Oopsy Daisy
College AU
Summary: In order to keep the animal shelter from closing, your sorority holds a car wash as a fundraiser. Besides cleaning cars all day, you have another goal in mind involving a certain football-playing frat member.
Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader
Word Count: ~12.0k (I'm so sorry)
Warnings: language, mentions of alcohol, slight angst, size kink-ish, Captain kink (is that a thing? well, it is now), SMUT 18+ (vaginal sex, public sex)
Prompt: "You've been teasing me all day and I've had it!"
A/N: Hello! So, let me just say, I know the premise of this fic is a little silly and sounds like an early 2000's rom-com, but, in my defense, all of my knowledge about sororities comes from movies. So, can you blame me? Anyway, this was written for @buckysknifecollection's 3k Followers Writing Challenge! I'm so sorry that my submission is late, Ellie, but congrats on your followers! My prompt is listed above and appears in bold in the fic. To any and everyone who reads this, I hope you enjoy! Gif from Google.
“I’m really starting to second guess this idea, Nat,” you mutter, already feeling sweat start to prickle your neck.
Natasha scoffs, “Sorry, pumpkin, but it’s too late to back out now.” She gestures at the parking lot – all of your sisters similarly ready for the busy day ahead.
Several weeks ago, your sorority discovered that your local animal shelter was facing closure – their donations nearly bled through, and not having enough funds to keep running long-term. As an animal-lover and the president of your chapter, Natasha decided to organize a fundraiser for the shelter – hopefully raising enough to see them through the next several months. During a back and forth discussion over what said fundraiser should be, the idea of a car wash was proposed.
“A car wash? What about a… bake sale or something?” You asked, not necessarily pleased with the idea of being drenched in sweat and car soap for an entire day.
“We’re not trying to poison half the campus with Wanda’s blondies,” Natasha chided.
“Hey,” Wanda frowned, “I said I was sorry.”
"I know, I know," Natasha pet her arm in a reassuring manner before turning back to face you. "But c’mon, it's a great idea! Scantily clad college girls plus horny college guys… we’ll raise enough money in the first hour."
You chewed your lip, still hesitant to agree. “I don’t know, Nat. What about–”
“All in favor of a car wash, say ‘aye’,” Natasha put her hand up, being met with a resounding chorus of ‘ayes’ from your sisters. She faced you once more, a smirk curling the corners of her mouth. “Car wash it is.”
Thus, why you’re going to spend your Saturday scrubbing cars in this off-campus parking lot.
“Besides,” Natasha snorts, “you didn’t have to volunteer. Other than wanting to save the puppies, we both know you had ulterior motives for coming today.” As she talks, a brigade of familiar vehicles pull up into the parking lot, parking in the designated section for volunteers. “And speak of the devil.”
Your heartbeat quickens as Steve steps out of his black sedan, Sam similarly exiting from the passenger's side of the car. Not only did Natasha convince most of your sisters to help out today, but the smooth-talking redhead also managed to recruit volunteers from outside of your sorority – getting a handful of professors and members of the fraternity to also participate.
Steve and his brothers make their way over to where you and the rest of the volunteers wait, still setting up before the first patrons arrive. You eye him as he gets closer, admiring the way his shorts hang from his hips and t-shirt clings to his chest.
Okay… so maybe Natasha has a point in saying you had ulterior motives for showing up today. You didn't have to volunteer, nor did you have to wear those jean shorts that show off your ass and that tank top that plunges lower than is necessary. And yet… that's exactly what you did. But can anyone blame you? If you're knowingly going to be in the same vicinity as Steve Rogers, of course you're going to dress up a little.
Or, in this case, dress down.
You continue to eye Steve as the group of men slowly approaches, seeing his eyes similarly rake down your body. You smirk at the observation. Yeah, you knew this outfit was a good idea.
It’s been a few weeks since you’ve seen each other – school work and football practice taking up yours and his time respectively. But, after years of casual flirting turned lingering glances turned full-on eye-fucking whenever you’re around each other, your and Steve’s relationship came to a head several weeks ago, making for a very memorable night.
Well… as memorable as a drunken makeout at a frat party can be.
Unfortunately, the night didn’t progress past a sloppy makeout and fully clothed grind on that disgusting living room couch – both of you too shit-faced to be able to take things any further. Despite your inebriated state, you somehow had the wherewithal to not have the first time you fucked Steve be when you were nearly blackout drunk. No. You’d want to remember every detail of that.
You lick your lips as Steve approaches closer and closer, practically drooling over the way his broad shoulders strain against his crew neck. Being the head quarterback definitely has its perks on Steve’s physique – a fact no one’s going to find you complaining about anytime soon.
You remember the feeling of those shoulders as you gripped them – your fingers digging into hard, unyielding muscles as you sat on Steve’s lap. And you’ll never forget how his lips felt against yours – the hot breath and warm tongues that made hungry passes into each other’s mouth. But the pièce de résistance was when you grinded against him – how the heat pooled in your belly as you felt the bulge underneath you grow and stiffen and–
“Ready for a busy day, ladies?”
Your wandering thoughts are suddenly interrupted by Dr. Banner’s question. He looks between you and Natasha, standing before you in his own t-shirt and shorts. It's the most skin you've ever seen on him as it’s the most dressed down he's ever been. It’s… weird. It feels like you’re seeing something forbidden – something you were never meant to see. The sight is almost unsettling if you're being honest.
“Yep,” Natasha answers – her eyes snapping up from his legs to his face. She looks over to you, waiting for your response. At your silence, she nudges you slightly with her elbow.
“Um, y-yeah. Uh-huh. Sure am,” you mumble, finally dragging your attention away from the sight of his bare shins. That’s an image that will forever be burned into your memory, unfortunately.
“Me too,” Dr. Banner grins, vigorously rubbing his hands together. "Prepare for a busy day, girls, because I think this is going to be a big success."
“Well, I sure hope so. It’s for a good cause after all," Natasha smiles.
Just as he goes to say something else, another student calls Dr. Banner's name, grabbing his attention. "Excuse me for a moment, ladies," he says, jogging over to the student.
Once he leaves, you and Natasha give each other knowing looks – both of you referring to Dr. Banner’s choice of clothing.
“Weird.”
“Gross.”
You speak in unison, making you both fall into a fit of laughter. “Hey, I wasn’t the one that extended an invitation to him,” you chortle.
“Yeah, well, not all of my ideas are brilliant, pumpkin. I get things wrong sometimes. Not frequently, but sometimes,” she shrugs, looking over her shoulder at the professor.
As you chuckle and turn away from her to look at the fraternity members, you see Steve pulling away from Sam’s ear, frowning as he looks in the direction Dr. Banner just disappeared to.
Sam lets out a bellowing laugh and claps Steve on the shoulder. “Yeah, good luck with that,” he says just as they come into hearing distance.
“Good luck with what?” Bucky asks as he falls in step with them, coming to a stop as the group finally reaches you and Natasha. “Hey, wait,” Bucky’s brow furrows deeply. Quickly, he spins in a circle, looking over all of his brothers. “Why are you guys dressed like that? Tasha, I thought you said to wear tank tops and short shorts,” he looks to Natasha, gesturing at his outfit.
She chuckles and shakes her head. “I said I was gonna wear a tank top and booty shorts, not that you had to."
