darcy/steve, legs
When Steve is bored, he doodles. He's idly sketching in the SHIELD cafeteria when Darcy sits across from him. "What are you drawing?"
"Oh nothing, really," he hedges, moving to cover the paper with his forearm.
She smirks. "If it's nothing, why are you embarrassed by it?"
He's blushing, and he knows it. "I'm not," he lies, badly. She arches a brow at him, and he finally gives in with a long-suffering sigh. There's no use arguing with Darcy when she's determined; he learned that within a week of meeting her. He slides the sketch pad across the table. "Don't laugh," he warns.
She spins it so its right-side up and stares at the figure of a dark-haired woman looking backward over her shoulder. Her ankles are crossed coquettishly and she's wearing short shorts that highlight the long lines of her legs. Steve is embarrassed to admit bears more than a passing resemblance to Darcy, and hopes she doesn't notice.
"It's good," she says after a moment, looking up at him with a twinkle in her eye, "but my legs aren't quite that long. I would be happy to sit for you so you can get it right," she adds with a wink.
Steve swallows hard at the thought of Darcy done up like a pin-up girl, leaning back on a sofa while he sketches her, and nods.