side to side in a manner that took her breath away. “It wasn’t as bad as I feared, ya know. The Arctic is MUCH colder.”

Darcy rubbed her eyes and glared. “Sado-masochist! Never again. I’m the kind of girl to wear a heavy sweater in the desert. I like it hot. So, I’ve vowed revenge on Tony St...”

Steve found himself distracted as her robe fell open below the knees. He put a warm hand on her bare leg and pulled it away as she stopped talking, mid-word. She reached down and pressed his hand back down on her skin. “Warm. You. Me. Warmer.”

His grin was sinful. “I’m getting ideas, Darcy. You ought to be careful teasing a guy.”

She snuggled closer and made a noise in the back of her throat. “Who says I’m teasing?” Her pretty eyes gleamed with eagerness.

He kissed her lips, savoring. “Salty.”

She nodded. “Ocean water. Probably kind of icky, too.”

He chuckled, shook his head, and poured her a hot chocolate. She sipped it and enjoyed the feel of his calloused fingers rubbing circles on the tender skin at the back of her knee. It was mesmerizing. When she finished the drink, she relaxed more against him. She was warm again and felt nearly boneless. Steve’s fingers played further up her soft thigh and she savored arousal, not even trying to hold back happy noises that inflamed him. Lust pooled through them both, even as post-adrenaline lassitude set it. She mumbled, “so, you liked me all this time?”

His fingers skimmed up her side like a trail of electricity, then to her jaw. He turned her head and began kissing her deeply, slow and soft kisses. He brushed his nose over her cheek. “Yeah. I like you.”

She squirmed in his lap, enjoying the way he hissed with want. “I like you, too, Steve.” As he kissed languorously down the sensitive skin of her neck, she gasped, “oh, yes. I like you. Oh, yes. That. More.” He groaned lustily, trembling as he delighted in her response.

They both saw the Tower coming into view and reluctantly parted to straighten their robes and smooth their hair. Darcy slipped on boots and then took his hand again. A glance at him caused her to giggle. “Your jaw is really tight. You okay?” He nodded and gave an unconvincing smile. Her grin softened. “Would you feel better if I invite you to my place for lunch?” She squeezed his hand. “My plan for the afternoon involves blankets, a warm fire, coffee, popcorn, and movies. But, you might be able to persuade…”

He swallowed hard as he nodded. “I don’t want to rush things. This is more than…”

She shook her head. “Not rushing. You really need to stop assuming you know what I’m thinking. Your track record…”

He gave her a look of impatience reminding her that he wasn’t the only one to blame, pulled her close, and kissed her hard until she was breathless.

As the car slowed, she pulled away and composed herself. “You guessed right that time, Steve.”

---

Darcy took her time in the shower, letting the hot water wash away the sand and salt of the Atlantic Ocean. She leaned against the bathroom counter wearily and savored the heat of her hair dryer. Dressing was easy. It was comfort time. Soft leggings, fuzzy socks, a long t shirt, and a thick sweater were in order. She made sure to have pretty lingerie underneath, just in case, and put on enough makeup to bolster her confidence.

Steve arrived on time and with a sweet bouquet in hand. The moment the door closed behind him, he broke the awkwardness by kissing her silly again. He had her pressed against the door as their hands began passionate wandering. The delivery guy had to knock three times before Darcy felt presentable enough to answer the door. She was sure the delivery guy thought her manic, with the wide grin she couldn’t repress. Steve was just as bad.

They were happy.

They devoured good, hot soup and sandwiches and settled down on her couch to watch ‘Sabrina’ (with Humphrey Bogart and Audrey Hepburn) by the fire. Darcy had only seen the Harrison Ford version previously, so the original counted on her list. It seemed that version of ‘Sabrina’ was going to stay on that list of movies she hadn’t yet seen though.

Months of pent-up longing led them from warming cuddles into a heated make-out session. Darcy discovered, to her considerable delight, that nipping on that spot at the base of Steve’s neck absolutely wrecked him. So, she did it again and again.