Bucky’s face falls. “But… but before we left, I told Peter to….” He points at Peter beside him, similarly dressed in a shirt and shorts much too small for him. Bucky sighs, pinching his eyes shut. “Dang it,” he mutters.
Sam lets out another guffaw as he takes in Bucky and Peter’s attire. “Well, at the very least, you’ll give the customers a show,” he says, wiping a stray tear from his eye.
A deep frown settles on Bucky's face, prompting Natasha to run a soothing hand along his bicep. “It’s okay, babe. You look… cute. Sexy,” she tries to sound convincing.
He huffs. “Maybe ‘sexy’ for you two,” he looks between you and Natasha, “but not so much for Parker and I,” he points between them.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Sam jab Steve with his elbow, making him step out of arm’s reach.
That’s odd. You wonder what that’s about.
After Natasha reassures Bucky that he doesn’t look stupid, she starts doling out directions to the rest of the men, telling them the plan she related to your sisters earlier this morning. “We’re gonna work in groups of four or five to handle each car. It looks like most of the groups are already around that size, but I’m sure they wouldn’t mind adding another person if you asked.”
“What about you two?” Peter asks, indicating you and Natasha.
“It’s just us as of now,” Natasha tells him, then looks at the group. “So, if anyone wants to join us, we’d be more than happy to take you on.”
“Right here!” Sam immediately pipes up. “Steve and I are your guys.”
“Dude,” Steve hisses at him, giving him an exasperated look.
Sam simply shrugs in response. While the action is casual – perhaps even innocent – at first glance, that sentiment is counteracted by the wicked grin pulling at his lips.
Well, there’s definitely something going on there. But what? And why?
“Fine by me. Pumpkin?” Natasha turns to you, smirking. If Steve’s joining you, she knows damn well you’re fine with it without having to ask.
“Mhmm,” you hum, trying to play down how excited you are. Given how well your last interaction went with Steve, you’re looking forward to what an entire day beside him entails. You look over at him, expecting to see that heated gaze you’ve come to predict whenever you two lock eyes.
Instead, you're met by a mix of trepidation and reluctance on Steve's face – his brows drawn together and mouth pulled into a thin line. After only a moment of your eyes meeting, Steve quickly breaks the connection, flitting his gaze down to the asphalt.
Okay, what the hell? What has gotten into him today?
"Any other questions before we get started?" Natasha addresses the group.
“Yeah...," Bucky speaks slowly, voice with an edge of wariness. "Do… uh… volunteers get a free wash?"
You look towards where his truck is parked, seeing the once cherry red Chevy now half red/half brown as it's caked end-to-end in mud. You can't help the grimace that instantly overtakes your face. God help you if you have to wash that thing.
Bucky cringes as he sees your and Natasha's revolted reactions to his truck. "Or how 'bout a discount?" He suggests.
"Ugh, a discount maybe," Natasha supplies, face still twisted in disgust. "But that reminds me: we're not doing deep, full service cleanings today; exteriors of vehicles only. God, I don't even wanna know what's crawling around your dash, Bucky," she nearly gags at the thought.
"No, you don't," Peter says numbly, staring off into the distance. After a moment, a shudder runs up his spine – a memory flashing behind his eyes.
Okay, make that two people that don't want to know what's crawling around Bucky’s truck. You'd rather chew your own arm off than have to get inside that man's car. So thankfully, that won't be happening today.
"Alright, well, I think that's everything, guys," Natasha snaps out of her repulsion. "Thanks for coming to help out today. It really means a lot to me, my sisters, and the shelter. Now, let's get to work!" She announces, clapping her hands together.
With that, the men disperse, leaving Sam and Steve behind. As the heads of the campus’ Greek life, Natasha and Sam start discussing future fundraisers the sorority and fraternity are planning. You, on the other hand, don’t really care to be part of their conversation – not when your thoughts are preoccupied by a certain captain of the football team standing a few feet thataway.
You walk over to Steve, secluding you two from everyone else in the parking lot. Though Steve’s been acting a little weird this morning, you’ll be damned if that’s going to stop you from trying to flirt the pants off of him. Literally.
“Hey, Steve. It’s been a while. How ya been, Captain?” You ask, using his title turned pet name. While it started out as a teasing jibe, Steve eventually grew fond of the nickname. And, if the way he reacted when you moaned it is anything to go by, he seems to quite enjoy it when you call him ‘Captain’.
Steve coughs at your question. His eyes quickly flit around the parking lot, searching for something – or, someone – in particular. After seemingly finding what he’s looking for, he lets out a relieved breath and looks back to you. “I’ve been good. How about you?”
“Good, good,” you say somewhat unenthusiastically. Enough with the small talk already. You’re not estranged cousins getting together on Thanksgiving. It's time to get this show on the road and pick up where you left off at the party. “You’re looking good, Steve. Really good. I can see practice has been paying off,” you say, letting your eyes shamelessly ogle his pecs and arms.
Steve chuckles, albeit slightly awkwardly. “Thanks. You, uh…,” his eyes trail down your body, briefly wetting his lips with his tongue, “...you look good, too.” After a few seconds of his gaze lingering on your form, he suddenly blinks, shaking his head and clearing his throat. “Um, but yeah. Practice… p-practice has been good. Mhmm, super good. Yep,” he says, popping the ‘p’ at the end.
Okay. That’s… great? You don’t actually care that much about football. And normally, he doesn’t either when he’s around you. Seriously, what has gotten into him today? Maybe he’s having an off day and so you need to take the reins in this conversation.
You reach out, giving a light squeeze to his bicep – the solid muscle not giving any way under your grip. “Wow, yeah, no kidding practice has been super good on you. You’re so strong. You could probably just lift me like I weigh nothing, you know? Really just throw me around if you wanted.” You peer up at him through your lashes, dropping your voice to a purr, “Hmm, that sounds kinda… fun. What do you think, Captain?”
Steve swallows thickly – Adam’s apple bobbing at the force of his gulp. “U-um… I th-think...,” he stammers, letting his eyes quickly scan over the parking lot. His breath hitches when he sees something, rapidly redirecting his gaze to you.
You give his bicep one more squeeze before letting your hand trail down his arm, feeling goosebumps rise in the wake of your fingers. “Would you wanna… find out if you can? Maybe put that theory to the test, if you know what I mean?” You bat your eyes at him, gently biting your lower lip.
You're laying it on a bit thick, but it's honestly not that different from what you've been doing the past several months. And, given what you can remember of the filth you drunkenly slurred at the frat party, this brazenness shouldn’t come out of left field on him.
Steve swallows once more, his eyes darting to and lingering on a specific spot in the crowd of volunteers. You follow his line of sight, believing his attention to be focused on Sam, Natasha, and Dr. Banner who joined them at some point – the trio only a few yards away.
Ever so slightly, Steve takes a step back, putting some distance between you two. “Uh, I-I think we should stop talking about this,” he speaks softly but with a sense of urgency. “Now.”
Never mind Steve being surprised by your boldness, you’re completely caught off guard by what he just said. He’s usually more than willing to do this back and forth with you, so why is he so against it right now?
“O-okay? Sure. If you think so…,” you say slowly, brows pinching together in confusion.
“Yes, I do,” he rushes the words. “I think we should just focus on washing cars today. That’s it,” he all but grits, his eyes once more flicking to the group beside you.
Okay, what is this? What’s going on? Steve’s never been this reserved or, dare you say, frigid around you. Are you coming on too strong? Is he just not feeling it today? Or is it something else? Something you're not seeing?
