He nods. “Yeah, I’ve had a few. They feel…good?”

You wrinkle your nose like you don’t believe him. “Do they? Isn’t it basically like…biting?”

Steve laughs. “Sort of. More like sucking.” He grimaces when he realises how odd that sounds, but you don’t even flinch. “It sounds weird, but it feels really nice.”

You mull it over for a few moments, probably imagining how it would feel in your head. Then you nod. “Oh. Okay.”

You go back to your beads, seemingly unfazed. Steve watches you. Something tugs at the back of his mind, begging to be spoken aloud. The words spill from his mouth before he can stop them,

“Would you want me to show you?”

You stop what you’re doing and look at Steve, blinking owlishly. His cheeks feel hot, though he’s not really sure why.

“Show me what?” You ask. Your head tilts to one side, alarmingly puppy-like.

“Uh.” Steve clears his throat. He’s suddenly nervous, and the look on your face isn’t helping. “What a hickey feels like? I can give you one, if you want.”

You blink at him some more. “Would you?”

“Yeah!” Steve nods, all of a sudden too eager. He cringes and dials it down a tone. “I mean, yeah. Sure, if you want me to. It’s sort of what boyfriends do.”

That earns a laugh from you. “I know, Steve.” Steve likes the way you say his name like it means something. You put down your bracelet and get up onto your knees. “You really want to give me one?”

Steve nods. “Only if you want one,” he says quietly.

You smile at him. It’s an odd sort of smile, almost like you can read his mind. “I want one. Stay there, handsome. I’ll come to you.”

You climb on your knees to the edge of the bed. Your beads roll around the duvet as your weight rises and falls but you pay no mind to the mess. Steve will be finding beads in your bed for the next few weeks, he thinks.

You slide off the end of the bed and sit in front of him on the carpet, crossing your legs underneath you. Steve copies. He notices vaguely that your socks are mismatched, one polka dot and one with pink flowers.

You grin at him, curious. “Okay. Now what?”

Even if he wasn’t about to give you a hickey, Steve just wants you in his lap. You look so pretty, your too-big tshirt slipping off your shoulder, your hair tucked behind your ears unthinkingly, your mascara smudged a little at the corner of your left eye. He reaches for you.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, tugging at you gently. You go easily, letting him pull you into his lap, your thighs caging his hips. You put your hands on his shoulders and Steve holds your waist.

You watch him expectantly, your pretty eyes all doe-like with patience, looking at him like he hung the stars. Steve almost passes out.

He clears his throat.

“Listen,” he says. “If you don’t like it, you’ll tell me, yeah?”

He’s stalling. He knows you’ll like it. But he’s outrageously nervous right now.

You nod. “Okay. It won’t hurt, will it?”

Steve shakes his head vehemently. “No, baby. I’ll be gentle.” He reaches up and brushes some hair away from your shoulder. His fingers skim your bare skin where your shirt has slipped. You’re very warm. “You want it on your neck?”

“Is that where they usually go?” You ask quietly.

Steve hums. “Usually. But they can be anywhere, wherever feels nice. I’ll just start with your neck, okay?”

You nod. You’ve gone all quiet. Steve thinks you're probably feeling as shy as he is right now.

“Relax,” he tells you, thumb rubbing circles into the dip of your waist.

Steve leans in. You stay very still. The juncture between your neck and your shoulder begs to be kissed. Steve presses his mouth to your warm skin and you shudder minutely.

“Don’t be nervous,” he murmurs into your skin.

You shake your head. “I’m not.”

Steve takes your bicep in his hand and rubs the slope of your shoulder with his thumb. Then he kisses you again, right over your pulse point. He starts slow, just kissing in the same spot over and over, your skin glistening under each languid press of his mouth. Once he’s warmed you up a bit, he steels his nerves and gets greedier, lips searching and hungry for your warmth as he takes your skin into his mouth and sucks ever so gently.

Your breathing hikes. You curl your fingers into Steve’s collar and your pulse quickens beneath his lips.

“You okay?” He murmurs, half dazed.

You hum softly. “M’fine,” you whisper. Your fingers brush the nape of his neck. “Don’t stop.”

Steve wasn’t planning on it. If anything, your breathlessness makes him even more earnest, though he makes sure to be very gentle with you. He sucks away at your soft, warm skin, eliciting the prettiest, softest sounds from you. You don’t moan, but you gasp and sigh when his teeth graze your sensitive skin, and that’s about enough for Steve to feel as if he might go up in flames.

When he’s done, he pulls away an inch to assess his work. Your skin is already darkening, a purple-red splotch blooming like a flower over your pulse point. Steve drags his thumb over it.

“All done, pretty.” He pulls back to look you in the eyes. You’re still breathless, your skin all flushed and your eyelids heavy. Steve reckons he did a pretty good job despite his nerves, “How was that?”

You swallow. “It was really nice,” you say dizzily.

Something hot and fiery stirs in Steve’s gut at your obvious pleasure. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Mm. Yeah, it felt really good, Steve. You’re good at that.”

Steve grins, feeling suddenly awash with something like lovesickness.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” He reaches for your face and tucks a rogue lock of hair behind your ear. You’re practically putty in his hands, all melty and warm. His hand lingers at your jaw. “Would you…want another one?”

Steve would be lying if he said he wasn't asking purely for his own benefit. But, as he expected, you nod.

“Yes please,” you say, halfway to begging.