Later, they saw a news report about the Coney Island Polar Plunge on TV. Steve sipped his hot chocolate. “What a crazy way to raise money for a good cause!” He laughed as he looked down at a text on his phone. “Tony says that everyone saw us kissing in the news report, from just before the plunge. Wanda’s delighted that we’re finally happy and he takes full credit. He says we should do the Polar Plunge every year.”

Onscreen, one of the revelers collapsed and was taken away by paramedics. The newscaster reported that person’s full recovery and began discussing the effects of extreme cold on the human body with a doctor. The wisdom of the activity came into question. A member of the club argued counter-point, passionate about health benefits of the plunge.

Darcy shivered, remembering. “Tell Tony that he and Pepper are up next. They look great in bathing suits, too, and we’re never doing that again. He got what he really wanted. We figured things out between us.”

Steve kissed her hand. “Agreed. I’m glad for the charity’s gain, but even happier to be here with you.” He quickly replied to Tony and laughed at the immediate reply that every other Avenger was cheering for him and Darcy ‘FINALLY getting it on’.

Darcy took the phone from him and set it aside. “Looking at that report gave me chills. C’mere and warm me up again.”

Steve pushed Darcy back on the couch and lay over her. “I thought you’d never ask.”

fin

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zephrbabe · 7 years ago

Text

Aversion Tactics

For @bluecurls8, and the ShieldShock Holiday Fic Exchange.

Thanks to @chrissihr for her mega beta skills and @ibelieveinturtles for the title!

Read it on AO3 here.

The ladder-stair to the loft creaks enough that Agent Lewis hears his approach. Steve grimaces a little when she stills in the bed. The air up here is much warmer, but that doesn’t seem to be helping Agent Lewis.

“Agent Lewis, are you asleep?” He hopes his whisper doesn’t carry down to the Howlies.

Her sigh comes from under a thin mound of blankets. “No.”

Steve has to crouch to avoid the ceiling, crab-walking to her bedside. He can hear her teeth chattering.

“Would you- Do you need- I mean to say, are you cold?” He could kick himself. Of course she’s cold. “The serum- I- I run warm. I can-”

“You offering to be my personal hot water bottle, Rogers?” Before Steve can think of a comeback, she says, “Yes, please. I’m freezing my ass off.”

She lifts the edge of the blankets and when Steve pauses, flaps them at him a little and says, “No hanky-panky-” He hears Bucky snort below. “-I’m not about to tarnish the reputation of Captain America.” The sneer in her voice is ruined a little by the way her teeth clip the words as she shivers.

Steve, down to his olive drab undershirt but still in his trousers, climbs into the bed. His socked feet press against the footboard; he’ll be sleeping slightly bent. He doesn’t know where to put his hands.

His indecision must show in his body, because Agent Lewis nearly growls, “I am pretty sure I shouldn’t be this cold, and if you are serious about your offer of body heat, kindly get over yourself and cuddle me, Rogers.”

Steve finds himself smiling in the dark. He bends his knees a bit and turns to his side. Agent Lewis is already reaching for him, her chill fingers fisting in the hem of his shirt. Steve places his hands onto the cool skin of her back, the peach velvet of her skin and the silk of her camisole still damp from the sleet downpour the Howlies and their SSR attaché had driven through. The Howlies had more or less dried out around the cast iron stove in the small house’s main room. Agent Lewis had not.

Agent Carter would never forgive the Howling Commandos if they let her right-hand gal fall ill.

Holding Agent Lewis in his arms is just to avoid Carter’s ire and not at all because Steve is carrying a torch for the diminutive agent. Steve certainly hadn’t fallen for her a little after he’d seen her throw a man over her hip like it was nothing. He certainly doesn’t love her a little for how readily she can get Bucky and the other Howlies to laugh. She is friendly to everyone until they earn the sharp edge of her tongue and he likes that about her, even if she doesn’t seem to like him, much.

And now she’s in his arms, burrowing against him and sighing.

Steve holds still, his arms loose around Agent Lewis. Her shivering subsides and her fists loosen. One hand flattens against his chest and the other falls to his side, a small weight on his ribs. Steve doesn’t have a chance to marvel at how easily she fits against him before she snatches her hands back between them.