Your brain runs through a million and one explanations in the blink of an eye, thinking over what might’ve changed since you last saw each other. Each new theory you come up with is more depressing than the last – your mind beginning to spiral down a somber rabbit hole.
Maybe… he regrets what happened at the party. Maybe he woke up the next day and wanted to forget all about that night – forget everything that happened. Maybe that's why he's being so distant right now. It’s his way of letting you know he’s no longer interested.
If that’s the case, that would just about crush you.
Before you let yourself fall too far into a pit of despair, you decide to question Steve, seeing if he’ll offer an explanation for his aloofness. While his answer might confirm your concerns – something you pray won’t happen – there is a chance it could dispel them. You’d rather know definitively one way or the other than be left in the dark.
“Steve, are you okay? Is something a matter? Did… did I do something wrong?” You ask cautiously, voice petering out at the end.
“No! No, not at all,” Steve tells you, taking a step forward to close the space between you again. “God no. You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just… it’s more… well, it’s…,” he trails off, his face contorting as he thinks.
You scoff. He doesn’t even need to finish that sentence for you to know what he was going to say. “‘It’s not you, it’s me’, right? Give me a break, Steve,” you spit. If he wants to break things off with you – even though they never really began in the first place – he can do better than that tired, old cliché. You deserve better than that.
“What?” Steve’s brow furrows. “N-no, that’s not what I was getting at.”
“Then, what? What were you gonna say?” You set your jaw, not quite believing him.
“Well… honestly,” he sighs, “it does have to do with… you,” he cringes as he admits, “but it’s not what you think.”
Your brows shoot up in disbelief, your lips parting slightly. In your periphery, you see Dr. Banner start making his way over to you and Steve. Steve notices as well, his body quickly turning rigid.
“Wow… Really?” You ask rhetorically. So he’s not even going to bother with the cliché and pretend he’s the one at fault? He’s just going to come out and say something’s wrong with you? Seriously? What an asshole.
Steve puts his hands up in defense, rushing to speak again. “Like I said, it-it’s not what you thi–”
You cut Steve off with a hand just as Dr. Banner reaches you two. “Ugh, don’t even bother, Rogers. I don’t want to hear it.” Better to just end this conversation here and now before you work yourself up more. You turn to look at the professor now beside you. “Excuse me, Dr. Banner,” you say, quickly leaving the men.
Your mind reels as you retreat. What a waste of the past three years of your life. Steve may be a member of the fraternity, a jock, and quite the hard-ass sometimes, but you’d never seen him be a straight up asshole before.
Well, first time for everything, you suppose.
At least you discovered this side of Steve before you let him get into your pants. It would’ve been the letdown of the century if you would’ve had to drop him after he rocked your world. But still… what a waste of your time and energy. As you re-approach Sam – Natasha having scurried elsewhere in the meantime – you kick an empty bucket at your feet, needing to take your frustration out on something.
“Whoa there. What's that bucket ever done to you?” Sam asks, raising a brow at your actions.
You huff. Your mood is still soured from your conversation with Steve, so you don't feel like entertaining Sam's jokes.
Sam gives you a questioning look. “You okay, sweetness? Something bothering you? Wanna tell Sammy what’s on your mind?” He offers.
While you and Sam are close, you don’t necessarily want to rant about what a dickhead his best friend is; you’ll save that for later for when you can vent to Natasha. Instead, you’ll leave it up to Steve to chew Sam’s ear off.
“Ask Rogers,” you say tersely, crossing your arms over your chest.
“‘Rogers’? Aren’t you two on a first name basis by now?” Sam cocks a brow, one corner of his mouth turning up into a grin. “And if my eyes and ears didn’t deceive me at the party the other week, I think you’re far beyond even first names.”
You scoff, dropping your arms back down by your sides. “Yeah, well, I thought so too. Guess we were both wrong.”
Sam’s eyes narrow at your words. “You sure about that? ‘Cause last I checked, that dude is crazy about you.”
You go to deny Sam’s claims, opening your mouth to speak, when his sudden boisterous laugh cuts you off before you even begin.
“I mean, the dude nearly popped a boner the second he saw you,” he snorts.
Your mouth snaps shut. What? What did he just say? You blink dumbly for a few seconds before shaking your head, bringing yourself back to the moment. “Umm… what?”
“Yeah,” Sam nods, “the moment he stepped out of the car and saw you in those shorts, my man was sporting a pretty solid half chub.”
You frown partially out of disgust and partially out of disbelief. If that’s the case – and, based on Sam’s smirk, you believe it is – then why is Steve acting so cold towards you?
“So then what’s his deal? Why is ‘your man’ acting like he doesn’t want anything to do with me if he’s supposedly into me?” You ask, exasperation seeping into your voice.
“Something about being on ‘thin ice as it is’ with Banner," Sam uses air quotes to repeat Steve's words.
What? How the hell does that answer your question? That just raises more questions. You furrow your brows, cocking your head to the side.
Sam shrugs before elaborating on his statement. "Dude got this crazy idea in his head that if Dr. Banner sees him get a stiffy, he’ll fail him on the spot. And with his football scholarship and whatnot, Steve can’t afford for that to happen. So his dumb ass thinks the only way to prevent that is to not touch, look, or think about you the entire day or else he might… you know…," he trails off, rolling his eyes.
You blink slowly once, twice, three times as you register Sam's words. "That… is so stupid," you deadpan. "That might be the dumbest thing I've ever heard, and that's saying something since I've known Bucky for years."
“I know, right?” Sam chortles. “And I tried to tell him that, but, ehh… what can I say? Dude sometimes thinks with his muscles and his meat before his mind.” At the word ‘meat’, Sam nods downwards, indicating exactly what he means. "But that's why I gave him shit for it and volunteered us to help you and Nat. I want to make it a challenge for him. Up it from easy to hard mode, you know?" Sam says, giving you a devilish, toothy grin.
You can't help but snort at his innuendo. "Yeah, I think I know what you mean."
So that's why things were a little off between Sam and Steve this morning. Sam's been scheming this whole time, and Steve was obviously displeased about that. It also explains why Steve’s been acting weird towards you and, more importantly, what he meant when he inverted the "it's not you, it's me" cliché. It really is you. Or, if you're going to be specific, it's your Daisy Dukes that have Steve acting up.
Whoops. You didn’t think they’d be that effective.
However, before you start pointing the finger at yourself for anything, you take a moment to think. Then again… is any of this really your fault? If Steve had just been up front from the get-go, this little squabble between you would've never happened. While you would've laughed at first at his confession, eventually you would've come to empathize with him. Probably. The fact that he was cryptic and vague is what caused you to think the worst and get snippy with him, unintentionally creating a rift in your relationship.
So really, it’s his fault. Certainly, it’s not your fault your ass looks so good in those shorts or that it gets a rise out of Steve.
‘A rise out of Steve’. A sudden idea springs to mind.
"I'm in," you say resolutely.
"'In'?” Sam gives you a puzzled look. “In what? What ‘in’? There's no 'in'."
You roll your eyes. "Count me in on giving Steve shit."
If Sam can give Steve a hard time, why can’t you also have a little harmless fun at his expense? It’s not like Dr. Banner is actually going to fail Steve if he sees him get hard in his pants. At best, Dr. Banner wouldn’t even notice, and at worst, Steve just has a difficult time keeping eye contact the rest of the semester. It’s not the end of the world or the end of Steve’s college career.
