Capt. Steve Rogers (
captain_rogers) wrote in
all_inclusive2014-04-24 12:38 am
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Dude looks like a lady
While the thought of Bucky and the continued fruitlessness of his search for the man weighed heavy on him, there was little different in the routine Steve had taken up in being reintroduced to the hotel. Rising at dawn for a quick, but calorie-laden breakfast, the usual morning run out on the grounds for endurance, time in the gym for strength and flexibility, followed by the insistent growl of his stomach that demanded he rush through his shower before heading back to the Bistro for a second breakfast. All simple, already familiar, and done before nine in the morning.
What was neither simple nor familiar was what happened when he stepped out of the shower with no thought other than that he needed to towel off and dress before he could go out and public to sate the near constant hunger in his belly. He dried his hair with a quick scrub of a towel, wrapped the towel around his hips and padded through the door between bathroom and bedroom with every intention of following exactly that plan. He did not, however, intend on stumbling, thrown suddenly off balance by the length of his legs and the width of his hips and the entirely unfamiliar balance of his body.
He crashed unceremoniously to his hands and knees, shaking his head against the disorientation only to find a cloud of blonde hair in his face. Even as he swept it back with a pass of his hand, wondering at the length of that hair as it fell long past his shoulders, he found himself staring at the delicate and most assuredly feminine hands he held out before him.
Steve looked down at his body as he knelt on the floor, only to just as suddenly jerk his head back up as he flushed red with embarrassment, pulling at the towel around his (too round) hips until it covered him more...more, just more. He didn't want to think of what or how it covered him. There he scrambled for his clothes, hurriedly trying to find something of the too large, wrongly fitted things that could fit over the shape of this too body. A shirt that fell to the top of his thighs and swamped him, a pair of boxers rolled at the waist to fit less precariously, a leather jacket he zipped up over the unfamiliar terrain of his chest, and Steve rushed out the door in the hopes of finding someone he knew or someone who could fix...whatever this was.
What was neither simple nor familiar was what happened when he stepped out of the shower with no thought other than that he needed to towel off and dress before he could go out and public to sate the near constant hunger in his belly. He dried his hair with a quick scrub of a towel, wrapped the towel around his hips and padded through the door between bathroom and bedroom with every intention of following exactly that plan. He did not, however, intend on stumbling, thrown suddenly off balance by the length of his legs and the width of his hips and the entirely unfamiliar balance of his body.
He crashed unceremoniously to his hands and knees, shaking his head against the disorientation only to find a cloud of blonde hair in his face. Even as he swept it back with a pass of his hand, wondering at the length of that hair as it fell long past his shoulders, he found himself staring at the delicate and most assuredly feminine hands he held out before him.
Steve looked down at his body as he knelt on the floor, only to just as suddenly jerk his head back up as he flushed red with embarrassment, pulling at the towel around his (too round) hips until it covered him more...more, just more. He didn't want to think of what or how it covered him. There he scrambled for his clothes, hurriedly trying to find something of the too large, wrongly fitted things that could fit over the shape of this too body. A shirt that fell to the top of his thighs and swamped him, a pair of boxers rolled at the waist to fit less precariously, a leather jacket he zipped up over the unfamiliar terrain of his chest, and Steve rushed out the door in the hopes of finding someone he knew or someone who could fix...whatever this was.
no subject
While the Captain might have no strange sensations upon seeing her, the same could not be said of Sif. Sif liked what she liked, and after centuries upon centuries of knowing herself, she had come to understand that she liked very specific things about a broad array of people. What she did not like about herself at the moment was how, like a pre-pubescent boy, a change of wind might give her body signals that she definitely liked something. Trying to ignore those for the time being, Sif smiled proudly down at the Captain. "I am aren't I? A good translation if I do say so myself. Much like yours!"
The poor Captain was clearly in no mood for courteous complimentary exchanges, and how Sif understood him. "Of course, yes. I have my shift and leather under-armor, if you like, and some items Natasha has loaned me. The ones you have met me in as well as a long sleeved shirt and a hooded jacket. They are small on me, but I was going to ask where I could purchase more when this-" she pointed at herself "-happened. All my clothes are clean, however, I made sure of it not two days ago."
