“Be careful, Diana,” Steve says, breathless from the force with which she’s shoved him up against the wall in her apartment (an apartment which is so damn shiny and white and clean he can’t quite think what to make of it; nevermind all the electronic gadgets he’s somehow managed to notice when he can tear his eyes off her). “It’s been a long time since this body’s been, ah -”

“Taken for a ride?” Diana suggests, her eyes huge and dark in the moonlight, focused on his lips while her hands make short work of his clothes (where those came from, he can’t even begin to guess), before she finishes, “don’t worry about it - I believe in you,” and when he’s got a goddess like her laughing against his mouth, somehow being both thirty-something and ninety-odd doesn’t seem like such an insurmountable obstacle.

thanks for the prompt - that bothered me, too.