#srbingo2022

With your hands on the back of his chair, you kept your chest in his face while you found your rhythm with the music and tried to pep talk your way through this interaction. When Steve tried to meet your eyes you spun around in his lap, placing your hands on his knees because his arms were stretched across the armrests of the chair, his massive hands clutching the leather as you circled your hips against his crotch. You controlled just how much of your weight you lowered onto him as you looked around the crowded private room. Each guy with a dancer except for the groom to your left, given two. A year older than you and the only other person in the group that might recognize you. Using your long hair, dyed the complete opposite of your natural color, as a curtain, you caught the bouncer watching each of the girls.

His expression changed minutely from girl to girl, an unspoken language that you knew to gauge behavior in order to get the best tip from each customer. When he gave you a slight tip of his chin, you assumed you were in the clear, not going to be encouraged to turn back around and not going to be watched for a few more minutes. No, his hierarchy of priorities included customer satisfaction and then staff safety. It had taken you years to gain the confidence and skills you had, a few more to prove you could handle a drunk asshole before you were even offered these types of opportunities. Nevertheless, bachelor parties were always some degree of trouble, but it was the kind of trouble that paid too well to care.

As the music kept playing you tried to get out of your head, your body rolling against the hard muscles of his chest. A fleeting memory of your body against his in a shitty Brooklyn studio apartment made your pulse race and your stomach tighten with want. Two ambling, inexperienced, uncomfortable-in-their-skin teenage bodies; sticky with sweat. Pushing the thought away you kept dancing, hoping no one noticed that you’d spaced out. The start of a show was luckily fairly predictable, men typically looking around to see who got the most attractive dancers before accepting their fate with whatever girl they were dealt. No one too old made it into these events with good reason, one drunk guy and a saggy tit do not a satisfied customer make.

On Steve’s lap, you drew figure eights with your hips against his hardening length, applying more and more pressure, and you found little release from the pent up sexual frustration that had been building since the second you saw him. Steve’s warm breath ghosted across the curve of your neck and you swallowed down a whimper that was gratefully silenced by his own groans and the music. Another memory flashed through your mind, the sweet teenage boy that never cursed groaning Buck as he thrust deep and came inside you. Your innocent voice breathless and giggling, stupidly thinking that lanky boy was enjoying himself so much that he said ‘fuck’. Now you worked your ass against Steve’s hard muscle, the lace panties doing little to hide the heat at your core. When you turned your head ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of his face, desperate to see him and what you were doing to him, you saw his knuckles white on the armrest. The corner of your lips tugged into a smirk, trying to remain satisfied with that little bit of a reaction.

The other girls were already in various stages of undress. New dancers seemed to have already lost everything. The experienced dancers were rolling down stockings and tangling their guest’s wrists with their garter belts. With pasties on you chose to take your bra off, nervous about just how wet being on Steve’s lap and making him hard had made you- not that he could see it in the black lace panties. Settling onto his thigh, you wiggled as he tortured you by flexing his muscled. Making a show of draping all of your hair to one shoulder, still blocking the groom from seeing your face, you began to ride his thigh as you unclasped the bra and let the straps fall slowly down your shoulders before you ceremoniously held it over your head to the cheers of a few of the others in the room. With a playful bounce on Steve’s thigh you dropped the garment to the floor, but just as you set out to keep dancing, to turn around and push your breasts into his face, you froze.

Goosebumps stained your skin after familiar hands ghosted over the curve of your shoulder where, dancing between a small constellation of beauty marks, the word ‘sunshine’ was forever inked into your skin. The pad of his thumb grazed the words and traced out the beauty marks like they did the last day you saw him. You weren’t sure what hurt more, the fact that he didn’t recognize you or the fact that he still had the same ability to turn your body into a live wire. Maybe it was the way you immediately stilled or the firm, singular snarl of ‘hands’ from the bouncer, but Steve stood up so quickly that the room fell silent as you were tossed from his lap onto your hands and knees on the floor. Your face warmed with embarrassment and you kept your head down as you scooped up your bra and refastened it as quickly as possible.

The bouncer took a half-step forward as Steve held up his hands in a solemn apology before he offered a hand to help you up. It was a bad idea, especially with how your body seemed to betray you around him, even after all this time. Keeping your hair in your face, you spoke to the bouncer while keeping your eyes on the door. “I’ll get one of the other girls to take my place. I don’t want to sully Bucky and Steve’s night.” It seemed to satisfy him and he returned to his statuesque position. His gaze returned to their rhythmic study of the dancers, indifferent to you dusting off your hands, elbows, and knees.