Agent Lewis’ voice is throaty and annoyed when she says, “Okay, hypothermia has been averted. Thanks, Rogers.” She rolls over in the tiny bed, her body jostling against him.

He tries to leave a respectful distance between them, but the bed wasn’t built for someone his size and his weight pulls Agent Lewis into the middle of the sagging mattress. With a huff, she reaches around and drags his arm over her waist.

Steve would like to pull her closer, but is aware she would likely rather risk hypothermia again.

Her voice is softer now that she’s turned away, “Get some sleep, Rogers.”

Agent Lewis’ body softens against him as she succumbs to exhaustion. Although Steve expects his serum-enhanced mind to take a while longer to quiet before he can sleep, his eyes won’t stay open. He follows Agent Lewis into the land of Nod before it even occurs to him that she’s rested her hand on top of his, over her hip.

It’s the change of air that half-wakes Steve. Morita is handing off the watch to Falsworth below and Steve hears “...near a foot of snow, but it’s letting up,” deduces all is well, and starts to drift off again.

He realizes he’s on his back, filling the bed on the diagonal, and finally notices that Agent Lewis- Darcy has spread out on top of him. Steve isn’t sure how they managed to get into this position. Her slight weight blankets him, her limbs heavy with sleep. Darcy’s nose is pressed into the crook of his neck, her warm breath dampening his skin. Steve is struck again by how well she fits him, but nothing short of disaster would keep him awake now.

When he wakes, it’s close to daylight. There is stirring down below and in his arms. A glance down, and he sees that Darcy’s eyes are still closed, her face still relaxed in sleep. At the moment, it’s not her pretty face causing the distraction, but another part of her entirely.

Darcy’s leg is slotted between his, her hips rolling as she grinds herself against his thigh. In the warmth of the bed, Steve can still feel how hot she is where she presses herself against him, over and over. If he weren’t already stiff in his pants, the flex of her thigh in just that spot would be enough to raise a dead man.

Unthinking, Steve bends his knee a little so Darcy has a better angle. Her breath hitches and she lets out a low, “Steve.”

The near-silent roughness of her voice has Steve closing his eyes against a wave of wanting. He wants to grip her hips and pull her down against him. He wants to tip her chin up and devour her mouth. He wants to hear her say his name like that again and again.

For a moment, he’s lost in a fantasy of rolling them over in the narrow bed and finding out what noises she’d make if he buried his head between her thighs. For a moment, he envisions everything he wants, until the soft, warm press of her lips on the underside of his jaw jolts him back to reality.

The team is down below; he can hear Dernier and Jones arguing in French over the coffee. They were waylaid by unexpected snow. Col. Phillips and Agent Carter are waiting on their intel. And Darcy doesn’t even like him.

“Darcy-” Steve turns his head in time for her lips to land against his chin instead of his mouth. “Agent Lewis.”

Her body tenses. Steve hadn’t even noticed one of her hands was curled under his waistband until her nails ghost over his belly as she pulls away. She sits up, still straddling one thigh. Her hair is snarled and wild. The blankets have fallen away, and her thin, scanty undergarments sear themselves into his memory. They’re blush pink, but the blush blooming over her chest and down her cheeks is much darker. For a moment, Steve desperately wants to know what it would look like to have her riding him.

She’s gone in an instant and Steve mourns the loss of her warmth.

“Barnes, my uniform, STAT.”

Several pieces of brown clothing come sailing into the loft. Agent Lewis drags her items on without regard to how wrinkled or road-stained anything might be. She’s down the ladder-stair before Steve scrapes his brains together. Dum Dum jokes about losing her tiny boots; Falsworth mentions the weather conditions.

Bucky asks how she slept.

Agent Lewis has enough bravado for any two Howlies and a drier tone than even Col. Phillips, “Like a log. Like a baby. Like I was being warmed by the flame of Lady Liberty herself. I feel so damn well-rested and patriotic, I could probably belch the Star Spangled Banner.”

The Commandos laugh with her and continue breaking camp.

Steve’s uniform pieces are tossed without ceremony up into the loft, followed by his thankfully dry boots.

