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The party had raged on at Stark Tower, now known as Avengers Tower. The multi-leveled function room still wasn’t big enough to accommodate the guests invited, predominately being S.H.I.E.L.D employees. But in all seriousness – who was going to miss a party hosted by Tony Stark? Nobody. It was his belated ‘my bad for creating a destructive yet originally intended harmless AI who inadvertently tried to destroy the world and your lives’, and word for word, that’s what the invitation read.
By 2am, the party had settled and few remained, those primarily being the members of the elite superhero team, The Avengers. Tony had gathered everyone – not taking no for an answer, around one of many living room tables, surround by a four set lounge suite. Everyone had made themselves comfortable, some opting for the lounge or the plush carpet and cushions. And being Tony Stark, his favourite game of choice for the evening is ‘Truth or Dare’.
“Seriously Stark, this high school shit.” Rhodes comments.
“Hey now, not all of us did the high school thing. Don’t ruin their opportunity to make poor life choices, Rhodey” Tony retorts, snuggling in besides Pepper. “Those not in-favour of my most ingenuous plan to date, please say ‘aye’.” Tony is met with silence. Everyone knew that when Tony was on a roll, he couldn’t be stopped…with few exceptions.
“Annnnd that’s what I thought, which is why I will commence my game of horrors! Honestly, y’all should be sweating.” He smiles with glee. And so the first victim is chosen by the spin of an empty beer bottle. The night continued, some more daring than others; secrets unveiled, embarrassing facts divulged but all honest fun between friends
-
The game itself came down to how well you knew the person with whom you placed your fate. (Y/N) knew those around her just enough to alternative between ‘truth’ or ‘dare’. She steered clear of dare should it be involving Thor, Wilson or Rhodes; idiotic dare-devils those three. Romanov, Barton and Hill would sniff out your darkest secrets, so truth was a ‘no-go’. Rogers and Banner could be a hit and miss with either choice, but most of the time they played nice.
Steve had chosen Natasha, their friendly banter never ending. Natasha was always reluctant about divulging in her Russian childhood and heritage, and of course, that’s where he hit her. With too many of her own secretes to protect; Natasha chose dare but that still presented Steve with the opportunity he needed. His was for Natasha to perform the famous Russian Cossack dance and she delivered! It was, in your opinion, the best dare of the night.
Now it was Natasha’s turn to choose another. She scanned those present, her eyes lingering on each member, assessing their potential for varying degrees of entertainment. 'The key is not to make eye-contact.’ You think to yourself, inspecting the drink in hand. However, such a tact is easily spotted and entices Natasha to make her choice. Smirking, she declares:
“(Y/N).” Everyone turning to you, observing the next victim. 'Shiiiiiiit.’ you think. But its ok, you have constructed your strategy in order to minimise a humiliating game. Natasha is a spy and assassin, obviously choosing dare is key. Straightening your back and elevating your chin, you announce your choice:
“Dare.” Whooping and cheering echoes around the room. Natasha continues to look at you, her expression all knowing, for she calculated you avoiding truth. Clint leans over and whispers something to Natasha which she laughs at. You narrow your eyes, 'damned assassins can’t be trusted.’
Looking back at you, she announces her dare. “(Y/N), you will be blinded folded” She starts, already her dare looking promising in your mind. “…and someone in this room will be selected…” Oook where is she going with this “…with whom you will share a passionate minute long kiss.” You scoff and laugh, considering it a piss poor attempt on her part. Honestly, you wouldn’t mind who it was as you found every person attractive in some form or another, though some more than others. There is another round whoops, hollering and claps sound amongst the gang. Natasha sits calmly and waits for the commotion to fade, her eyes still fixed on you. Beside her, Clint poorly attempts to conceal his amusement. Your stomach flutters briefly.
“Once the kiss is shared, that person will rejoin us and than it will be your task to to figure out who it was. Guess correctly: you earn my respect for deduction.” She explains nonchalantly. “Guess incorrectly: within reason, they may ask something of you” You gape at her. The room explodes with laughter, you are nudged and slapped on the back, playfully teasing your predicament.
“That’s a fucking double standard dare, Romonov!” yelling over the clamouring rabble.
“Your choice, rookie but you know then what happens.” Her eyebrow arching in amusement. If a willing participant refused a dare, provided a false answer to truth and is outed, or refuses to divulge entirely, the consequence was eating one quarter of the ghost pepper that sat on the table, serving as a reminder to all. And just one quarter was all it would take.
