Darcy stands in the hallway of Steve's apartment, her arms crossed. It's after their third date, and she might murder anyone if she has to wait any longer to get in his star-spangled pants. It was bad enough just kissing during that movie, and it was pure torture being asked to keep her hands above the waist when they went rollerblading and picnicking in the park.

But third date, they've discussed this.

"And this is the kitchen," he says finally, flourishing his arm towards the immaculate room.

"Is that the last room?" she asks.

"Yep," he replies. "I know it's not that big —"

"Thank god," she groans. "That tour was taking so long."

"Darcy, I only have four rooms," Steve replies, eyes crinkling.

"I guess that means we have four different choices," she replies.

"Choices?"

"Venues," she clarifies.

"Oh, I assumed you wanted to use the kitchen," he says.

"Why?" she asks, making a face at the idea of the cold tile.

"It seems like the right room to bake muffins," he says innocently.

She grabs onto the back of his neck and kisses him hard on the mouth.

"You are such a smartass," she growls into his ear, biting a bit on his earlobe. She hears him groan a bit in response and instinctively lean in towards her, pressing against her even harder.

He is a little short of breath as he replies with a wicked smile, "I suppose I do have a pretty smart ass."

She grabs the offending body part and enjoys the way his breath hitches at the movement.

"But to be fair," he says between breaths, "Yours is pretty spectacular as well."

Her eyes widen as he returns the gesture, caressing the whole of her thigh with ridiculously large hands.

They both laugh as he hefts her up and carries her to the bedroom, planting kisses right above her neckline.

"One thing, before we begin," he says, stripping off her shirt.

"Too late," she pants, wiggling out of her leggings and panties.

He gently caresses her, fingers tracing her thigh and slowly pressing just where she needs them.

"Promise me one thing," he says, his fingers never halting in their rhythmic movement; in a cry of desperation she reaches to the return the favor, tugging at his pants. However, she quickly fails in her endeavor; her hands have to clutch at the bed sheets and he chuckles at her struggles, at the way he has her completely in the palm of his hand.

"Promise me," he purrs.

"Technically, I'm under duress and any agreements made are not permissible in a court of law," she pants out.

"Is that so?" he asks archly, and she almost cries out as he teases her with his fingers.

"What is it?" she pants out. "Anything okay — anything just…"

"Promise me," he says, leaning forward to kiss her navel, "that under no circumstances…"

She cries out again as his lips move further down.

"… Never ever, no matter what,will you call me Loki."

"Okay," she whimpers.

She grabs onto his hair, and makes sure that when she has to, it's his name she screams out.

Steve and Darcy are sprawled across his bed as though they are stargazing into the ceiling — which isn't that far from the truth, as Darcy is fairly certain she might be seeing stars like in those Saturday morning cartoons. Steve, however, is more relaxed, hands absentmindedly tracing lines on her thigh. As she tries to catch her breath, a though occurs to her and can't help but giggle.

"What?" he asks, his hand coming to rest above her knee.

"I'm glad we picked the bedroom," she replies. "Good, solid choice. Classic. Ten out of ten. Would recommend for fucking."

"Really?" he asks. "Because when I brought you here… I just meant that we could start here. I was thinking we could try the kitchen next."

She sighs and stretches out across the bed, smiling up at the ceiling. He slides up over her to kiss her collarbone, her chin, her nose, and finally her lips.

"Steve Rogers," she says when she can, "May I just say, I love fucking you."

"Darcy Lewis," he replies. "May I just say, I fucking love you."

Across town, Tony shows up at Natasha's apartment in a trench coat.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," she says.

"I've got the goods," Tony says, looking around and over his shoulders and then around once more.

"Just give it to me, asshat," she replies, rolling her eyes. He reaches into his pocket and produces a thumb drive.

"Make sure to make lots of popcorn," he says, as though it's some sort of code. Unfortunately, they haven't discussed it before so it makes no sense to either.

"You are enjoying this way too much," Natasha gripes, shutting the door in his face.

She pads through her apartment like a cat, almost silent until she reaches the living room.

Clint is lying on the couch, arm propped up behind him, wearing nothing but one of her leopard skin thongs.

"What are you doing?" she asks tiredly.

"Seducing you…?" he tries. He puts a knee up, awkwardly restrained by the too-small underwear. "Feeling seduced?" he purrs, attempting a wink with one eye and then the other.

She strips off her shirt and throws aside her bra.

"Are you?" she asks, looking down at her bare breasts.

"Oh yes," he says intensely, standing to help her with the rest of her clothing.

She laughs into his embrace and struggles out of her tight pants.

"And Clint?" she asks.

"Yeah?" he pants.

"I hope you don't mind… I've got some multimedia components."