Oh Captain!

Working out with Captain America was always a spectacle. No one could blame you really.

He always showed up to the training room in a white tee shirt that seemed just maybe a size too small and sweat pants that left nothing to the imagination. Literally not a damn thing. If you didn't know any better you'd think he was doing this on purpose. That man was a walking sex fantasy. You could literally create a successful porno of him just working out. Many of the women (and men, because hello, have you seen Steven Grant Rogers?) in the Tower had arranged their workout schedules around his; he pretended not to notice. On the plus side, everyone seemed to be in the best shape of their lives.

You couldn't help yourself really; you'd be in the middle of a weight lifting set and would catch yourself inadvertently staring at Steve's thighs, arms, not-so-subtledick print, and that glorious chest, oh man his hands...basically any portion of his body that graced your line of sight. You'd catch him staring at you as well. Every time you did your squat sets you swore you could feel his baby blues staring holes into your ass. He might have been a complete gentleman, but you could always tell when a man was staring at your cleavage. It's one of those skills that women just develop without even realising it. You frequently felt guilty for objectifying him this way but knowing he was doing the same went a long way to alleviate said guilt.

Today was one of those rare days where you and Steve had the training room all to yourself.

"Morning, Captain," you all but purred. Goddammit Y/N, get yourself under control, you thought.

Steve felt his cock twitch at the sultriness of your tone. Fuck me. He'd never tell a soul but he loved the way you always called him that. You were an absolutely beautiful woman; he'd often catch himself deep in a fantasy of wondering just how delicious your dark copper skin tasted. He'd do almost anything to find out. Maybe today was a bad day to go commando, he wondered briefly.

He cleared his throat, "Good morning, Agent." The deep brusqueness of his voice sent shivers down your spine. Get a grip, Y/N; he's Captain America for crying out loud.

You both settled into your warm up routines; he started with a quick jog on the treadmill while you opted for yoga. There was one small problem. The yoga mats just happened to be in front of the treadmill station. Mentally scolding yourself, you decided you'd put all your focus into warming up and stretching. Steve seemed to be paying you no mind; a quick glance his way revealed he'd slipped on some comfy headphones and settled into an easy pace. Distracting yourself with the intensity of yoga worked...for about an hour. You were completely lost when Steve moved to that goddamn punching bag.

Steve wanted to kick himself for decided to start his warm up with a jog. How the hell could he have known you were going to choose yoga? It was a monumental effort to keep his breathing even especially when you did that one fucking pose where your shapely ass tormented him in all the best ways. Running with a raging erection was damn near impossible. They didn't call him the Super Soldier for nothing. No matter what he did or how many mission reports he fought to focus on, he could not tear his eyes away from the erotic flexibility of your body. His mother would be ashamed; she didn't raise him to objectify a woman like this, no matter how badly he craved her. Today was definitely a bad day to go commando. He moved to the punching bags hoping they would provide some relief or, at the very least, send his blood rushing somewhere else. It was a feeble attempt really.

If you looked up sexual tension in the dictionary, there'd be a gif of the two of you frustrated as hell working out in the Tower gym and uselessly pretending that you weren't watching one another with sneaky lustful eyes. You couldn't even remember how long it'd had been since you'd gotten laid. Working for SHIELD killed any attempt at a social life. Goddamn world governments who couldn't seem to keep the peace long enough for you to pick up a hot man (or woman) and work out those sexual frustrations you'd racked up over long missions. Giving up on your yoga, you moved to the stationary bikes; perhaps cardio and sweat would burn this heat out of you. Your bastardly libido took that as a challenge.