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One
She was on the roof, soaking up the New Mexico heat like a lizard; sipping iced water and sucking on a tootsie roll pop.
He’d come up to ask how she lived like this, triple digit days that never seemed to end; hot nights that never seemed to cool.
He watched as she adjusted to look at him, camisole stuck to her sweat slick skin, too short shorts showing off her shapely legs; she twirled the lollypop in her mouth slowly, lazily, before pulling it out through pursed cherry red lips; she smiled knowingly, “Did you need me for something?”
She waited a beat before obscenely sucking the lollypop back into her mouth, running her tongue suggestively around it before enveloping it with her lips, her eyes never leaving his; he felt the question in his mouth dry in the heat and turn to dust.
“Nevermind,” he began, flushing under her gaze and opting to return to the air-conditioned cool of the rooms below, “I’ll, uh … I’ll be in my bunk.”
Two
He’d chalked it up to his misunderstanding of modern times, to the oppressive heat that blanketed all of New Mexico, or perhaps an oral fixation and a deep love of candy; whatever the case, Steve knew that what happened on the roof was mostly all in his head.
It hadn’t mattered in the furious minutes when his hand was wrapped around his cock, pulling and twisting, thinking of her lips and her curves, and when release came as he thought of her mouth and the screams he wanted to hear from it; but after, he felt base and utterly ashamed, what would she have said if she’d have known?
Steve resolved to leave, Jane had been nice enough to put him up while he toured the parts of the United States he’d always wanted to see before, and never got a chance to; but now it was time to move on.
He walked to their little kitchen to say goodbye when he saw Darcy, hair still wet from the shower, wearing only a thin camisole and what looked to be men’s boxers, her nipples hard from the chill of the refrigerator as she held out a beer for him.
One more night, he thought to himself.
Three
He sat on the far end of the couch, watching the show Darcy had picked out; some space fiction with outlaw cowboys in a ship named after a summer bug wearing brown coats, and he tried not to think about the fact that she was within arm’s reach.
She was lounging, sprawling, over most of the couch, almost touching him but not quite; he didn’t think about her, didn’t think about how she ran her pink tongue through the salt on the long neck of her beer bottle, didn’t think about what else she could be licking with that tongue.
He focused on the screen, still not thinking about Darcy and her mouth and her tongue and her nipples and, Oh God.
The man they called Jayne said the words, his words, the words he’d said to Darcy on the roof not two hours before; and Steve felt his neck flush as he stole a glance at Darcy.
She wasn’t watching the show, she was looking right at him, drinking her beer with a smirk and a sparkle in her eye when it hit him; she knew, and she had known, right from the beginning, she’d known the whole time.
Four
He’d given up on staying, leaving the couch and Darcy to pack; reminding himself that Darcy was a nice girl, a nice girl who enjoyed perfectly normal things like beer and lollypops, and that he needed to stop thinking such inappropriate things about her.
Near as he could tell she didn’t want anything to do with him, she’d spent most of his short stay on the roof or in the desert, avoiding him; he respected that, it wasn’t the first time a beautiful dame overlooked Steve Rogers.
He was halfway packed when she appeared, leaning on the door, the beer bottle and lollypop were gone but he still couldn’t stop looking at her lips.
“You’re leaving,” she said, it wasn’t a question; but there was a sadness in her voice, and for a fleeting moment he imagined she wanted him to stay but – no.
He looked her over once, thought about the pages in his sketchbook he would fill with her mouth, the curve of her back, the shape of her legs, and looked away, “Don’t want to overstay my welcome.”
Five
Bag in hand he walked to the door, casting glances to see if he’d forgotten anything; not looking to see if Darcy had followed him to the door, not trying to etch her into his memory, not having a hard time breathing because he was walking away from the most amazing, feisty, beautiful woman since Peggy.
He turned to say his goodbye but stopped when he saw the expression on her face; it was the look people got when they wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words; she seemed to come to some kind of a decision, and then next thing Steve knew her mouth, that mouth, was on his.
Then she pulled away, her hand on his chest, beautiful eyes anywhere but his face, her weight shifting from foot to foot, her voice is soft, her lips are softer, “I’m sorry,” she says, “that was too forward.”
Somewhere in the back of his mind it clicks that perhaps his reactions to the lollypop and the beer were expected, intended, and that she doesn’t mind that he was thinking of her when he – earlier; and it’s mostly to himself but he knows she can hear him when he says, “Well, while we’re being so damn forward.”
He can feel the silk of her hair and he threads his hand through it and around the back of her neck, pulling her to him; his heart pounding, his pulse racing, ready to apologize at her first protest he kisses her; and when she opens her mouth to his he tastes her, the beer and the salt and the candy he knows he’s done for, and he drops his bag.