Steve's weight presses against me, warm and solid, as I back him against the wall of my workshop. The hum of the arc reactor casts a blue glow across his face, highlighting the stubble on his jaw and the way his eyes darken when he's turned on. We've barely been alone for ten minutes since the press conference, and already I'm desperate to feel his skin against mine.

"You know the team's probably listening," he murmurs, his hands sliding under my shirt to map the muscles of my back. His touch is confident now, no longer tentative like it was in those first weeks.

"Let them listen," I growl, pressing my thigh between his legs. "They got us into this mess—making me declare my love for America's golden boy on national TV. The least they can do is give us some privacy to... celebrate."

His laugh turns into a gasp as I grind against him, but he pushes me back slightly, his eyes serious despite the desire clouding them. "Is that what this is? Just celebration? Or are you having second thoughts about going public?"

The question hangs between us, heavier than the tension in my jeans. This isn't just about tonight—it's about everything that comes after. The headlines, the scrutiny, the way people will look at Captain America differently now. At both of us.

Before I can answer, my phone buzzes on the workbench. The Leverage team's ringtone. Perfect timing. Steve raises an eyebrow, clearly fighting a smile at the interruption.

"Your call," he says, stepping back just enough to break the physical connection, though his hands still rest on my hips, his thumbs brushing against the bare skin above my waistband.