You took Steve’s hand to pull yourself up, finding yourself in his personal space and intoxicated by the proximity. In the few seconds you stole, you realized that despite both of you growing up and filling out, you still fell short of his shoulder in heels. As you tried to let go of his hand and leave, Steve squeezed your hand, stopping you. If there was any remaining doubt that he knew who you were, it was gone when you glared up at him and jerked your hand away as politely as possible before you booked it out the private room. Rather than making sure the bouncer wasn’t coming at the pair of you, your gaze flitted to Steve’s lips, watching his mouth bob open and closed forming silent questions you didn’t want to answer. You made it down the stairs with your hand on the door to the main floor when Steve caught up to you. A part of you desperately wanted him to follow you, the same part that noticed the door to the private room never clicked closed behind you.

Steve didn’t ask where you’d been for the last decade or why you left Brooklyn. He didn’t grab your wrist to stop you from turning the knob and continue to distance yourself from the past. His strong, calloused hands cupped your face and tilted it to meet his. For a fleeting moment you thought he was going to kiss you, dragging you back to the horrible feeling of being a starry eyed school girl in love with the boy next door. The corners of your lips turned down at the memory and you swallowed, clutching his wrists but failing to pull him away. Stupid body, stupid heart, you mentally chanted. The internal scolding was silenced by Steve’s mint and whisky breath hitting you, “It’s really you, Sunshine. There hasn’t been a single day I haven’t-”

“Stop,” You cut him off to swallow down the pain, pulling your eyes to his lips so that you couldn’t be mesmerized by those blue eyes. “I don’t want to hear about how you regret what you said the last time you saw me or how you regret what we did. It’s not going to ever make it hurt any less.” A tiny part of you felt vindicated knowing that Steve wasn’t getting his happy ending either and your stomach immediately twisted, hating that you found pleasure in him knowing your pain. “I’m sorry he didn’t choose you in the end. It’s his loss.”

Looking over his shoulder, you half expected to see Bucky busting through the door to chase after Steve. Maybe, you thought, seeing Steve chase after some stripper would make Bucky see him as more than his best friend. “Hey, look at me, Sunshine.” Swallowing, your eyes flitted back to Steve’s face, hating that he looked so put together, even better than he did when you were kids. “Where’s the girl that…” you tried to pull your face from his hands, not wanting to hear him ask where the naïve starry eyed optimistic teenager had gone. After a decade, Steve had to know she died naked in his bed when she gave him her virginity and he called out someone else’s name. Instead, he surprised you, clearing his throat and trying again, “Where’s the girl that sauntered up to me full of confidence and pushed my buttons so that all I could focus on was her? When did you become this earth stopping woman?”

“Don’t confess your love in the back stairwell of a strip club just because I got you hard. I dance for a living, what do you do, Brooklyn?” You had nowhere to go so you leaned back against the wall and crossed your arms.

Steve’s hands fell to the sides of your neck, his thumbs caressing the tension from the line of your jaw as he seemed to study your face, still processing all of the differences between the girl next door and this woman in front of him. “I was in the military for a while, but I work for the VA now. Bucky and I have been talking about opening a gym in Brooklyn… probably take it seriously after the wedding.”

Swallowing you asked the inevitable question, dreading his answer though there’d been no indication that Bucky and Steve were together and you had no right to be upset of hearing it confirmed, “Who’s marrying the pretty boy that stole your heart?”

“Her name is Sarah. She’s perfect for him, really. Doesn’t put up with his shit, makes him smile.” There wasn’t an ounce of heartbreak in his expression, no bitterness in his tone, and it made a million more questions bubble up like sea foam in your throat. Everything about being this close to him was suffocating. “Can’t we just talk for a minute? I’m sorry.”

“No,” The word was firm and stubborn, rushed and used every bit of air in your lungs. Steve looked at you wide eyed like those two letters cut deep, completely unaware of how much it hurt you to say it. Tears stung your eyes, despite how you squared off your shoulders. “After all this time, no matter how hard I tried to forget you, I still love you. I really chalked it up to a school girl crush, first love, and I’ve sat on enough laps to know I can be attracted to other people. Steve, no one ever knew me like you did and I haven’t been able to trust anyone with all of me like I did with you.”

With so much to process in those few clipped sentences and the hurt written on your face, Steve stood dumbfounded as you pushed your way out the door. With a growl of frustration he pulled out his wallet, digging past the bills and folds of worn leather, pulling out a piece of paper, no a picture. The folds so faded they created deep lines in the image and weak small holes where the folds’ points met. His blue eyes studied the picture, two lanky kids on a bench at Coney Island. She’s leaning into his side laughing as her ice cream drips down her hands, his eyes stay on her and he knows that look, it’s love. Steve had always been stubborn, but he’d never seen you act that way. Still, these new parts of you he didn’t know yet didn’t scare him. He walked out and went straight to the bar, asking for a pen and flipping the picture over to write down his cellphone number, the name of the group’s hotel, and his room number in the space left below the scrawled verse of a faded poem.