He picks up his shield from the top of the stairs, ready to be on their way. Before his weight makes the steps creak again, he catches himself. Below, Bucky is asking Agent Lewis something.

“Did you tell him?”

Her tone seems taken aback, “Uh, no. Last night would have been the worst possible time.”

Bucky’s voice is that mixture of amused and exasperated that Steve knows so well, “Spending the night in bed with a man is the worst time to tell him you’re sweet on him? Seems you might have it backwards, there.”

“Shut your gob, Barnes. I said I’d tell him when I’m ready.”

“At this rate, it’ll be the next century before you’re ready, Lewis.”

“Exactly. When I’m ready.”

She and Barnes are drowned out by Morita pulling the M5 in front of the small house. The engine covers Bucky’s answer, but Steve has heard enough to chew over.

Agent Lewis, sweet on him? But Agent Lewis hates the sight of him.

Doesn’t she?

#darcy lewis #steve rogers #darcy x steve #ssr agent darcy lewis #shieldshock holiday fic exchange #bedsharing #maybe some pining #i have it on good authority that this could be considered tsundere

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nauticalparamour · 8 years ago

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Strangers on a Train Tom x Hermione Rated M-ish. Warning: Character Death

Well, here is my contribution for @dulce-de-leche-go‘s Spooky Scary DulceWeen. If you’d like to read last year’s, you can click here.

Huge thank you to @hollowg1rl for alpha reading! Tagging some people who liked the sneak peek or I think just might be interested, but feel free to ignore if it’s not your cup of tea: @weestarmeggie17@sindhooora @perf-patricia @colubrina @katsitting @feelingsinvitae @ash-castle @nerysdax @kreeblimsabs @madziayeon @kakashizzle @evcrythings @tomriddlesnonexistentheart @holysheepfan @svalle099 @snipandsnail @calebski @jheeley @jasperandgemma @meowmerson @kristeristerin @littleredsiren3101 @browneyesandhair @bluecurls8 @bonafake @for-witchcraft-and-wizardry @geekmom13 @imsonick @itisariddle @katemaplebranch @littlemulattokitten @mechengmama @primruesabcd @queenvulca @sableunstable @synoir @thriftycrimson @worthfull1 @xxdustnight88 @ashenrenee

Stomping down the long hallway of the Hogwarts Express, Hermione Granger could feel her irritation only rising higher. She had hoped that walking away from Ron for a while might help her clear her head and keep her from hexing him. She wasn’t entirely sure how, but after only two hours of being in his presence again after a Weasley-free summer, Ronald had already made her flee for a bit of solitude.

Looking into the glass panels of the doors, she knew that she would be beyond lucky to find an empty compartment this late in the train journey, but she was willing to do basically anything at this point to put some space between her and her friend.

To her dismay, she was nearing the very end of the train, and had only one carriage left to find sanctuary. Pushing through the doors to the very last car, she paused for a moment, noticing that the overhead lights seemed to be flickering in time with the steady turn of the locomotive’s wheels. It was a bit eerie, to say the least, but she pressed on, hoping that she would turn up something. Unfortunately, this part of the train was just as full as the rest of it.

That was, until, she came to the very last compartment on the left. Looking inside, she saw just one occupant, a boy that she didn’t recognize. Biting her lower lip, Hermione waffled for a moment, before moving to open the door. Sticking her head in, she gave him a cautious look. “Erm, sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if I could join you for a while? All the others are full,” she lied, knowing that there was a perfectly good compartment further up the train holding her trunk that she could rejoin at any time.

The boy – or young man, really – looked up from the book that he was reading, and gave her a charming smile. “Of course, come in,” he said with a sweep of his hand to the empty bench opposite him.

Hermione cautiously returned the smile. “Cheers. I won’t disturb your reading, I promise,” she thanked him before taking her own seat and staring out the window. Watching the scenery rush by did little to distract her though, and before long she was sighing and grumbling, imagining all the ways that she could hurt Ron Weasley if she wanted.

