Chapter Text
''Nat, I give up,'' Darcy announced as she dropped down in the seat next to her best friend. ''It's Friday night, the place is packed and I see nobody, absolutely nobody I want to take home with me.'' She made an all encompassing wave with the almost empty glass.
''It's an end of an era, eh? Darcy Lewis doesn't want any of these perfectly well put together men to rock her world for a few hours to later promptly kick them out without breakfast?'' Natasha looked right past her at something or someone else. ''Well, I'll be damned.''
Darcy grimaced. ''Bite your nasty tongue.''
Her gaze traveled across the room once more, as if the hundredths time was going to be the charm and suddenly Prince Charming was going to appear in the middle of this Down Town bar.
''I think I'm just done, you know? All this cruising around to look for fuck knows what...'' Her face twisted like she was about to spit but instead Darcy just sighed impatiently. ''Lately I want to come home to a nice guy I know will like me equally well whether I wear Victoria Secret or his old t-shirt.''
''That just sounds lazy, you know.''
''Fuck you. You call it lazy, I call it homely.'' Darcy stuck her tongue out and made a blurping sound. ''Comfort. I want love that is comfortable and doesn't give me anxiety on a weekly basis.''
Natasha, who seemed to only half listen as her eyes searched the room, hummed in response. ''Don't we all.''
''I'm serious, Nat. Do you know anyone who's on the market at the moment? Anyone. Even Bill from accounting will do,'' Darcy chattered away, swinging the now empty glass over the back of the chair. ''He had pretty eyes. And nice hands.''
Natasha finally turned her full attention to her friend and addressed her for a long, heavy moment. In fact, the silence between them stretched out for so long that Darcy had time to shift uncomfortably in her seat several times.
''Are you serious?'' the red head asked.
Darcy nodded, pressing her lips together in what she thought would look like a determined line.
''I might know someone.''
And just like that Darcy found herself terrified down to her bones because Natasha was going to set her up on a blind date.
Oh dear.
*
There are not enough swear words in English language to cover everything that Darcy felt the moment her date turned out to be none other than Steve Rogers.
He looked alarmed and downright boyish as he sat down across from her. The red checkered table cloth wasn't covering enough space between them and Darcy wanted to do just one thing - find Stephen Strange, make him take her back to just before she put her faith in Natasha's hands and smack herself across the head with a cast iron cooking pan.
It was the most awkward date Darcy had ever had and that included the time she had accidentally gone on another first date with an ex.
Steve was uptight and so polite that it gave her heart burn. They had nothing to talk about beyond him asking how Jane was doing and her saying that her boss was fine.
It was also only because of habit (and a little voice at the back of her mind that kept reminding her that it was, after all, Natasha who had set this up and, therefore, she was in her debt. Needless to say she was slightly terrified of her ninja assassin friend) that Darcy told him to call her at the end of their date. Steve smiled - you guessed it, politely! - and promised he would.
What sordid cosmic joke had come to fruition was incomprehensible because two weeks later she found herself on a second date with Steve Rogers.
Darcy kept mentally talking herself into it the whole time through the stunted conversation and long pauses. What was the worst that could happen? He wouldn't call after this one. Ha! That would actually be a relief.
Best case scenario? Free meal. A girl could do worse.
Things turned for the even more awkward when Steve offered to walk her home. A mild wind picked up and Darcy, wearing only a thin summer dress, shivered. Steve jumped on the cliche like a dog on a spared leftover, taking off his jacket and draping it over her shoulders.
It was warm. And smelled overwhelmingly like an aftershave she didn't recognize, but it stuck to the roof of her mouth like caramel candy. Darcy pulled the jacket closer around herself and inhaled deeply before thinking better of it. She could hear the noise of Steve swallowing audibly.
Maybe it was the desperation. Or her lizard brain had picked up on something that sophisticated and domesticated miss Lewis wasn't able (or didn't want) to put into words. Whatever it was, she was the one inviting Steve for a third date. They went rollerskating.
Afterwards, sitting on the sofa with a cup of apple-vanilla tea, Darcy kept on mulling over the evening they had had. Come to think of it, he wasn't so bad after all. They had things to talk about now, places to remember, even dreams to share.
But... they still hadn't kissed.
And Darcy's imagination started to run all wild and discolored as she tried to explain it away. Maybe he was really gay and was scouting for a beard? Were these dates only in her head? Did he feel obligated to go out with her for whatever fucked up reason (kind of like she felt because of Nat)?
The thing was that a man like Steve could be any one of the million things that Darcy could imagine. Unfortunately for her, she was now also imagining him naked and sprawled across her bed.
Hot!
After a while Darcy managed to qualm her hormones and go along for the ride. He was fun to simply be around. And one would need to look very fucking hard to find another man with manners like Rogers. I mean, impeccable.
But Darcy started to worry that maybe something was seriously wrong as even after the date number ten the most he had done was kiss her hand. He treated her like a lady. And, don't get her wrong, it was nice. But this lady wanted to be a little debauched once in a while.
Her paranoia was growing in direct proportion to Steve's steady niceness. Darcy felt unreasonable fear that she will unintentionally give the wrong impression, as in that what she really needed was a good lay. Maybe he was asexual? And why was she even thinking that it wouldn't be the worst thing to settle for?
On the other hand, the look he gave her when they attended the Halloween Party thrown by Stark Industries was anything but tame. She went as Betty Boop, shorty shorts, stockings, high heels and even the little top hat.
He stared and stared at Darcy after taking her coat. Just as she was about to say something mildly funny in an effort to break the building tension, Steve exhaled, blushed and proposed.
''Marry me?''
It was her turn to stare at Steve like he was a mad man. Catching a glimpse of her reflection in one of the glass doors, Darcy snorted.
''Is it the costume? Is it because Betty was your teenage wet dream?'' she asked, hands on hips. ''You know you can have all this without putting a ring on it.''
Ignoring her clever pop culture references, Steve closed the distance between them (more than just the physical one) and kissed the shit out of her. He actually drew blood by biting her bottom lip.
''I know.'' He breathed heavily in her ear once the epic snog was over. ''But it's so much hotter to think about bedding you with my ring on your finger.''
There was heavy, lusty fog weighing down on her brain.
Fuck. (Also - bedding? How did he make that sound dirty?)
So. He wasn't abstaining because the boy-scout on his shoulder said so. He was just kinky. (Thank God!)
(Once more, with feeling.) Fuck.