“If nobody volunteers for the job, I will make an alternative proposal.” Its evident that Natasha would conjure something worse if given the opportunity.
“This the best you could imagine, Nat?” Hill says.
“Hella, I would gladly take her place.” Darcy remarks, and sniggers sound around the group.
Hill’s comment is true though; a simple kiss and some detective work, it was a piss easy dare. “Bring it.” Simultaneously, Natasha and yourself stand, staring each other down. Clint hands her a tea-towel and you wonder momentarily if they had planned this. Natasha approaches, stalking towards you, the action just slightly unnerving.
Blinded, you are twirled on the spot, disorientating your balance and the position of those round you. Guided by your shoulders, you are lead to the balcony and left to wait. The door shuts, smothering any sound from inside. And patiently you wait.
-
Everyone breaks in frantic gossiping, suggestions thrown at Natasha.
“She might assume you wont choose someone who is coupled.”
“But that eliminates at least half the group!”
“Someone might have to compromise.” Natasha ponders.
“I wouldn’t ask it of anyone else, so I would gladly take one for the team.” Tony stands jokingly, brushing the creases from his shirt only to have Pepper pull him down, amused yet stern.
Ignoring Tony’s frat boy act, her eyes scan each member individually, calculating the probability of (Y/N)’s ability to deduce the chosen participant. She lingers on the Maximoff Twins, both seated on cushions, whispering in their native tongues.They had been quiet throughout the game, but not to be underestimated as Wanda had proven tonight.
“Maximoff.” She declares, both turning to look at her. “Pietro.” Specifically calling to him. Arching her eyebrow, mock humour expressed. “You up to the challenge?” The question rhetorical, she relied on his fueling cocky attitude to accept without hesitation. With a last look to Wanda who smiles knowingly, he raises to his feet and cocks his head to the side, rolling his shoulders.
“Let’s get this started shall we.” A smirk now prominent on his face, eyes mischievous. Natasha too, smiles as his eagerness. Leading them to the door, Natasha bestows some advice, she couldn’t make this too easy.
“Try to minimize contact. It will be more difficult for her to decipher the kisser. Unless you want to that is?” The question is left hanging as Natasha holds open the door, smirk in place. Following the departing two, everyone rushes to the glass windows to behold the entertainment.
-
For summer weather, the air is cooler atop the high-rise building; a shiver ripples body wide and you rub your arms in an effort to warm them. You can imagine the busy New York streets below; bustling people, honking of car horns, the fluorescent lights and corner street hot dog stands. Yet here you are, hundreds of meters above the ground, blindfolded and shivering, a pawn to Romanov’s game.
The click of the door signals its opening, you intently listen to the approaching foots steps but they are masked by the ruckus inside. You know before you are Romanov and another. Your stomach flutters.
“Oh, I forgot to mention; no touching above the chest, (Y/N).” The belated warning clear.
“Any other disadvantages you want to add, Romanov?” She might not be able to see your face entirely, but your mouth scowls in irritation. The situation moving less in your favour.
With a finally glance at Pietro, Natasha mock salutes, making her way back insides.“Have fun kids.”
-
Pietro stands before (Y/N), observing her form. In his peripheral vision, everyone has their faces plaster against the window, their breaths steaming the glass. Hands are clenched at her sides, a shudder, gritted teeth. ‘Cold or nervous?’ He ponders. 'Either way, I can fix that.’ One step, two, he walks treacherously slow, closing the gap. Standing before her, he watches as the wind tussles her hair about. He notes her lips, now pursed.
“Get on with it would you!” Despite her aim to sound aggressive, her teeth chattered, damaging the effect. Tentatively, Pietro raises hands but pauses; of all things, he internally debates about his hand placement. Shoulders, arms, hands? Or no contact, remembering Natasha’s advice. He opts for what feels natural even if he risks revealing himself. Continuing, his hands encompass her jaw, settling between neck and cheek. (Y/N) flinches at the touch, he goes to apologies but bites down before too late. He bends his head ever so slightly, head tilting, lips hovering above hers; the parted lips exert soft pants that brush his face, pulse raging under his fingers. He smirks and then locks lips.