Sam raises a teasing brow. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for it, but… are you sure you're up for the challenge, sweetness? You know once Stevie boy has his mind set, he's hard to persuade out of anything. He’s a tough nut to crack.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” you smirk, “I can get him to nut. Crack! I can get him to crack,” you jokingly smack your head at your faux Freudian slip.
Sam splutters, bending over at the waist before raising his hand for you to high-five. “Hell yeah! Ah, poor dude is fucked.”
~~~~~
“Steve, can you hand me that sponge?”
Right after you decided to join in on the mischief, the first customers of the day started arriving. The various groups of volunteers began working and, soon enough, the parking lot was bustling with activity.
As your group began the day's work, it was obvious Steve was trying his best to implement his pledge to avoid you. If you were cleaning the hood, he was at the trunk. If you were on the right, he was on the left. If he needed something on the other side of the car, he’d tell Sam to get it instead of walking over to where you were. Steve was taking his promise very seriously and you let him get away with it.
That is, until now.
For the first couple of cars, you worked without engaging in any antics – washing and drying in silence to let Steve think you were still simmering from your fight. But now, on the third car, you decided it was finally time to begin the shenanigans.
Steve stiffens at the sound of your voice. He’d been so invested in scrubbing the tires, he didn’t notice you and Sam switch places. Peeking through the windows of the SUV, Steve sees Sam and Natasha working on the opposite side of the car – leaving you and Steve to deal with this side. Sam catches his eye and smiles, making Steve clench his jaw.
“Steve? Hello? The sponge, please,” you point at the object in question located a few feet away.
After a few more seconds of glaring at Sam, Steve leans over and grabs the sponge, not looking at you as he extends it towards you.
“Thank you, Captain,” you say, grazing your fingers over his palm as you take it from him.
Steve closes his eyes and releases a slow breath. “No problem,” he sighs, going back to what he was doing.
Oh, poor, foolish boy. If he thinks a few breathing exercises are going to protect him, he’s got another thing coming. You have a whole slew of shit in your arsenal ready to toss Steve’s way. And with Dr. Banner conveniently in the group directly beside yours, Steve will have to be awfully diligent if he doesn’t want the professor to get an eyeful.
As you begin lathering the car, you see Steve aggressively scrubbing the wheel well. Before you even get a chance to dunk your sponge for another pass, Steve’s already hosing off the tire, moving at a brisk pace.
“Whoa, slow down there, Fast and Furious. It’s not a competition,” you chuckle, earning you an unamused side eye from Steve. “Oh, Steve, look. You missed a spot,” you click your tongue, dropping your sponge and taking the brush from his hand.
He didn’t really – the chrome shining sparkling clean back at you – but it’s all part of the process. You bend at the waist, deliberately sticking your ass out. While you see Steve shift out of the corner of your eye, he makes no move to leave – instead, watching on as you dunk the brush in the soap. Bringing the brush up to the tire, you stick it through one of the spokes, slowly moving your hand back and forth to watch the bristles enter and exit the small metal opening.
“You gotta really get in there. I know these brushes are big, but they can squeeze into tight spaces. Really tight. It might not look like it at first glance, but you can make it fit. Trust me,” you say, continuing to scrub as you look at Steve.
He stares dumbly back at you, simply watching the way you rock your arm. You smile to yourself and suddenly drop into a squat, switching your grip on the brush handle so that your thumb is on the underside. Increasing your speed, you start twisting your wrist with each stroke, nearly jostling your whole body with the force of your movements.
“Gosh, it’s so dirty in here. Don’t be afraid to take your time, Steve. You don’t want the customer to leave feeling unsatisfied, now do you?” You quirk a brow.
Steve swallows before shaking his head, completely hypnotized and hardly blinking. With a few more strokes, you withdraw the brush and stand, holding it out to him.
“Think you can handle it? Or do you want me to show you some more, Captain?”
Without realizing it, Steve lets out a low groan at the sound of the nickname again. His unintentional slip makes you chuckle. Not only is it amusing, but it’s almost pitiable how easily you’re already chipping away at his resolve. He really doesn’t stand a chance.
Your laughter makes Steve suddenly snap from his daze. Quickly, he looks over to Dr. Banner who – lucky for Steve – seems to be none the wiser to the situation.
“I-I can do it,” Steve grunts, shakily taking the brush from your hand.
You go back to washing the body of the vehicle, working in tandem with Steve. Soon enough, the entirety of the SUV is washed and dried, leaving only a quick waxing the customer paid extra for.
“I think we should let Stevie handle it,” Sam offers. “He’s an expert on waxing after all.”
Steve sighs heavily. “It was one time, Sam. And it was a bet that you gave me,” he huffs, putting his hands on his hips.
Natasha snorts, covering her mouth with her hand. “Hey, at least it was only your chest, Steve. Not everyone was so lucky.” She nods over her shoulder, directing your gaze to Bucky who's bending over way too low in those shorts.
“How was that by the way?” Sam questions. “Was it like–”
“It looked like a naked mole-rat,” Natasha says, biting the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing.
Sam, on the other hand, lets out a roaring cackle, drawing the attention of everyone in the nearby vicinity. “Ah, goddamn, that’s good. That’s too good,” he says between breaths. “With teeth and everything?”
Natasha shakes her head. “No comment.”
Sam laughs again as Steve lets out an exasperated sigh. “Since you two seem to be enjoying this conversation, why don’t you continue it while you wax? I’m gonna go empty out the buckets,” Steve says, stooping to grab a pail in each hand.
“I’ll go with you!” You all but shout in your haste, quickly reaching for and retrieving one before Steve has a chance to grab it. You start walking in the direction of the dirt and rocks at the edge of the parking lot to dump the soiled water. When you don’t hear Steve following, you turn back, seeing him still waiting by the SUV, bucket in hand. “Are you coming, Steve? Or do you just wanna stand there and watch?”
Steve draws his mouth into a thin line before taking a tentative step in your direction. You go back to walking and – knowing Steve is a few feet behind you – make sure to emphasize the sway of your hips with every step. His footsteps speed up until he’s directly beside you, growling in your ear.
“I know what you’re doing,” Steve grits through clenched teeth.
“What do you mean? I’m just emptying this bucket, Steve,” you bat your eyes at him innocently.
He scoffs. “Please. Based off of the shit-eating grin he gave me, I know Sam told you what I told him when we first got here. So don’t even try it. I know exactly what you’re doing.”
“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” You raise a brow, egging him on.
Now that you’ve wandered away from everyone else, Steve seems to have dropped the timid, innocent façade he’s had on all day. But if he's going to accuse you of something nefarious – even if he's right – then you want to hear it straight from the horse's mouth. None of this pussyfooting around the topic. You want to hear Steve admit he’s fighting to not get a boner in the middle of the parking lot.
Steve narrows his eyes and purses his lips, not taking the bait. “You’re playing a dangerous game here, dollface. I’m not sure I’d keep it up if I were you.”
Now it’s your turn to scoff as you reach the dirt, pouring the bucket over the landscaping. “Is that supposed to scare me? Ooh, so scary,” you say in a mocking voice, turning to Steve after your bucket is empty. “That’s not gonna deter me, Rogers, because did you ever stop to think…,” you step closer to him, trailing your free hand across his chest, “...maybe I like a little danger?”