Passing the pen back, he turned around and leaned against the bar in search of you. He scanned every face twice, but a few seconds later a dancer pinched his elbow and nodded to the door upstairs. “Little Miss Sunshine sent me your way. Let’s get you back to your boys, big guy.”

“I’m actually going to head out for the night, but I need her to get this.” He held out the picture and waited for her to take it. When she didn’t, Steve watched her eyes flit to the door and he realized why. “I know you’re going to miss out on tips because you’re not up there. I’ll make sure you get it, okay? I just really need her to get this message.”

Snatching it out of his hands, the woman smiled like the Cheshire Cat. “You’ve got a deal, hun.” She unfolded the picture and turned it over in her manicured hands. “And now I know where to find you and how to get a hold of you if you’re lying.”

“I’m a man of my word.” He looked at the picture, watching her fold it up, waiting on him. Steve pulled out his phone, ready to send Sam a message about covering tabs and heading back to the hotel. Something tugged at the knot that had been tight in his chest since he saw your shoulder and he added. “Thank you for passing my message along before you get back to work. She can’t miss the message before she heads home tonight. I’ll take care of your tip while you take it to her.” When he saw her reaction he knew it was the right move as she turned around and went toward the back.

A quick exchange in the group chat that included a snarky gif from Tony, mockery from Clint, and confirmation from Sam was all Steve needed to head out. He told the bartender to pass along word about who had the dancer’s money, and Steve was outside power walking the two blocks back to the hotel. With his pulse racing, his eyes moved from face to face like a trained soldier, desperate to find you in the evening bustle of the city. The last thing he expected was for you to be leaning against the door to his hotel room, mascara streaked down your cheeks and the picture cradled in your hands. “Though in my heart I have longed for you, never forgetting for a day…” You recited the faded verse on the back, “Never forgetting what, Steve?”

He felt like he ran a marathon, his ears ringing with his own pulse as he closed the gap between the two of you. Instinctively, he wiped away the tears, gently thumbing away the new ones that fell as he watched your chin quiver. Steve didn’t back away, his body heat radiating through the thin, long coat you wore. The cut of the coat exposed your décolletage and he swallowed, thinking you might not have anything underneath except the lingerie he’d last seen you in. Reaching in his pocket he pulled out his key and held the door open for you, “Not out here, you look like you’re freezing.”

The door clicked closed behind you and you leaned against it, refusing to take another step forward without an answer, but Steve’s back was to you as he rifled through a weekender bag on the bed. Pulling out the t-shirt he planned to wear on the flight home tomorrow and sweats he planned to wear to bed. He passed them to you and nodded to the bathroom door on your right. With a stubborn roll of your eyes you opened the coat watching as Steve stared at your body in the bright, warm lights of the hotel room. The first once over was to see if you had any other tattoos, none he noticed right away and if you ever gave him a chance he’d realize there really were no others- just the one at his constellation, the one with his nickname for you. He stepped closer and you set the clothes on the small table by the door, watching him watch you as you took off your heels. Despite the stubbornness etched in your stance and gaze, your voice gave you away, weak and cracked. “Steve, what did you never forget?”

“This.” Steve ran his fingertips over your shoulder and expertly outlined the unique sun-like constellation he always made when he connected your beauty marks, a pattern he didn’t need to see to recall. A pattern that he discerned when you met on the day you moved next door to him, dubbing you Sunshine. As if that little touch didn’t send shivers across your entire body, Steve brought his fingertips to the shell of your ear, eliciting an immediate snort of laughter. “That sound.” Then you watched as his eyes stayed on your lips and his fingers moved lower and lower until he held your hips, “This one too.” When he pressed his thumbs into the curve of your pelvis Steve knew a moan would pass your lips and he caught you as you went weak at the knees.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, Steve carried you to the bed and laid you down with the utmost gentleness. To your surprise he backed away, sitting on the edge of the dresser across the room. You rolled onto your stomach, smirking when you caught his eyes moving down to your ass before they flit back to your face. “So, you never forgot you knew my body; how to make me laugh and, despite sleeping with me just once, how to make me weak at the knees. That doesn’t explain why you carried a picture of us around for a decade after you called out Bucky’s name while you were still inside me. I told you I loved you, that I wanted you to be my first and my last, and…”

