Trouble (Part 1)
Pairing – Steve Rogers (The Winter Soldier Steve in particular) x female reader Summary: He came into the club to unwind. You focus on making ends meet. But his shyness and your compassion might be both of your undoing.
Warnings: 18+ content (MINORS DNI!!!), thigh riding, one or two cursewords, pretty much just making out and horniness but PART 2 will be on its way and it will be much more NSFW. Contrary to the title, both of these are consensual.
Word count: 1,914
Snippet: “You getting married soon?” Maybe that was the reason for his reclusiveness, he's got a woman at home and doesn't want to mess up his future. It almost settled a sense of relief in you, to know a good one was still out there.
“I'm just busy at work. I don't get much time off,” he said. You exhaled a sight of relief bigger than you anticipated. You almost swore, with the way his neck perked up, he heard it too.
Random Notes – I was literally driving home from work, and Trouble Man from The Winter Soldier soundtrack came on - the whole story kinda flashed in my mind and I was just so giddy. As soon as I got home, I just kinda let this one go and here we are. I hope ya'll enjoy, and let me know what you think!! :D
Having just come off your set on the main stage, you take your cue with the hoots and hollers around the room from bored husbands and bosses to get all you can. A little shimmy here, some quick flirty convos there, as men stuff the lining of your bra and underwear with singles and double digits. Feeling hot from the stuffiness of the air, and not the attraction of anyone in the room, you shuffle to a mirror in a dark corner behind the crowded bar to make yourself look more presentable. The crisp and crumpled dollar bills felt a bit thicker than your intake from the night before. At least you hope so as you take off your heel and force the bills to the bottom before slipping it back on. Safe keeping.
A separate round of large shouts and hollers come from the entranceway rather than close to the stage. A bachelor party? A happy hours get-together? You couldn't care less to be honest, but you had to care enough while you were on the clock with bills to pay.
A couple of the girls from the back scuttle back and forth from the dressing room, wanting to get a vantage point of the new troupe of customers. We were all desperate for more than the regulars, even if they paid between impish and fairly well. Two servers dipped over to them more than ready to take their orders, as a few of the men began busting out bills for the table, the kind of show and tell to bring over any dancer in a heartbeat.
From where you stood across the floor, the eight of them all looked like they belonged roiding out in the gym, or getting off fighting a war – wearing various combos of black jackets, pants, shirts, slick back hair. The one with the beard had gruffest voice and looked like the leader, and none of them had a problem following his lead. Being loud and gruff for the sake of it.
Except for one. He wasn't even wearing black. You couldn't be sure under shadows of neon lights but he looked like he was donning the most subtle navy blue casual look, not the cargo wear of his pals. Blonde hair. Sharp jawline. Looking exactly like he had no idea what he was doing there. If you were one of your friends, you would've gone to him next. None of the others seemed to think he was worth the hassle, going for the more extroverted ones of the bunch. You almost felt sorry for him.
But you didn't want any problems tonight. Sighing and mentally wishing the other girls luck you made your way around the room, hitting up some guys who cheered the most when you were on stage, some who left you great tips last night.
That sorriness you felt for the lone stranger didn't last long before you found yourself close enough to the table you planned on avoiding.
“What's your name, sweet cheeks,” the loud one, the leader, shouted over the music, letting a loose hand gently graze your back.
You offered your stage name with a tight smile. The tightest most polite smile you could while trying desperately not to eye the wad of cash splayed across the tables that seemed to grow bigger from the time they entered twenty minutes ago. It almost made your heart jump from what that could help you pay off.
“You gonna take care of our boy, [Y/N]?” His suggestion coming off like a barking order. You gonna help take care of our boy, or else, kind of order. You couldn't help but think that they just didn't want him ruining their mood and wanting to fuck anything that moved instead of actually wanting him to have a good time.
The blond guy's face flinched , as one of the waitresses put down a drink in front of him and turned away almost immediately. He seemed to relax a bit but not that much, and that wasn't going to make most of the dancers here spend much time with him if it seemed like he wasn't capable of ponying up.