Dropping your hand, you saunter back to your group, chuckling silently to yourself. Oh, it’s on; your will against his. You’re not going to lose this game. You have this in the bag.
~~~~~
Okay. Maybe you don’t have this in the bag.
With the next several cars that passed through your group, no matter what you threw his way – countless suggestive poses, looks, and even jokes – Steve seemed impervious to your antics. Even when Dr. Banner nearly slipped on the slick asphalt before joking, "We should put up a caution sign to let everyone know the ground’s wet", Steve didn't so much as blink when you whispered, "It's not just the ground."
He may be doing a good job so far, but there’s no way he’s going to win. You simply won’t allow it. It’s not even about trying to embarrass him anymore. Now, it’s for posterity’s sake – to prove to yourself that you can get Steve to crack.
You sponge the hood of the Jeep, staring intently at Steve who cleans the passenger’s side door. While he’s been decent at avoiding your gaze the past few hours, every now and then, you’ll catch his eye – something you hope will happen in the next few minutes as the driver is distracted by their phone. Luckily, that’s exactly what happens.
Steve must feel the weight of your stare as he suddenly looks over at you. The moment his eyes connect with yours, you bend lower over the hood – your breasts nearly spilling out of your top as you vigorously scrub the metal. While his eyes widen marginally, Steve otherwise remains stoic – quickly flicking his gaze back to his task and muttering something under his breath.
You huff. While you’re not about to run out of ideas just yet, you’re annoyed it’s taking so long to break through Steve’s stony exterior. It’s already well into the afternoon and Steve seems no closer to cracking than he was an hour ago or the hour before that.
As you go back to paying full attention to the vehicle, you let out an involuntary groan when you extend your arm, trying to reach the top edge of the hood. Steve’s head rapidly snaps in your direction, his own task seemingly forgotten as he stares at you. You give him a curious look as you stretch farther, groaning again as you get up on your tiptoes to get more leverage. Steve’s eyes nearly bug out of his head at the throaty noise coming from your mouth.
Oh… oh, this is good. Now you’re getting somewhere.
You continue making near-lewd noises as you scrub, scrunching your brows and pouting your lips all while maintaining eye contact with Steve. It’s like you can see him coming apart at the seams right before your very eyes – his jaw slowly descending while his brows carefully rise. This must be it. You figure just a few more moments of groaning and gawking until the blood rushes right to his–
“Are you alright?” Dr. Banner asks, concern lacing his voice. “You almost sound like you’re in pain,” he gives you a brief once-over, looking for any potential injuries.
Your and Steve’s attention are suddenly pulled from each other and directed to the professor. “Uh, y-yeah. Yeah, I’m alright,” you chuckle awkwardly. Steve’s the one that’s supposed to get caught doing something embarrassing, not you. “It’s just… kind of a long reach for me,” you try explaining.
Dr. Banner tuts. “Rogers,” he gestures at Steve and then at you, “be a gentleman and help the lady out.”
You grin. Oh, this is perfect. Thank you, Dr. Banner. “Yeah, Rogers, I could use a hand.”
For a moment, Steve stays rooted to his spot, having some sort of internal debate you can only attempt to guess the topic of. But, eventually, one option seems to outweigh the other and he hesitantly approaches you at the hood of the Jeep.
"Thank you, Steve," you say in a sweet voice as he sidles up to you.
"Mhmm," he grumbles, clearly not over the moon about his current predicament.
Steve's not dumb. He knows you're about to crank the shenanigans up to a 12. And boy are you.
As you both start scrubbing the vehicle, knocking elbows now and again, you can’t help but let a few other parts of your body graze Steve’s. A lingering press of your hip to his, a slight brush of your breast against his bicep, even a gentle sweep of your fingers over his knuckles. With each and every touch, you hear Steve hold his breath until the moment passes – releasing it several seconds later while mumbling something unintelligible.
“How’re you doing, Steve? You alright? Is the sun getting to ya?” You throw blame at the beaming mid-day sun, pretending you don't know the real cause for Steve’s behavior.
He offers no response to your questions, simply clenching his jaw as he continues to scrub.
You shrug, “Well, hopefully not. We wouldn’t want you to overheat…,” you stretch across the hood, purposefully moaning the final word, "...Captain.”
Steve growls and quickly leans down beside you. “You need to stop,” he hisses.
“Stop?” You give him a feigned look of incredulity. “I can’t just stop. I’m in the middle of cleaning this nice customer’s vehicle,” you state matter-of-factly. Steve goes to angrily whisper something else, but before he can, you gasp, “Oh no, Steve! You missed another spot.”
Before he can react, you slide between him and the Jeep, brushing the entirety of your backside against his crotch. He steps back, but not before you lean down so that your ass is firmly pressed against him for a second or two.
Steve's breath hitches and his whispered mumblings become more and more coherent as he struggles to remain composed. “Nak… ndma, ...ked grand…, Naked gran….”
You try not to laugh as you clean the car, hearing Steve's torment behind you. After a few beats, you stand back up. "There we go. C'mon, Steve, it's like I told you earlier: don't be afraid to take your time." With the car entirely scrubbed, you grab the hose and begin rinsing the suds away. "I mean… I'm all for hard and fast, don't get me wrong, but sometimes slow and steady is the way to go."
"Stop,” Steve huffs. “You… just… please stop," he begs, pinching his eyes shut, willing himself out of this moment far away to some peaceful, happy place.
"...Okay."
Steve's eyes fly open. "Okay?" He looks at you skeptically.
"Yeah, I'll stop," you nod. "It's time to start drying anyway. The car's all clean." You drop the hose and grab a towel, bending back over the hood.
Steve groans, "No, no, no. That's not what I meant."
You look over your shoulder at him, quirking a brow. "Oh? What did you mean, Steve?"
His lips move erratically as several words half-form before dying on his tongue – a series of strangled noises escaping his mouth. After a few moments of nonsense babbling, Steve finally gives up and drops his head, sighing heavily in defeat.
The sight almost makes you frown. Steve’s usually so strong and commanding – nothing like this feeble, tongue-tied figure before you. You can’t help feeling a little bad knowing you’re the one to blame for his current state, especially since it’s just over some dumb challenge you’ve placed upon yourself. In order to ease your conscience ever so slightly, you decide to take a little pity on the man.
"Do you want to dry?" You offer, extending the towel to him.
Steve's head pops back up. "Yes! Yeah, I'll do that." He gladly accepts the cloth from you and takes your place at the hood.
"Okay, cool. My back was starting to cramp up anyway," you lie.
You step away to give him a moment of respite. Doing a series of stretches, you bring your arms in front, above, and behind you, inadvertently pushing your breasts together and then jutting them forward. Even though Steve is busy drying the Jeep, you can’t help but notice him slowly drag his attention from the car over to you, peeping at you from the corner of his eye.
Alright, the pity party is now over. You weren’t even actively trying to grab Steve’s attention and he still checked you out. Might as well just go all in and win this game.
"I owe you one, Steve." You walk over to one of the full buckets – the water inside looking clean and recently changed.
"No, no, it's fine,” Steve tries brushing you off, watching as you bend down.
"I insist,” you say as you grab the pail, grunting slightly as you pretend to struggle with it. “You lent me a hand, so now I owe you one," you groan louder as you slowly lift it, almost whimpering as you take an extended amount of time to reach your full height again.
