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Title: Just What I Needed (Someone To Plead)
Author: redbrunja
Fandom: The Avengers
Pairing: Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers
Rating: NC-17
Author's Note: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
homebrewbingo, prompt "discipline or punishment." This is all qualapec's fault.
Warnings: Explicit sex.
Summary: A girl has needs, okay?
Darcy is normally pretty chill about the times that Steve is hours late to one of their dates or stands her up entirely. She's got her iPod and her Stark phone and can keep herself pretty much indefinitely entertained (especially if there's wi-fi, which, excluding the subway, in New York there always is) and she's never been one of those girls who can't handle seeing a movie by herself. Factoring into her zen is that when Steve doesn't show, it's always because (totally random example) robot lobsters are attacking the coast of Brazil or AIM is threatening to flash-fry Idaho (again) and not because he decided a WOW raid was more important than seeing her or was having so much fun masturbating to anime porn that there was no need to hook up with her (two different ex-boyfriends, two completely douche-baggy excuses).
But when a girl's boyfriend's 'world is in peril, suit up' phone goes off when his head is between her thighs - when his mouth is hot, tongue curling against her clit and she's so. fucking. close?
"It's very frustrating, Steve," Darcy says.
Steve is flat on his back on the hardwood floor of his apartment, his whole body drawn taut, cock hard against his belly. His hands are fisted, clenched at his sides, and she's kneeling over him, straddling him, careful that the only part of her actually touching him is just the barest bit of her inner thighs against the outside of his hips.
She's stroking herself, fingers sliding easily. (She feels like she's spent the entire time he was gone wet. Like, literally, the entire time. There is only so much of the edge masturbation can take off.) She circles her clit with her pointer finger, doesn't even try to hold back the pleased hitch in her breath.
Steve lifts his head, his cheeks flushed, eyes so dilated that his irises are just a thin ring of blue surrounding his pupil.
"Didn't I tell you to stay still?" Darcy asks lightly, and Steve drops his head against the floor with a thunk, the muscles in his abdomen jumping, his cock twitching.
Darcy licks her lips, gathers her train of thought.
"Two weeks, Steve," she focuses of the most relevant information. "Do you know how close I was? And then you go off and save the world for two whole weeks. You didn't even write me a dirty, apologetic email. Small talk. You sent me the e-mail of equivalent of small talk, Steve."
"I– I didn't – there were always people around, and they'd – and Tony was already– and–" Steve bites his lip, looks flushed and frustrated and aroused. "I could make it up to you?" he tries.
"Oh, don't worry, you will," Darcy promises, and informs him about how, exactly, she kept herself entertained while he was off Avenging or whatever. She even demonstrates; her fingers playing with her clit, moving back to press inside. She knows that Steve doesn't have a great view of what she's doing but he can hear the sounds her fingers make against her slick, swollen flesh, smell how fucking turned on she is.
Steve's making these delicious, needy groans in the back of his throat, trying and failing to keep the sounds locked behind his teeth. One of his hands uncurls, instinctively reaches for her, and she can visibly see the effort it takes him to force his hand back into a fist, to not touch her. That sends a rush of heat through her and Darcy arches her back, presses her fingers firmly against her clit, grinding against her hand and coming unusually hard, given it's her own touch - well, sort of – that's brining her off.
Steve is babbling, almost begging – there are a lot of "pleases" and her name and frantic requests to touch her coming from Steve and Darcy scoots back, leans down, and licks, one smooth, hard stroke of her tongue all along the base of his cock, from root to tip. That's all it takes to have him coming, spurting across the hard planes of his stomach.
Author: redbrunja
Fandom: The Avengers
Pairing: Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers
Rating: NC-17
Author's Note: Written for
homebrewbingo, prompt "discipline or punishment." This is all qualapec's fault.Warnings: Explicit sex.
Summary: A girl has needs, okay?
Darcy is normally pretty chill about the times that Steve is hours late to one of their dates or stands her up entirely. She's got her iPod and her Stark phone and can keep herself pretty much indefinitely entertained (especially if there's wi-fi, which, excluding the subway, in New York there always is) and she's never been one of those girls who can't handle seeing a movie by herself. Factoring into her zen is that when Steve doesn't show, it's always because (totally random example) robot lobsters are attacking the coast of Brazil or AIM is threatening to flash-fry Idaho (again) and not because he decided a WOW raid was more important than seeing her or was having so much fun masturbating to anime porn that there was no need to hook up with her (two different ex-boyfriends, two completely douche-baggy excuses).
But when a girl's boyfriend's 'world is in peril, suit up' phone goes off when his head is between her thighs - when his mouth is hot, tongue curling against her clit and she's so. fucking. close?
"It's very frustrating, Steve," Darcy says.
Steve is flat on his back on the hardwood floor of his apartment, his whole body drawn taut, cock hard against his belly. His hands are fisted, clenched at his sides, and she's kneeling over him, straddling him, careful that the only part of her actually touching him is just the barest bit of her inner thighs against the outside of his hips.
She's stroking herself, fingers sliding easily. (She feels like she's spent the entire time he was gone wet. Like, literally, the entire time. There is only so much of the edge masturbation can take off.) She circles her clit with her pointer finger, doesn't even try to hold back the pleased hitch in her breath.
Steve lifts his head, his cheeks flushed, eyes so dilated that his irises are just a thin ring of blue surrounding his pupil.
"Didn't I tell you to stay still?" Darcy asks lightly, and Steve drops his head against the floor with a thunk, the muscles in his abdomen jumping, his cock twitching.
Darcy licks her lips, gathers her train of thought.
"Two weeks, Steve," she focuses of the most relevant information. "Do you know how close I was? And then you go off and save the world for two whole weeks. You didn't even write me a dirty, apologetic email. Small talk. You sent me the e-mail of equivalent of small talk, Steve."
"I– I didn't – there were always people around, and they'd – and Tony was already– and–" Steve bites his lip, looks flushed and frustrated and aroused. "I could make it up to you?" he tries.
"Oh, don't worry, you will," Darcy promises, and informs him about how, exactly, she kept herself entertained while he was off Avenging or whatever. She even demonstrates; her fingers playing with her clit, moving back to press inside. She knows that Steve doesn't have a great view of what she's doing but he can hear the sounds her fingers make against her slick, swollen flesh, smell how fucking turned on she is.
Steve's making these delicious, needy groans in the back of his throat, trying and failing to keep the sounds locked behind his teeth. One of his hands uncurls, instinctively reaches for her, and she can visibly see the effort it takes him to force his hand back into a fist, to not touch her. That sends a rush of heat through her and Darcy arches her back, presses her fingers firmly against her clit, grinding against her hand and coming unusually hard, given it's her own touch - well, sort of – that's brining her off.
Steve is babbling, almost begging – there are a lot of "pleases" and her name and frantic requests to touch her coming from Steve and Darcy scoots back, leans down, and licks, one smooth, hard stroke of her tongue all along the base of his cock, from root to tip. That's all it takes to have him coming, spurting across the hard planes of his stomach.
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