Steve Rogers One-Shots

Three Piece Suits and Really Good Sex

Steve Rogers is in a three-piece suit. He's in a dark grey three-piece suit and you cannot keep your hands off of him. It just fits him so well, snug across his chest and shoulders, tapering down narrow against his waist. You keep on running your hands over his lapels, spreading your fingers and marvelling at the feel of him, so tall and strong and stoic-looking. He's definitely enjoying the flattery. And he keeps on catching you watching him in the mirror, looking up and down the back of his figure appreciatively from where you're sat on the bed behind him, feeling cosy in your pyjamas.

"You never wear suits," you comment.

He's adjusting his tie in the mirror. "I know. I'll have to wear them more often."

"Are you enjoying my attention?"

He smiles. "Mmmm. Too much."

He's getting ready to go to some special conference-party event – very dressy, very fancy, and designed to instil public hope in the Avengers once more. There's going to be lots of rich donors attending and it's important for America's golden boy to look his very best.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready?" he asks you.

"On time is boring and less cool," you explain. "Besides, I'm not as important as you are for these kind of things. I think even Bucky is more popular than me these days."

The truth is you've been looking forward to pre-drinks with Natasha and Wanda – all of you had agreed it was necessary to start early to make these functions more bearable. And turning up an hour late means you won't have to endure the awkward shuffly bit at the start of the night, just the late night stupor where everyone is drunk enough to be strange and fabulous and funny in equal measures.

"That's definitely not true. Those teenagers we saw on the street the other day were so excited to meet you. They were squealing. And crying."

"Yeah. That was pretty cool. They were nice kids."

"They look up to you." He leaned over you, resting his hands on the bed either side of you, kissing you gently on the lips. "I look up to you." His eyes are earnest and beautiful in that intense way that always makes you want to look away.

"Thanks. I'm still not arriving on time though."

He laughs and nuzzles into your neck, brushing a hand over your damp hair and pressing his lips to your cheek. "I'll see you soon then, I hope. Please don't be too fashionably late."

"Or you'll miss me?"

"Yeah. I'll miss you."

"I'll see you soon."

He kisses you again and turns to go. You reach out to pat his ass without thinking about it, and he looks back fleetingly with a strange expression. A mixture of amusement and confusion and happiness.

You start to get ready when he leaves, first putting on some makeup, then your dress, and finally styling your hair. Your dress is simple and classy, long and black with a square neckline and a slit over your right leg. Your shoes are black too, block heels with a delicate ankle strap. All in all, you're feeling good about your outfit. So good that maybe this will actually be a really fun night.

You head to the kitchen to meet the girls, sauntering along with a few liquor bottles clanking against each other in your hand. They're not there yet so you busy yourself with setting up a makeshift bar, lining up bottles and glasses and pouring out snacks into bowls.

"Oh! You brought vodka; I love you!" Natasha exclaims, hugging you enthusiastically when they arrive in the kitchen.

She pours out shots immediately, Wanda scrunching her nose up when she offers her one, throwing it back swiftly into her mouth nevertheless. You grin and sink your own, relishing in the burn against your throat.