Steve chokes on his spit and suddenly drops the towel in his hand, rapidly walking over to you. “Uh, let me help you with that,” he puts one hand on the side of the bucket, encouraging you to hand it over to him.
You grip it even tighter. You know he’s not offering to carry it out of a sense of chivalry, but rather, to get you to shut up and stop making those noises that affect him.
“I’m okay,” you try pulling the bucket out of his hold – a few droplets riding up over the rim.
“Whoa, careful,” Steve warns, keeping his hand on the pail.
"I’ve got it. But like I said, if you ever need a hand, Captain…,” you grunt as you try to pry to bucket from him once more – the sound of his nickname making Steve involuntarily groan in turn.
Excellent.
“Or… if you ever need a mouth.”
Steve’s brows shoot up to his hairline. Your smirk conveys the unspoken meaning behind your words, seeing the understanding flash in his eyes. Renewing his determination to take it from you, Steve’s hand tightens on the bucket, tugging it harder. You tug right back, the water beginning to slosh over the sides in the struggle between you two.
Scrunching your brows as if in a sense of pleasure, you moan, “Or maybe a nice, warm, tight, little pu–"
“Wait! You’re gonna–”
Steve’s caution goes unsaid as the bucket tips, spilling all of its contents down your front, completely drenching your torso and making you gasp at the chill. The bucket drops from your hands in a loud thud, grabbing the attention of several people around you.
Your tank top immediately soaks and sticks to your skin. Despite the temperature of the air, the water is freezing – your nipples pebbling and becoming easily visible through your bra and shirt.
Steve goes into a state of alarm. His eyes widen and jaw drops as he takes in your clothes and body. He looks wildly around the parking lot, counting how many sets of eyes are directed at you two. Unfortunately for him, Dr. Banner’s are one of those sets.
Steve’s head snaps back to you – a panic burning in his eyes. His expression and the way his muscles tense tell you everything you need to know: it’s about to happen. The moment you’ve been building up to has finally arrived. He knows it. You know it. And pretty soon, several other people are going to know it, too.
You can’t help but chuckle at the situation. Sure, you had to embarrass yourself a little bit, but it’s worth it in getting to see that sweet, sweet expression on Steve’s face. Just as you go to offer an insincere apology for the growing bulge you can see in his pants, Steve does something you would’ve never predicted.
He reaches for one of the other buckets, and – before you can stop him – dumps it over his head, drenching his entire body in the water. The temperature makes him shout and twist his face up in discomfort – the cold more than doing the job he wanted it to do, much to your chagrin.
Steve drops the bucket and shakes his head, rogue droplets flinging every which way. As he pants heavily – the cold having shocked his system and stolen his breath – he stares you down, displeasure obviously written on his face.
“Is everything alright?” Dr. Banner’s voice startles you. He stands right beside you, looking curiously at you both.
Steve eyes quickly flit between you and Dr. Banner as he struggles to come up with an answer. “Uh, y-yeah. I was just… hot,” he finally responds.
“Rogers,” Dr. Banner puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder, instantly regretting it as he withdraws the hand to wipe it off on his own shirt, “while the enthusiasm was commendable, maybe next time… just try drinking a bottle of water,” he sighs. He gives him a small smile and reassuring nod before walking away.
Steve looks back at you – his face somehow even more displeased than before. As he goes to say something, he’s cut off by Sam.
“I didn’t know this car wash also doubled as a wet t-shirt contest,” he jokes. “I’m sorry to say, but I think you’re both losing,” he points at Bucky who apparently discarded his shirt at some point – now wearing only his shoes and those incredibly tiny shorts. As Bucky bends over to pick up a brush, Sam grimaces. “Ugh, on second thought, I think we’re all losing,” he walks towards Bucky, yelling at him to put his shirt back on.
You turn back to Steve, seeing him absolutely fuming as he stares you down. “Well… that was fun. Wasn’t it?” You ask, a deceptively innocent smile on your face.
Steve juts out his lower lip to blow the water off of his face – his hair unmoving as it sticks to his forehead. Without a word, he turns and stalks away, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind him.
“Or… not.”
~~~~~
Dusk has arrived by the time the final customer pulls out of the parking lot, leaving the handful of remaining volunteers to finish cleaning up. After the long day, your entire body is sore, sticky, and sweaty. And yet, you’re feeling pretty great. The fundraiser was an incredible success – the car wash raising nearly triple the amount your sorority was hoping for.
As you collect various items strewn about the lot, you can’t help but think back on the events of the day, especially the ones that involved Steve. After ‘The Incident’, your shenanigans came to a full stop. Even though – much to your surprise – you and Steve continued to work together the rest of the afternoon, you left him well enough alone after the bucket fiasco. You’d felt like you’d tortured him enough for one day.
And, instead of telling you off like you expected him to do, Steve simply gave you the silent treatment after he returned from drying himself off, making for an incredibly awkward silence the last half of the day.
Honestly… you might’ve preferred getting yelled at.
As you bend down to grab the final sponge, you unintentionally get eye-level with a pair of passerby shins. You cringe. Even in the dim parking lot lighting, you can tell Dr. Banner’s once paper-white legs are now the same color as Bucky’s freshly washed truck – both an ungodly shade of crimson. Ouch. Poor man must’ve forgotten to apply sunblock this morning. Hopefully, he has a bottle or three of Aloe vera at home. He's going to need it.
Walking over to Natasha’s Beetle, you load the last of your items into her trunk and wait for her to join you. Just as she gives her thanks to the final volunteers and starts making her way to you, a voice sounds from behind.
"Hey," Steve greets you.
You nod in acknowledgement, "Hey."
"Can we talk?"
"Uh… sure?" You respond carefully. Even though you two have been radio silent the past several hours, you have a feeling you know what he's going to say. "What's up?"
"I’d like to talk about what happened today," he says, steely eyes boring into you.
Yep. Just as you suspected. Not only had 'The Incident' been replaying non-stop in your mind, but it most likely was in Steve’s as well. Thus, he's come to finally air his grievances with you. While you might've hoped to wait until tomorrow when you're less exhausted, you figure the least you can do is yield to his wishes. You owe him that much after what you put him through today.
"I’m sorry, Steve. I got a little too carried away earlier and I didn’t think you’d–”
“Yeah, that’s great,” Steve interjects, “but I was hoping we could have this conversation somewhere a little more private.”
You blink in confusion. Vaguely, you register the sound of Natasha dispensing items in her trunk, but you’re too stunned to acknowledge her presence. You were apologizing to Steve – trying to act mature rather than petty – and he cut you off. Seriously?
“Um… okay. Yeah, we can step away for a second. But Nat’s my ride, so I gotta–”
"I can take you back to campus," Steve offers, an eagerness present in his tone.
“You sure?” On any other day, you’d happily accept a ride from Steve. But today, right after you’re going to get chewed out for acting like a fool and humiliating him, the prospect doesn’t sound very appealing.
“Please. It’d be my pleasure,” he smiles gently.
Despite how awkward you know it’s going to be, since you’re trying to make up for your behavior today, you accept his offer, figuring you'll do anything to appease him to maybe make him go easy on you.
You turn to Natasha and shrug. "Looks like I’m gonna get a ride back with Steve. I'll see you at the house."
A mischievous grin settles on her face. "Fine with me. Drive safe,” she says. As you start to walk with Steve to his car, she calls, “Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"
What? That can’t mean what you think it means, right?