After she sighed for what must have been the 100th time, the young man coughed, catching her attention, and she found him staring at her with intense blue eyes, a smirk on his face. “Sorry, but is everything alright? You seem quite upset.”

He seemed so sincere that she almost opened up without hesitation. But then, she really looked at him and Hermione realized that she actually had no idea who he was at all. He seemed that he might be about her age, but he hadn’t changed into his uniform yet, and his nondescript grey robes didn’t help to place him. Confusion on her face, she sat up a bit straighter. “I – I’m sorry, I don’t believe that we’ve actually met yet. I’m Hermione Granger,” she introduced, hoping that her shiny prefect’s badge would be it’s own introduction.

“I’m Tom,” he replied, still smiling, but not elaborating further. With his jet black hair, slightly tousled, he was really quite handsome. She was positive that she would have recognized him if she’d seen him before.

“What year are you, Tom?” she asked, hoping that she wasn’t coming across as rude.

“I’m a seventh year,” he said, eyeing up her Gryffindor tie. “Though, I am in Slytherin, so I doubt that we’ve had a reason to cross paths in the past,” he told her smoothly.

Hermione nibbled her lower lip, thinking that his explanation did seem to make sense. Perhaps he had just gone through an impressive growth spurt over the summer? Was he a late bloomer, the same as she had been? It felt a little bit uncomfortable to be sitting with him, knowing so little about him. “Hm, I suppose that’s true,” she conceded, eventually.

Pushing her hair out of her face, she decided that maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible if she opened up to this mysterious Slytherin about her issues. It would be good to get them off of her chest and he’d been decent so far. “I am a bit upset if I’m honest. My good friend Ron is the other Gryffindor prefect in our year, and he’s already slacking off. More or less told me that I could do all of the work for the pair of us, and then skived off our meeting so he could chat to Lavender Brown.” Hermione crossed her hands over her chest, really feeling quite annoyed still that he hadn’t even bothered to show up. “Sometimes he makes me so mad, I could just…ugh…kill him!”

Tom chuckled at her seeming to understand where she was coming from. “I completely know what you mean,” he said, his white teeth glinting perfectly behind an equally perfect smile. Merlin, he was so handsome. “I have had similar experiences.”

Hermione thought that was a bit of a weird thing to say, but she contented herself with looking back out the window, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes on her. It was making her hair stand on end, and when her eyes finally darted back to his face, he was staring at her with a wide grin.

She was shocked when he suddenly stood up, stretching his long legs, before moving to sit in the seat next to her. “You know, Hermione, I had the funniest idea just right now,” he said, his voice having dropped an octave, making her shiver. She was uncomfortable having him sitting so close to her body, feeling his heat seep into her skin, being unused to this kind of male attention. “You and I both have someone that makes us mad enough that we could kill them,” he whispered conspiratorially, his nose scrunched up as if he were telling her a delightful joke. “But of course we couldn’t actually do it…we’d be the first suspects.”

“I didn’t actually mean that I wanted-”

Tom cut her off. “But there is a way around that, isn’t there? I could kill your Ronald, and you could kill someone for me. Both of our problems would be solved, and neither one of us would be traced back to the crime,” his voice was seductive and gravely, his hot breath trailing over her neck while he played with the ends of her hair.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, turning so that she could look at him. “Who do you want killed anyway?” she questioned, not entirely sure how to deflect from the topic at hand. Of course, he couldn’t be serious about killing someone, could he?

“Dumbledore,” he said, viciously, his eyes flashing dangerously.

Hermione couldn’t help herself. She burst our laughing at the absurdity of it all. “Hahaha, yes, Tom. You kill Ron for me, and I will kill Dumbledore for you.” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm as she rolled her eyes, standing up. “You know, Tom, you’ve cheered me right up. I am sure I can return to my friends now that I’ve had a laugh.”

He just smirked at her while she stood up, leaving the carriage, and Tom, behind her.

After her unusual meeting, Hermione didn’t see Tom again. She’d nearly convinced herself that she’d daydreamed the handsome seventh year Slytherin, a figment of her imagination to burn off some homicidal thoughts.

That was, of course, until Ronald Weasley wound up dead in the Great Hall.

