Darcy/Bucky/Steve 4
Darcy sat up in the bed. She opened her eyes, wincing when reality flooded in that, yup, this wasn't her room. Definitely not her room. For one, her sheets were way softer than this shit. She made a face as she looked down at the nondescript cream sheets of questionable thread count. Yeah, fuck this.
Also, she was alone. The bedspread on the other side of the bed had been pushed back when the bed's other occupant had gotten up that morning. Idly, she wondered if he made his bed. Not like she was judging, she sure as shit never did. But... Probably. He seemed like the bed-making type. Military guys tended to make their beds as a holdover from the service.
She swung her feet over the side of the bed, letting them fall onto the beige carpet. She wiggled her bare toes against the carpet for a second before pulling herself out of bed. “Clothes,” she muttered.”
That was... easier said than done. They'd been a little, um, enthusiastic or whatever last night, and now her bra was... hanging from the light fixture. There was no way Darcy was getting it down, not without a ladder.
She grabbed her phone from the pocket of her pants which were, thankfully, on the floor next to the bed, and started typing out a text message.
Hey. Can you grab my bra when you get back to your apartment? It's in your room, can't miss it.
Sighing, she hit send, and rested her hands on her hips to find the rest of her clothes. The pants were there. The shirt was... Over by the closet, but definitely low enough to the ground to reach. Her panties were on top of the dresser? Whatever.
Darcy pulled her clothes on, all except her bra which she gave another baleful look at as she stood directly under the light. At least she didn't have far to go to get to her own apartment. With any luck, she wouldn't even run into anyone on the way.
She was totally raiding the coffee pot before she left, though. She could smell the rich scent practically beckoning to her all the way from the kitchen, and she pushed her hair out of her face as she followed the inviting scent.
What- or rather, who- she saw in the kitchen stopped her cold. There was already a man there getting himself a cup of coffee. His dark hair was pulled back into a bun, and he wasn't wearing a shirt. Darcy's brain short-circuited for a second at the sight of the muscles working in his back as he slid the coffee pot back into place.
“You're not supposed to be here,” she accused, folding her arms over her chest in an attempt to tame her wayward boobs, at least a little. It was true, though, Steve had told her that James would be gone all night long, which was why she had agreed to come back here instead of heading to her own apartment. “I thought you got up early anyway.”
“I usually do, when someone's not keepin' me up all night. Learned somethin', though.” His mouth curved up into a smile that could only be categorized as dangerous. “About you.”
Her eyebrows rose up her forehead and she leaned against the doorless frame she was standing in. “Oh yeah? What's that?” James was... A pain in her fucking ass. It was like he existed to push her buttons. Which meant that this... This probably wasn't something she wanted to hear.
“You moan when Stevie's on top, but you make this kinda squeaky noise when he fucks you from behind.”
Nope. She was right. That wasn't something she wanted to hear. She rolled her eyes, not bothering to answer him as she moved over to where the coffee pot was. She pulled a mug out of the cupboard above it, just a plain black one, letting it rest heavily on the counter while she pulled the coffee pot out of the machine and began pouring it.
There was, like, a third of a cup of coffee. It jostled angrily as she slid it back into place, turning to glare up at James. “Did you really just steal the last of the fucking coffee?”
He arched an eyebrow at her. “Last I checked, you didn't actually live here.”
“Yeah, but you're not supposed to be here!” There was a little voice in the back of her mind that knew she wasn't exactly being rational. But he wasn't supposed to be here.
He rested his own mug on the counter and stepped into her until he'd pressed her back against the counter, his hands gripping the edge of it on either side of her. “Is that a problem?”
Darcy looked up at him wordlessly. She wanted to say something to him, but she was acutely aware of her morning breath with a shade of fur from last night's tequila. She settled for narrowing her eyes in a glare as she tried not to concentrate on the way his pulse was hammering visibly in his throat under all that dark stubble that would feel really fucking good against the insides of her thighs.
He leaned forward until she could feel his breath against her ear, and her eyes fluttered shut. “Or is that just a problem 'cause I didn't come in and see what kind of noises you make with your thighs up around my ears?”
Her belly rolled over as a flash of heat went through her. She turned her face towards him until she was breathing in the scent of what smelled like shampoo over the sharp smell of metal. His knee pressed between her legs as his lips moved against her earlobe.
“You still here, Darce?”
Steve's words pulled Darcy's head back sharply enough that she smacked it against the cupboard behind her. And James just started laughing. She glared at him as she rubbed at the back of her head, but he made no move to pull away.
Steve came into view. He looked at them for a moment, one eyebrow arching as a small smile turned up his lips. “Well, this is definitely something we should talk about.”