Looking back at her, you see her wink before getting into her car, immediately driving away. Okay, so you can assume you know what she was thinking – her having a boatload of optimism for how your night is going to end – but you know she’s wrong. Steve’s about to chastise you. Nothing more.
When you reach his sedan, you turn to him and begin your apology again. “Like I said, I’m sorry about–”
“How dare you,” he accuses.
Your face heats, embarrassment quickly washing over your body. “S-Steve, I’m so sorry. Look, I know I took it a little too far and–”
“A ‘little’?” He asks incredulously. “No, I think you’re mistaken, dollface. A ‘little’ would’ve been stopping even before I warned you to. A ‘lot’ was all the stuff you did after my first warning. But that last stunt you pulled? The bucket? That was leagues passed ‘too far’.”
“I know, I know. That’s why I’m trying to apologize,” you release a heavy breath. When Steve doesn’t move to speak, you continue. “I’m truly sorry. I know it’s no excuse, but I was just being stupid and childish and I thought it would be funny to try to… rile you up a little. So, I teased you here and there–”
“‘Here and there’?” He scoffs. “No, no, no, dollface. Not just ‘here and there’. Try: constant; relentless; over and over and over again. You've been teasing me all day and I've had it! I’m so fucking sick of it!”
You drop your chin and stare at the center of his chest, unable to hold his eye as he berates you. “I understand. I do,” you tell him. He has every right to be mad, but part of you feels like he’s being unnecessarily harsh. “If I could just–”
“You know,” he cuts you off, and you can’t help but sigh for being interrupted again, “I might’ve been willing to let it slide if it was just a little thing now and then – one or two jokes the whole day. But it wasn't like that, was it?" He asks, venom dripping from his tone.
“You’re right. It wasn’t,” you say rigidly, trying not to grit your teeth. Is he going to let you get a word in or not? You’re trying to make peace, but it’s hard when he’s being so combative. Taking a few calming breaths, you try to compose yourself before you blow up and escalate the situation. "Like I’ve said, I’m sorr–"
"You're damn right I'm right!” His voice bellows. “You couldn’t just let it go! No, you had to keep pushing and pushing and pushing until I–”
“Oh, would you just shut up so I can apologize?!” You shout, finally reaching your breaking point. You snap your eyes up to his face, expecting to see anger and hostility written all over his expression.
Instead, you’re met with a heated gaze, a fire burning in his eyes – pupils blown wide and cheeks flushed. It’s not a look of anger, or exasperation, or anything of the sort.
It’s lust. Pure, carnal desire.
Steve’s lips curl into a devilish smirk. He leans into you, looking directly into your eyes. “Now look who’s the one that’s all riled up.”
You blanch, making his lip curl even more. You take a moment to process everything that just happened. The yelling, the interrupting, the overall pushing of your buttons. Was… all of that on purpose? Is he not actually mad at you, but rather, he just wanted to see you crack under some pressure? Kind of like what you were trying to do to him all day?
“Were you just… trying to get a reaction out of me? Giving me a taste of my own medicine so to speak?" You squint, not so much angry as you are annoyed that you fell into his trap.
“Maybe…,” he shrugs, still grinning mischievously. “The thought might've crossed my mind." He leans in further, lowering his voice to a stage whisper, “It doesn’t feel very good, does it?”
You chuckle and drop your head, shaking it slightly. “No. No, it doesn’t. But I guess I kinda deserved that. Well… props, Rogers. You got me good. Really got me worked up,” you say as you look back up at him.
His eyes still blaze with the fire from earlier – a passion lingering in those icy pools. Despite yourself, with the way Steve’s looking at you – that hungry gaze you’ve missed seeing the past few weeks – you feel your heart start to pound, the adrenaline from your altercation still pumping through your veins. You lick your lips and swallow thickly, feeling an excitement start to stir in your belly.
Maybe he worked you up in more ways than one.
Steve must see it on your face as he slowly cocks his head to the side, grinning once more. He steps closer, finding no resistance as he backs you up, pressing you between him and the car door. Despite the day's work and the impromptu shower you both took, his scent surrounds you, warming your insides and heating you to the core. Suddenly, it feels like the night is too hot and all of the air is drawn from your lungs.
“I gotta say…,” he speaks slowly, eyes raking over your body, “...this…,” he gestures at you, “...it’s not a bad look on you, dollface.” His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, drawing your attention to the shiny, plump pout.
Your heart beats a little faster, making you feel even more breathless than before. “Oh yeah?” You ask sweetly, trying not to show just how overworked you feel. "And… what is that, exactly?"
Steve smirks, seeing right through your ruse. He leans in, pushing your bodies closer together, caging you against the car. "Out of breath, a sheen to your skin, a wild, desperate look in your eyes. Kinda… makes me think about other situations where you might look like this," he purrs, the deep timbre sending a shiver down your spine.
Slowly, you bring your hands up between your bodies, resting them on his chest. “I… I'm not sure I know what you mean,” you lie through your teeth as you curl your fingers in his shirt, lightly grabbing two fistfuls of the material.
Steve places his hands on your waist. The heat of his palms seeps through your shirt and into your skin, warming you up even more. He presses his fingers into your hips, gripping firmly onto your flesh, grounding you to him.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
Staring into his eyes, you see the want swirl and expand and ignite with each passing second, knowing he probably sees the same thing in you. The tension between you builds and builds as silence fills the space between you – neither of you daring to move, both waiting for the other to break first.
In the end, it's you who caves.
You snap and tug Steve towards you. You want his lips to bruise yours as you crash together in a heated kiss; feel his breath warm you from the inside out; have your tongues lave at one another as you share the taste and smell and feel of each other.
Unfortunately, you don't get the chance.
"Uh… what's goin' on, y'all?" Sam's voice comes from nowhere, making you pause just as your mouth is millimeters from Steve's.
You and Steve quickly release each other, backing up to put some distance between yourselves. You cough, uncomfortable with the sudden, intruding third party. "We're, uh, we're kinda busy here, Sam. Do you… need something?" You ask, the annoyance obvious in your tone.
You were so close. Why did he have to show up now?
"I can see that," Sam smirks, taking in both of your forms. "But yeah, what I need is to go back to my room so I can sleep for the next 36 hours straight. So, if you don't mind moving out of the way so I can–"
"Bucky's still here," you point over Sam's shoulder, noticing the truck several yards away. "He can take you back."
You're not about to put another pause on moving things along with Steve. No way. Not for Sam, or Bucky, or even God Himself if He tried to stop you.
"Are you kidding me?" Sam's eyes go wide. "Nuh-uh, I'm not doing that. No way in hell am I getting in that nasty ass, unvacuumed, month-old takeout-filled–"
"Hey Bucky!" You yell.
"Yeah?!"
"Can Sam ride with you guys?!"
"Of course! We've got space!" Bucky gives a big swoop of his hand. "C'mon, Wilson, the more the merrier!"
Sam's mouth falls open in disbelief as he looks at you. "Wh– are y– are you trying to give me tetanus?"
You shrug, giving him a sympathetic look that doesn't quite reach your eyes. Bucky calls for Sam again, urging him to get a move on.
Sam turns to Steve. "C'mon, man, don't make me ride in that disease-riddled hunk of metal. I… I'll… I’ll let you wax my chest as payback," he offers, desperately trying to get Steve on his side.
Steve and you both just stare at him – neither willing to change your mind.