It was well into October when it happened. She had waited in the Gryffindor common room for Harry and Ron, wanting to walk down to breakfast with them. Harry had come down confused, telling her that Ron’s bed was made, and he wasn’t anywhere to be found in the boy’s dorm.

“Well, maybe he got so hungry, he decided to go down early,” Hermione had quipped, knowing about their friend’s legendary appetite.

They’d walked down to the Great Hall together, chatting about their upcoming potions essay that Professor Slughorn had assigned. Harry was generally much more excited about potions now that he had his textbook, margins filled to the brim with notes and changes. It irritated Hermione to no end, partly because she thought it was cheating, and partly because he was doing better than her at the subject.

In retrospect, they should have known something was up when they entered the Great Hall. All of the other tables were empty, and everyone was crowded around the Gryffindor table. Upon seeing Harry and Hermione approaching, student parted, whispering, giving them access to the scene in front of them.

Hermione gasped when she saw it, her face transformed by the horror. Ron was laid out on the table, his face a horrifying shape of purple. His bright blue eyes were wide with horror, snot and dried tears covering his face. There was some shape lodged in his throat and a red apple had been forced between his lips. There was no hiding what had happened – he’d choked to death, but someone had done this to him.

Unable to look at it a moment longer, she felt tears spring to her eyes, and pressed her face into Harry’s shoulder. His arms wrapped around her provided her little comfort. She could still hear Lavender, Ron’s girlfriend, wailing. Before long, the Professors were shuffling everyone aside, telling them to return to their common rooms. In the jostling, Hermione was separated from Harry.

Immediately, she could feel dread settle in her stomach. She’d been positive that the mysterious Slytherin from the train had been joking…he hadn’t really intended that they kill people for one another, had he? An icy hand clenched itself around her heart when she realized she’d sarcastically agreed to the plan. Merlin, just what had she gotten herself into?

Scanning the crowd, she easily caught sight of him, leaning against one of the far walls, completely by himself. He was smirking at her, having just taken a bite of bright red apple, the same shade as the one in Ron’s mouth. Hermione stomped over him, feeling more and more nauseous with each step. When she got to his side, he was fully grinning at her. “Admiring my handiwork?” he quipped, clearly enjoying himself and the chaos that was unfolding before them.

“No! I can’t believe you killed my friend!” Hermione said, shoving her hand against his rather solid chest.

He gave her a patronizing little frown. “Oh, but Hermione, we had a deal. I kill your problem, and you kill mine, remember?” Before she could blink, his hand was pressing her hair away from her face, his fingers cupping her jaw lovingly….except for the thumb that was digging into her throat, just nearly cutting off her airway. Her eyes searched the room, hoping that anyone would see what was happening to her, but they were all still caught up in tumult of discovering Ron’s body. His face was transformed to something handsome to something much more sinister. “Now, I’ve held up my end of the bargain, Hermione,” he whispered into her ear.

Again, she looked around for anyone to help her, and she caught Ginny’s watery, shocked eyes. She tried to convey that she needed assistance, but to her dismay, Ginny was pulled into a hug by Luna Lovegood.

Another squeeze of her neck had Hermione’s attention snapped back to Tom’s face. “Now it’s time for you to do your part. Don’t disappoint me,” he demanded.

“I’m not going to kill Dumbledore,” she insisted weakly, bringing her hand up to his wrist, hoping to pry it off, but not getting very far with his iron grip.

“You will,” he said confidently. “You’ve seen what a convincing scene I’ve created here. Don’t you think that I could frame you just as easily?” His voice raised up a pitch, mocking some giddy school girl. “Of course Granger just snapped. Everyone knows how jealous she was that Weasley was dating Lavender Brown.” Another smile slipped on his face, as though he was positive he was going to get his way. Suddenly, her earlier joke about him being too hungry to wait for food tasted like ash in her mouth. “And if that’s not enough incentive, I’ll kill you next if you don’t.”

Pressing her further into the wall, Tom eventually released her from his hold, before walking out of the Great Hall. Hermione rubbed at her neck and wondered if she might have bruises. Knowing she didn’t have time to think on it, she paced over to where her friends were standing, Ginny now wrapped up in Harry’s arms.