He’s slow, starting with a closed kiss. He notes she’s not fully responsive, her moves hesitant and uncoordinated, lips cold against his. Attentively, he matches her pace and movement, finding synchrony. Then they’re moving as one, intermittently he rubs his thumbs over her cheeks. Pietro wants to feel, explore and taste more, an eager flick of his tongue on (Y/N)’s bottom lip begs access. Surprisingly, her mouth opens, welcoming the gesture. Deepening, their tongues intertwine, curling and touching, he tastes the drink she last had. He feels hands on his abdomen that crawl their way up to his chest, grasping for him. Noses brush and bump in their eagerness; gasping for air and sharing the breath between them.
One minute or two, Pietro isn’t sure, but reluctantly their lips separate. Heavy lidded eyes open, dazed, lustful, pining the lost connection. He sweeps (Y/N)’s face, only her lips readable. They are plump, pink, parted and glistening with their shared saliva, and he realises he wants more. Removing his hands, his forefinger leaving a lingering brush. Allowing a moment to regain her breath, chest noticeably heaving; Pietro grabs her hand and guides her to the door, she exerts an 'oomph’ at the sudden movement.
-
The doors open and they are meet with cheering and laughter. Pietro makes his way to Wanda, earning slaps on the back and arms as he passes. Once situated amongst the group, Natasha unveils the blindfold. Your eyes squint, adapting to the exposed lightening. Seeing everyone, you feel the prickle of a red, hot blush sweep from your neck, across your face. More laughter explodes, contagious you can’t hold back and laugh too. When the hysteria settles. Romanov asks:
“Now that you’ve had the experience first-hand, with one guess only; can you reveal you suitor?”
“She’s totally got this.” You hear Darcy say. She’s nudged by Jane, who hushes her. Darcy’s comment is a confident booster, it must be pretty obviously, right? Remembering the clues collected during the kiss, you construct their identity: the brush and scratching of a stubble indicated they were male. From the position of her hands on his chest, he was at least six foot (also lack of breasts definitely guaranteed they were male.). You had noted no particular smell and couldn’t place their taste, too hazy to remember. So next was character profiling: you assume that those who were coupled wouldn’t have volunteered nor would have been forced. Six foot, stubble and male. This elminates all down to three: Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson and Pietro Maximoff, thought the later seems unlikely of the three.
You admit to yourself that the kiss itself was passionate and attentive. Pietro didn’t strike as either; his persona brass, childish and cocky. Sam was gentlemanly, confident and fun. Steve was loyal, honorable but seemed timid and shy in such situations. Your eyes flicker from one to the other. All three were within height, supporting some facial fluff but Steve with the least. You’re certain now, by God you were. Confident in your decision you smirk, victory emitting from your being, placing your hands on your hips.
“Sam.” It’s said without a hint of doubt. Each person reactions differently: oooh’s, gasps, exclamations, in response. Sam rubs his head awkwardly, looking at you in sympathy. By the second, your confident smile crumbles, eyebrows frowning. In desperation, your head swivels to Steve. A small smile touches his lips and he shakes his head.
“Snap, girl!” Darcy, mutters. Confused, arms dropping to your side, you look to Natasha who looks at you pointedly. The revelation is too much to hold out and breaking through the crowd, Pietro walks forward, hands comfortably lazy in his pockets. Shock is etched on your face, and you step back, again your blush returning.
“I’m honoured though.” Hand to his heart, Sam tries to break the tension. However, your concentration on Pietro has Sam’s comment goes unnoticed. You can’t fathom the revelation. The new addition to the Avengers Initiative now second best to Stark in mischievousness and shenanigans, you just can’t comprehend that he could…that he could kiss like that!
“It would seem you guessed wrong.” Pietro states, his eyes laughing. Pursing your lips, your mind fails and can’t produce a comeback. Of all people, Pietro Fucking Maximoff. Gritting your teeth, you await Pietro’s request, seeing the dare through.
He steps forward and you hold your ground. Hands still in the confinement of his pockets, he leans to brush his lips against your ear. You shiver at the contact and your breath hitches. His voice comes low, only for you to hear. He says:
“You didn’t see that coming?” Leaning back, grinning openly, eyes alight. Your shocked expression drops instantly, giving him a deadpan look. When the situation called for it, Pietro didn’t hesitate uses his identifiable catch phrase.
Everyone looks on, watching the encounter with immense curiosity. Pietro shrugs and steps back.
“I will be sure to let you know when I think of something. I’ll have to make it worth our while.” The emphasis on the word not going unnoticed.
‘I’m doomed.’
Fin!