At seeing your resolve, Sam frowns deeply, glaring at you. "Man, fuck you guys! You can suck my ass," he waves a dismissive hand at you, turning and trudging towards Bucky's truck. Just as he slides inside, you hear him say, “If anything crawls on me, I’m taking you both out with me,” before the door closes, the vehicle taking off moments later.
Once Bucky's truck leaves, it's just you and Steve left in the parking lot.
Perfect.
You grab Steve by the shirt again and pull him to you, finally breaking the tension with the seal of your lips. It's just like you’d hoped for: bruising lips, heated breath, and hungry tongues. Your makeout at the frat party doesn’t even come close to rivaling the kiss you share now – both of you completely sober, drunk only on the feeling of each other.
"Get in the car," Steve pants against your lips, trying to minimize the time you two spend apart.
You whine into his mouth as you can't find the will to separate from him – just wanting to stay locked in this moment.
He pulls back from you and gives you an intense, dark look. "Get in the car so I can fuck the shit out of you," he growls.
Well… he doesn't have to twist your arm.
Quickly, you wrench open the backseat and slide in – Steve clambering in behind you and slamming the door shut. He pulls you onto his lap and sits you directly on his crotch, letting you feel how hot and hard he is already. You start to grind down on him as you kiss him again, feeling his length rub against you, pushing the seam of your shorts into your slit. The pressure is good, but it’s not enough. Not even close.
"God, Steve, I need you to fuck me. I need your cock in me right now," you whimper, the heat in your belly becoming almost painful as the arousal pools between your thighs, soaking through your panties.
Steve nods and lifts you off of him, depositing you on the seat beside him as he reaches for his wallet. In the cramped space, you clumsily unbutton your shorts and slip them and your panties down your legs. The items get caught on your sneakers, making you rip them off and toss them away in your irritation.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Steve slip his shorts and boxers down to his knees, tearing a foil packet open before rolling on a condom. Before you can get a good look at the size of him, Steve pulls you onto his lap again – his cock bobbing against your inner thigh, brushing your folds as he attacks your mouth with his.
"Are you ready?" He pants as he pulls away to ask. He brings a hand up to your pussy, swirling his fingers through the wetness coating your lips. "Oh yeah, you're fucking ready," he grins.
"Please, Steve, just get on with it," you beg, squirming as the ache of being empty gets more and more unbearable.
"You're lucky you worked me up by teasing me all day," he says as he grabs hold of his cock, lining himself up with you. "Otherwise, I might’ve been inclined to return the favor."
Just as you feel the head slip into you, you whisper the promise, “Next time.”
You slowly sink down on him and gasp – your hands flying to his shoulders to fist his shirt, holding on for dear life as you take every throbbing inch of him.
"Fuck," you hiss as he bottoms out. You’ve never felt so full in your life – so stretched, so stuffed, and so satisfied that the empty ache has disappeared. But you need more. Much more.
You start rocking back and forth as Steve settles his hands on your hips, carefully working you against him. After a few beats, you try speeding up, needing to chase after that blissful feeling already blooming in your core.
"More. Harder. Faster," you pant, only being able to do so much as you straddle him.
"What happened to 'slow and steady'?" He smirks, repeating your words from earlier in the day.
You snarl, "Rogers, I swear if you don't–"
Steve's hands slip down to the backs of your thighs. He begins to rapidly lift you up and down his cock, bouncing you on his lap.
"Ah!" You cry out at the change in sensation, wrapping an arm around the back of his shoulders to better stabilize yourself.
The sounds of your pleasure fills the air, ringing through the tight confines of Steve's car. Even if it weren't for the lewd noises playing in your ears, you'd be able to tell how wet you are from the feeling alone – the arousal dripping from your body, completely drenching his cock.
"God, you are making a fucking mess, dollface," Steve chuckles, confirming what you already knew. He picks up the pace even more, manhandling you as he pounds into you from below.
Burying your face in the crook of his neck, you whine, feeling your body already hurtling towards the finish line – the edge of release just within reach.
"Say it for me," Steve pants against your ear – voice shaky and teetering on desperate. "Say it," he repeats when no words come from your mouth.
You don't know what he's talking about, your mind too fuzzy from the euphoria that's just past your fingertips. Pulling away from his neck slightly, you look up at him, furrowing your brows in confusion. "Wh-what? I don't underst–"
"Captain," Steve chokes out, his movements never faltering as he bounces you on him. "Call me Captain. God, please, please say it," he begs as his face scrunches up in pleasure, his own end rapidly approaching.
"Captain," you purr, being met with an obscene groan from Steve. You smile and tuck your face back into his neck. "It's so good, Captain. It feels so fucking good. I'm gonna - fuck - I’m gonna cum all over your cock, Captain," you moan against the column of his throat, squealing when he growls and drives into you even harder.
Through your mutterings, the coil in your belly tightens and tightens – ready to snap at any second. You just need a little more, just a little something else. Something to give you that extra push to make you fall over the edge and–
"Do it," Steve breathes. "Cum. Fucking soak my cock."
That's all you need.
Your orgasm crashes over you, making your body tense as wave after wave of ecstasy floods your veins. You nearly scream as you gush around him, feeling as if a bolt of lightning is sent down your spine, warming you head to toe. Through your bliss, you’re barely able to register Steve finding his own rapture – his hips stuttering underneath you, groaning as he hits that crest at the same time as you.
The moment you come down from your high, you slump against his chest, feeling absolutely bone-tired and ready to pass out. If you weren't already exhausted from working all day, then you're definitely spent now.
Steve rubs a gentle hand across your back as you catch your breath – the warmth nearly lulling you to sleep despite the aftershocks that shake your body. After a minute or two of rest, Steve shifts slightly – his length no longer hard but still buried inside of you. You whine as you feel him move.
"Shit, sorry,” he says quietly, continuing to rub your back. When he shifts again a few moments later – drawing another whine from you – he sighs. “Look, I know you're tired, dollface, but you have to get off me now. I gotta take us back."
You grumble but don't move a muscle. You’re too tired to even keep your eyes open let alone get off of him and re-dress. As far as you’re concerned, you’re content to spend the rest of the night interlocked in this parking lot.
"Guess I gotta do everything, huh?" Steve chuckles. Carefully, he lifts you from his lap – trying to minimize your discomfort as he slips out of you – and places you on the seat beside him. You hear him shift for a second before snorting, a laugh bubbling out of his throat. "Wow, good thing we didn’t clean interiors today, because I think we would've just ruined all of that work.”
Peeling an eye open, you look over at Steve. The leather seat below him shines back at you, flooded in your arousal. You stare for a few seconds before a tired giggle falls from your lips. Damn. You knew you were making a mess, but you didn’t think it was that big.
Steve chuckles again, shaking his head in faux admonishment. "Do you have anything you’d like to say, young lady? Maybe ‘sorry for ruining your seat, Steve’ or ‘let me pay to get that cleaned for you, Steve’? Hmm? Anything?” He teases.
Mustering up all of the energy you have left, you crane your neck to look him dead in the eye. After a moment, you shrug indifferently, making Steve laugh once more. Only one word comes to mind as your eyes flutter closed again – the single syllable a whisper on your lips.
"Oops?"
__________
A/N: Fucking oops, amirite? If you made it to the end of this entirely too long fic, I’d love to know what you thought! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!
Tags: @donutloverxo