“Ginny!” Hermione called, her eyes wild. “Did you recognize that boy I was just talking to? I think he might have had something to do with Ron’s…murder?” She questioned eagerly, before trailing off, hating the way that she’d just stomped all over social norms. Ginny was shocked, grieving, and here she’d just blurted out that Ron was murdered.

The redhead looked horrified, and then concerned. “Hermione, maybe you ought to go lie down…or talk to Madame Pomfrey,” Ginny sniffled. “I didn’t see you talking with anyone.”

The school was unequipped to handle a student death, especially one that was covered so publicly. Harry had stayed with Ginny until the Weasley’s could arrive, and the Professors had fluttered around them, trying to field their grief. Hermione had slipped through the cracks, having been told by the Head Girl to go to Madame Pomfrey for a calming draught and maybe a dreamless sleep potion.

She didn’t go.

Hermione had lied awake in her bed, unable to keep with the memory of Ron’s face still in her mind. Tom’s threats were heavy on her mind, and she was spinning different possible outcomes, many not looking too good for her. She’d thought about telling Harry for about thirty seconds before dismissing that idea out of hand.

In the darkness of her dorm room, one answer sprang to mind. Unfortunately, it meant reaching out to just about the last person that she wanted to: Professor Dumbledore. She just had to hope that he would listen to her and realize that she didn’t promise to kill him. Maybe he would have more information about just who Tom was, too.

Slippers on her feet, she crept down from Gryffindor tower through the halls of Hogwarts. The castle become increasingly terrifying the later it got at night. She navigated her way, avoiding Professors and ghosts alike, down moving staircases until she got to the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore’s office.

“Bertie Botts? Licorice wands? Pepper Imps?” Hermione tried offering up every wizarding confection that she could think of, but to no avail. Biting her lower lip, she knew it was imperative that she speak with Dumbledore as quickly as possible, but she was getting nowhere this way. Of course, it was against the rules to break into a professor’s office, but she needed to speak with him. Raising her wand, she shut her eyes tight. “Confundus.”

Her eyes opened back up at hearing the sound of the stone scraping against the wall, unable to believe that it had actually worked. Still, she eagerly raced up the stairs into the darkness of the Headmaster’s office, finding it empty. Another spell had the room bathed in the unnatural light from the tip of her wand.

Cursing another time, Hermione realized that Dumbledore wasn’t here, and she didn’t actually have any idea of where he slept so that she could wake him up. She had to let him know that his life was in danger, and worse that she knew exactly who was behind Ron’s murder. She wondered if he would understand how she’d gotten involved in the first place, or if he would understand that she’d all thought it was a big joke.

Before she was able to plan her next steps, the floo was flaring bright green and eerie. Dumbledore stepped out of the fireplace, brushing his robes of any imaginary ash, before he was startled by Hermione’s presence. “Miss Granger, what are you doing here?” He asked.

She was unable to see his eyes, as the light of her wand was reflecting off of his half moon spectacles. “Professor, I am sorry for barging in here in the middle of the night, but I had something I had to tell you,” she bit her lower lip, hoping that she had made the correct assumption about the Headmaster. “Your life is in grave danger.”

A cool sensation slid down her spine like ice water. She could sense his presence before he even spoke. There was no second guessing who it was that had pressed their body against her’s, his hand coming around her wand arm, covering her hand. His breath tickled against her ear when he spoke. “I am so proud of you, Hermione. I didn’t think that you’d actually do it.”

“I’m not here to kill him, Tom!” She hissed, wondering how he’d gotten up to the office in the first place. “I’m here to stop you.”

“Who are you talking to Miss Granger?” Dumbledore asked, his normally calm tone betrayed by a slight waver in his voice.

“Don’t you recognize him, Professor?” she questioned, hoping that he’d still be able to see the other boy, even in the darkness of the room. “He’s a Slytherin called Tom.” Belatedly, Hermione realized that she’d never gotten his last name…

“Miss Granger, Hermione…” Dumbledore continued, concern evident on his ghostly features. “There is no one else there, except you and me. Now, why don’t you put down your wand.”