You didn't pay attention to the loud one. Instead, you offered a heartwarming smile to the one practically sitting on his own in the crowded booth as you maneuvered over to him.
“It's a little loud in here,” you leaned over, remarking.
All he could do was nod his head. You sighed, deeply. Your closest friend who was already joined at the hip to a svelte guy with way too much oil in his slicked back hair gave you a look of pity, and then forced a laugh to whatever he said.
Your hand reached over to his face, redirecting his eyes to meet your gaze. “Why don't we go somewhere a little more private?” you asked, leaning over close enough for him to smell your perfume. Maybe close enough for him to feel, I don't know, safer, at ease.
His eyes were blue. Soft yet sharp, even warm. You didn't expect that being this close to him. With a quick nod of his head, he stood up with more confidence than what you expected. Taking your head in his, you saw the first glimpse of a smile, even if it was a shy one, as his friends howled behind him and threw down more money for the dancers making out on stage.
You led him through to a private suite, with one of the security guards eyeing the both of you as you walked through the threshold. You heard him give a big sigh, making you catch a glimpse of him running his palms over the highs of his jeans. Damn, he was good looking.
“That better,” you noted, as he looked around warily before sitting down in the main both across from you.
You were sure he had to be 6'3'. Probably 250 or 300 lbs covered in pure muscle. He could beat the shit out of every jerk in this place and not break a sweat. Yet, with the way he was sitting on the pleather couch, his shoulders hunched forward and unsure what to do with his hands, he looked like a lost golden retriever. It made you swallow hard, not wanting to buy into all of these small signs of genuine humility. A part of you wanted to swear it an act, and that's what made you focus more on the audio player to find your favorite playlist to collect your thoughts.
A soothing yet sultry saxophone blared out from the speakers. You glided over to him, his eyes finally darting all over your body. You swore it was the first time he was registering exactly where he was. You started moving your hips, swaying and feeling the lump of cash at the bottom of your one heel. At least if you couldn't get anything out of him, you had that pad of take-ins for the night.
“What's your name,” you asked. Your mind couldn't help but think if you had actually seen him before. Not here, but somewhere else.
“Steve,” he offered, his voice much deeper than you expected, so deep that you could feel it light a fire under your skin.
“Those your friends outside, Steve?” you prompted, rolling closer to him, encouraging the closeness to prompt him to lean back. “You guys celebrating a promotion?”
He let out a tentative no, but there was something in his tone that made you believe it was a full-on rejection of the idea. His eyes were zeroing in on your movements. Finally.
“You getting married soon?” Maybe that was the reason for his reclusive nature, he's got a woman at home and doesn't want to mess up his future. It almost settled a sense of relief in you, to know a good one was still out there.
“I'm just busy at work. I don't get much time off,” he said. You exhaled a sight of relief bigger than you anticipated. You almost swore, with the way his neck perked up, he heard it. “The guys wanted me to unwind.”
You rolled your back down to the ground, grabbing your heels, making sure to stick your ass in his face and sway your hips a bit. When you pretended to play with your calves, at this point just improving your front legged stretch from yoga class, you caught a glimpse of Steve's jaw clenching shut.
So, he is an ass man too. For some reason, the observation took to the back of your mind like a note that you could use for later...but surely you wouldn't.
You sighed, rolling upwards and turning around to move in on him.
“Relax,” you told him, your hands opening up the lapel of his jacket and letting your hands briskly grab his shoulders. “I'm not gonna bite.”
You couldn't lie the polite gentleman act was cute. A part of you felt like you wanted to take care of him, show him it was okay to want someone and be wanted. Another part wanted you to help him break free of it, see the fuckboy that was surely hiding underneath. It would be a shame to have all those muscles and tension, and never work them out, especially on you.
“You can if you want to,” whispering close to his ear, hoping the words would make a difference. You whipped your long hair to the side, exposing your neck close to his face, and trying to convince yourself there wasn't a selfish incentive behind it.