Steve didn’t hesitate as you trailed off. “When you left, Bucky told me I was an idiot. I didn’t get it at first, but he promised to help me find you and he kept breaking it down every time we went canvasing all our old hangouts, putting up signs and asking around.” Steve crossed his legs at his ankles and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I’m bi, that’s pretty obvious, but I’d never been comfortable around any female but you and my only other real friend was Buck. I may have thought about him, loved him, but what I said was a mistake. I was a confused kid, it’s not an excuse, just honesty. I know I’ll never be able to sufficiently apologize for what I said. All I can do is tell you that it wasn’t said with a clear head or malicious intent.” You met his gaze and saw the pain there, the genuine apology. No matter how hard you tried to drudge up the anger you’d held onto for years you knew, like sand, it had already slipped through your fingers. “The longer we looked for you the more I thought about all the places we’d been and the things we did together, all the secrets we shared- things I’ve still never even told Bucky. Sunshine, I was an idiot and I realized I was in love with you, but you were gone by the time I got my head out of my ass.”

Your head was spinning as you tried to process everything he was saying and for some reason, out of all the questions floating in your head and all the things you wanted to say, you muttered, “The pair of you couldn’t have looked that hard. I took the first bus out of Chinatown and it brought me to D.C. I’ve been here the whole time.”

Steve’s jaw was tense, but he quickly cleared his throat and collected himself. “Sunshine there are two things, no, three things I need you to understand. First, I’ve been carrying that picture around since the day it was taken, a lot longer than a decade. Second, I never stopped looking for you. Even when I was deployed I scoped out any place you ever told me you wanted to visit or I scoured social media trying to find accounts with your name. Third and this is the most important, so listen closely Sunshine,” Steve walked toward the bed with confidence and you rolled onto your back watching him get closer. You propped yourself on your elbows and raised an eyebrow at him. Then he grabbed your ankles and pulled you to the edge of the bed, making you gasp as his eyes stayed locked on yours. “I’m not leaving D.C. until you can look me in the eyes and honestly tell me that I’m too late and you can’t forgive me.”

Maybe it was the way he said it, like he knew you’d never be able to form those words or perhaps it was the smirk forming on the corner of his lips, but the noise in your head was silent except for two words: Well, shit.

A/N: Well, well, well, what fresh chaos do we have here? Alex play T-Pain’s “I’m in love with a stripper” 🤣 Listen, out of Sam, Tony, Clint, Bucky, and Thor (yeah, I just mentally couldn’t picture Bruce at a strip club, sorry) who do you think is going to give Steve the most shit for bailing on the Bachelor party? Am I evil for not fully writing out what the 18 year old Steve and Sunshine did on her birthday? I actually removed a paragraph of their first meeting, so if you want that let me know. Most importantly though: What do you think happened in that hotel room?

Poem credit: Lady Otomo of Sakanoue, from Ariake: Poems of Love and Longing by the Women Courtiers of Ancient Japan

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Steve leans against his desk, elbows resting on his various files and paperwork. His eyes are heavy with tiredness, but he has no time for a nap. His next meeting is in less than half an hour.

So much paperwork and meetings. He should be out there, doing the stuff he was made for. He wasn't made to be President. He's managing. But he knows where his strengths are.

Steve bites back a sigh, dropping his pen onto the desk. He rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to will away the burn behind them.

He's not tired. Not really.

As ashamed as he would be to admit it... He's bored.

Bored of looking pretty for all the conferences or cameras. Bored of meetings that just go in circles. Bored of sitting behind this desk reading through all the papers they send him. Tired of trying to find a way to tell them, he does know how to use a tablet... so they could just send him the files instead of boxing him in at his desk. Maybe that was the point. To keep him there, chained to the desk. He's more of a figurehead here than he was when playing Captain America for the Military.

Steve jerks as the doors to his office swing open suddenly, hitting the walls with a loud bang. He quickly jumps to his feet.

Thor strides in, grinning widely. "President Rogers," he greets, "a promising change."

"What's going on?" he asks, fingers itching for the shield resting under his desk.

"Just dropping by," Thor says, walking over to the desk. "I was hoping to talk to you about some environmental issues..." Thor's fingers trace over the scribble he drew across a draft. "I see you're not too busy."

Steve feels his face burn. "Not... currently. But I have a-"

"Then you could join me!"

"I can't. Thor!"

"A couple of friends and I are gathering to protest a coal mine. It would mean a great deal to us for you to join our voices. It would mean a lot to me to have you by my side."

"I don't know," Steve says, looking down at all the paperwork across his desk. Fingers tracing the scribbled shields in blue ink drawn across various documents. The ticking from the clock, oppressive.

"Please, Steven,"

"I suppose, the country is my office now. Why not?"