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she shut her eyes closed tightly. How could Dumbledore say that there was no one else there? She could feel the hard wall of muscle behind her, she could feel the heat of Tom’s body seeping into her skin, she could feel his grip on her hand, pointing her wand at her Headmaster. Shaking her head back and forth, she tried to clear out her thoughts. “No!” she said firmly.

“Come on, Hermione, let’s do it together,” Tom whispered, and she could practically feel his smirk, even if she couldn’t see it. “You know the words, you know the wand movement. It would be so simple, and you’d just be holding up our end of the bargain.” She could feel him moving her arm, a quick zigzag pattern, refusing the let up.

“Avada Kedavra!”

The spell echoed in her head, along with Tom’s laughter, long after Dumbledore had fallen in a heap to the floor. She wasn’t sure if it was her or Tom who had said the words in the end, but she dropped her wand the same, feeling as though it had scalded her. What had she done? How had this happened? She’d only wanted to help Professor Dumbledore and in the end, she’d….

Her heart was pounding against her chest, a wild rhythm that she couldn’t see to gain control of. “What did you do?” She questioned, turning around and facing the young man who was supposed to be just another Hogwarts student. At this point, she knew that there was more than meets the eye.

“What did I do?” Tom laughed again, giving her a cheeky smirk. “Well, my dear, sweet Hermione, let me tell you. I’d been living at Hogwarts – a sad, hollow, remnant of a spirit – ever since Harry Potter tried to destroy my diary, biding my time. I’d gained some strength from Ginny Weasley’s soul, but never enough to become corporeal again.”

Hermione stared at him in absolute horror, the wheels in her mind turning rapidly while she pieced together what he was saying. “But that means…you can’t be…”

“Tom Riddle,” he pronounced with a self-satisfied smile. “Or as you might know me, Lord Voldemort.”

She pushed back from him, trying to get out of her grasp, only to nearly trip backwards over Dumbledore’s robes. Tom caught her, pulling her to rest against his chest, his fingers tangled in her hair, and his nose pressed to the crown of her head. It would have been a reassuring and welcoming gesture had it come from anyone but him. “Please let me go,” she begged, trying to get free, but to no avail.

“Your spirit called to me on the Express. You were so angry, and my spirit fed on that, allowing me to appear for you,” he whispered, and she could practically feel his proudness radiating into her. “And now that Dumbledore is dead, well, I’ve absorbed his energy, and I’m fully corporeal again. A second chance at life, and it’s all thanks to you.”

“No, no, no!” Hermione begged, knowing deep down that what he said was true, but not wanting to face the facts. She was ashamed that it was her anger at her friends that had allowed him to get a foothold in her mind. She never would have killed if it hadn’t been for him.

“Yes, Hermione,” Tom said indulgently, as if she were a misbehaving child. “Now the question is, what are you going to do? No one else has seen me, except for you, and everyone will think you’ve gone mad and killed Dumbledore. It was your wand, after all, that cast the fatal spell.”

As much as she wanted to deny it, she knew that what he was saying was true. There was no way that she could explain the situation without ending up in Azkaban, as she didn’t think the Ministry would believe that she was possessed by the spirit of Tom Riddle. All they would see was someone who’d snapped and killed her best friend, and then her Headmaster. They would probably even use it as some kind of propaganda against muggleborns. She couldn’t allow that to happen. “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted quietly.

“Come with me, Hermione. I will take care of you, and all will be well,” he offered in that sweet, crooning voice of his, the rumble of his words in his chest making her eyes droop as her adrenaline waned.

Helpless and without her wand, Hermione nodded, defeated. She allowed Tom to shuffle her to the fireplace, listlessly watching as he took a pinch of floo powder. “Riddle Manor,” he called out confidently, pulling Hermione into the Avada Kedavra green flames.

#spookyscarydulceween #strangers on a train #tomione #tom x hermione #halloween fic #oneshot #dulceween #dulceween2017 #spookyscarydulceween2017 #fanfic #fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #nauticalparamour

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