“Hmmm,” was all he could muster.
You nod your head in the direction of the sign. NO TOUCHING.
He peered slightly up at you, as your hips rest easy several inches over the tent in his pants. It surprised you how much he seems to be asking for permission without any words. You bite your lips was all he needed as his hands grabbed hold of your waist, firmer than you ever anticipated. He helps plant you over him, the most intimate you were with anyone that night, for as long as you could possibly remember.
“You don't let anyone get this close to you, “ you smooth your hips over and over his, letting his hard member get as close to the apex between your legs as possible without real penetration. “Huh, big boy.” You mean that as an end to the sentence, but can't help but moan instead.
His hands gripped your hips tighter, applying pressure to give you an idea of the kind of restraint he's grasping onto. There is more to him afterall...
Both of you get caught up in the motions, spending what seems like an eternity, letting your hands roam all over each other's bodies, your lips toying with kissing but always leaving him wanting more. Neither of you notice that a more than couple of songs have gone by since he first cupped you into his lap.
You try your best to direct your hips to brush over his more than anything, but more often than not, you're pretty much riding his thigh. You could tell he's holding onto his composure with everything he has by how tense his muscle feel even though his clothes. He lets you practically take off his jacket as you brace yourself against his shoulders and firm chest. And, surprisingly, he seems to have no problems with it. You also have no problems with his calloused yet gentle hands cupping your breasts or gripping your ass, depending on how he alternates between them both.
You roll your hips across his member that's padding and protected by the clothing the two of you still have on. The pleasure you feel sparks your body alive with goosebumps, a tingle all the way down to your toes, feeling so close to euphoria. All of this and he's not even penetrating you. All you could imagine is how much real attention he would give to you, and he really is big underneath you, maybe the biggest yet most devoted one you would ever get from someone at the club or outside of it.
Just when you felt on the precipice of coming undone, you hear a loud banging on the door. And remnants of what sounds like his friends shouting and then laughing on the other side. Of course, the security guard, Max, getting involved as well, you could only imagine either threatening to kick them or kick their asses.
Steve completely relaxed into the cushions, making you take note of his hair disheveled and his hands left supporting your back. You don't remember when but your hands are practically gripping the rim of the booth over him, as your faces are nose to nose. You were probably worse for wear, reminding yourself to check your make-up and hair before going back on the floor. You both are left to do more than start catching your breath.
It takes you a second to realize – the music's moved onto some obnoxious pop song at random. It further thrusts you out of the moment. Definitely not something that will get the most out of your remaining customers.
And, that thought brings you back to reality.
You were actually longer in here with him than your regulars. You probably gave your co-workers the wrong impression of what was going on. Your boss was gonna be pissed.
And, you want to fight this moment of having to go back to work. Because you actually had a nice time for once.
You try not to move as hastily as possible off of him, not enough to put him off from coming back at least. You take your time, managing to straighten out what little clothing you have on and finding a way to stand between his legs.
“Did I manage to help you,” you ask, in a soft tone, trying not to think of how wet you are between your legs and desperate you'll be by the time you get home to take a cold shower.
He stands to meet you as close as possible, his eyes never leaving your face. You breathe in what's left of his warm cologne in the room that feels quickly colder without his embrace. His hands reach into his pockets, and then his wallet. You almost don't want to accept, or look what he is going to offer. He unblinkingly pulls out a wad of cash.
“In more ways than one,” he mentions, softly.
All you could think of in that moment is how your hand is impossibly tiny in his, as he slips you almost double than what is in your heel. And, it almost scares you how little you care about the money you earned, and more about the possibility of never seeing him again.
Sneak peek of Part 2 (coming later this weekend): “No kissing,” you shake your head and try your hardest not to bite your lip. You don't want to make the wrong impression he has on you even worse. “is a rule of mine.”
Without missing a beat, but with a spark in those heavenly blue eyes you missed so much, his tongue darts between his teeth quickly, and he says, “How about eating, then?”