She looked at him again, pulling away for a wider view. "Though really if Ruby is any indication, all you need is a pair of trousers and you will be all right, just do this-" She reached for him and tied his shirt into a knot at the beginning of his hips, making him as a whole a lot more shapely as the excess fabric was sucked into the knot. "-yes, it is the Midgardian fashion these days, it appears. Not the men's undergarments, however."
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The translation was far from exact, of course, and while Steve could not then see his face, he suspected the same had to be true for him. The nose was sharp and thinner, rather than the rounder shape he remembered belonging to Sif's. The chin was broader and cleft, but the jaw was similar, as were the high sweep of her cheekbones.
It was a strange thing to see the woman he had met not long before within that far more masculine face, beneath those heavy brows and mouth that looked as if it were meant to be downturned at all times, but then smiled toothily at him.
"I would appreciate that," he nodded gratefully, at the offer of clothes that would better fit the body he wore then. Although even that thought had him pulling up as his chin dropped and he looked down at the body he stood in then with nothing like discretion. Despite the fact that there were feminine curves there he would have very much liked when they belonged to anyone other than himself, Steve's cursory inspection was no more lecherous than he supposed (likely wrongly) that Sif would have done with her own new body. When he lifted his gaze to the woman across from him again, it was with the awareness that he needed to find the most politic way to say that he doubted her clothes would fit him well, and why.
He froze as Sif instead reached for his shirt and tied it at his hips, not knowing quite sure what he was supposed to do with himself, let alone his hands, through the task. "I, uh-" with a look down at Sif's work, he couldn't deny that the shirt fit a little better, though to see so much bare thigh and it not be remotely familiar was disorienting. "I might have to borrow something...loose. Until I can find something better fitting. You're-" and the question of the hour, could Steve Rogers find a way to tell Lady Sif of Asgard that he had a more curvaceous body than her without offending her and learning whether it felt the same to be popped in the mouth when their genders were switched?
"-slimmer."
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As it seemed Steve had found himself a tiny bit tongue-tied, which was only natural after all, Sif tilted her head while waiting for his sentence to make sense. And make sense it did. She raised an eyebrow at first, then chuckled, looking down at her feet. "I am, aren't I? You have the most impressive hip-to-waist ratio. As impressive as your shoulder-to-waist one, in fact." she mused trying not to leer again and focus on the task at hand. My, but her male sensibilities proved distracting more often than not. "But the training trousers Natasha let me borrow stretch, even if they might be a slight bit short on you as well. And you can use that shirt. We would only need to find you breast support. Though I saw something about yoga pants at the shop, would that work for you?" Sif had no clue what yoga pants were, but she knew Americans called trousers and breeches pants so those might be what Steve was looking for.
no subject
Anything but comfortable with both the recognition that the changed shape of his body came with soft shape of breasts beneath his shirt, and the fact that as he crossed his arms across his chest, they were put into greater prominence, Steve wanted for (more than) a moment to turn on his heel and hide again in his room. Without a clear figure to blame for the transformation or any understanding of how or why it had come about, he felt as if he floundered where he might otherwise have dug in his heels and leapt into the proverbial (or literal) fray.
Although he did not know her well, and did not know her current face at all, Sif's easy assurance did allow him room enough to breathe. While seeking out Natasha would have been his first option otherwise, he instead nodded and took her help gladly. "It would. Thank you, Sif," he told her, reaching out to lay a hand on that unfamiliar arm. "Really, I appreciate it."
no subject
Nodding once more, Sif smiled widely at the Captain, even more when he laid a small hand on her much larger arm. "Warriors help each other. So do friends. Now come, we make for my room for Natasha's clothing, then for the shop. I do not believe they have undergarments, but they might have bathing attire that can make for such things."
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He nodded at Sif's words. "Lead the way."