a curious girl, a wanderer

But he calls it your room now, too. Having moved in with him months ago because, well, it's as if his parents had wordlessly abandoned him. Living alone in a place full of empty bedrooms that lacked the vitality that other homes had made him... lonely. So when he invited you to move in with him and you said yes without doubt, he made some room in his cabinets and watched as you hung your clothes beside his.

Steve emerges from the bathroom with a towel in his head, rumpling his wet hair. The other towel hangs loosely around his hips, v-line prominent and taunting. When his feet stomp lightly on the rug, you turn away from your deceitful reflection, comb halfway down your damp locks as you meet his eyes.

Steve emerges from the bathroom with a towel in his head, rumpling his wet hair. The other towel hangs loosely around his hips, v-line prominent and taunting. When his feet stomp lightly on the rug, you turn away from your deceitful reflection, comb halfway down your damp locks as you meet his eyes.

“As much as I love you,” he flips the towel over his shoulder, hands in his hips, weight shifting on his left leg as his lips purse in feigned annoyance. His mom look, as you so teasingly called it —  you’ve seen it way too many times, especially when he’s with the kids. “You took up all the hot water, babe,”

You giggle, placing the comb down and pushing yourself away from the mirror. “I’m sorry. Just felt so relaxing,” you push his wet hair out of his forehead. “I told you to join me, Stevie.”

“But I was eating,” he pouts, letting you take the towel from his shoulder and squeeze his dripping locks. “I couldn’t just leave my waffles to shower, (y/n),”

“Yes you can,” you tug hard on his hair, enough to pull his head down. Steve playfully glowers at you. “Wait… did you choose waffles over me?”

He pales a little. “No,”

“Yes you did!”

“I didn’t!—ow,” he takes your wrist in his open hand, closing his fingers around the soft skin. Steve laughs almost timidly at you, finds the shock from your parted lips amusing. “I’ll choose waffles over you, honeybee. I was just very hungry,”

Your hand dampens from the towel, watching his flattened curls plump. His eyes follow yours, despite not meeting each other. “‘Y always gotta keep that mouth full, huh?”

Lovestruck, like he always was whenever he’s got his eye on you, he tilts his head and digs his lips on the lines of your palm. You look at him, eyelashes fluttering. “And my mouth hasn’t shut up about you since you kissed it,” he whispers.

Cheeks aflame and heartbeats rise. Although his cheeky remarks tend to be… ubiquitous, it always ends with you lifting in the air and a kiss that brings you back to the ground. Steve is, no doubt, poetic when it comes to proclaiming his love despite his prosaic life. He couldn’t help it — he’s got you, he said, you deserved to know that you’re loved. 

You chuckle. “Can this mouth give me a kiss, then?”

Obedient, he leans down to capture your lips in a quick but doting kiss, breaking with a soft wet click of exchanged spit. 

Steve takes the towel from you, letting your hands rest on his waist as your eyes wander. While he silently lets his hair dry, you count every single mole on his face, the sepia glow of his faint freckles accompanied by the rivulets of shower drops down his cheeks, his curled eyelashes and his ample cupid’s bow that you can’t help but trace with a curious finger.

He puckers and you giggle, tracing the wet pinkness of his lips before you move on to press a chaste kiss to the button of his nose. Hands wander up to trace the dips of his collarbone, down to his thick chest that adorned the mousy tush of curls, radiant from the warm sun that shines his body alight; they explore every pudge of his stomach, to the grotesque, salmon scars on his sides from the interdimensional monsters that cause anything but peace. 

Your hands still in observance, every uncanny ridge in the tendrils of healing flesh, the holes that shrink each day from the sharp teeth of the demobats. Steve sees your scrutiny, and a wave of insecurity drowns him as he swims beneath the undertow, head hitting the coral reef and arms injured. 

“Hey,” he takes your chin in his hand, tilting your head up, but your hands linger on his scars. “Why’re you staring, huh?”

“Can’t I appreciate the beauty of my boyfriend?” you quip, fully resting your palms on them. He tries not to flinch but does anyway, though more out of surprise; you’ve only ever touched him above the scars. And if you did touch his waist (during hugs or kisses), it’d been over his shirt. Out of respect—he wasn’t entirely comfortable with you seeing them, or staring at them, but you couldn’t let it go on any longer. 

Steve blushes, a twinge of pink coating his tan skin, his shyness making him refuse to meet your appreciative eyes. “You’re pretty,” you tell him, convince him. “And your scars are… really, really, hot,”

“Yeah?” he rubs your chin with his thumb. “Do you usually have a thing for beat up guys or are you just messed up?”

“Hmm,” you pretend to think, hands steering to his back to squeeze lightly on the thick flesh covering his spine. “I just have a thing for you, ‘s all.”

“Flirt,”

You snort. “Okay, Mr. My mouth hasn’t shut up about you since you kissed it. I’m the flirt, sure.”

The idea that you might kiss him again is stuck in his brain. And he hasn’t stopped thinking about you since before any other kiss; his mind surges through fierce divulgence, that that feeling of wanting to kiss you over and over again was driving him criminally insane. The notion of it continuing for what is traditionally terrifying forever excites him to an unorthodox degree.

Steve stares at the rosy cordiform of your upper lip, mouth twitching to take it in his mouth. 

Mind foggy, the perception of you finally touching his scars for the first time no longer scares him. You were never one to judge, anyway. 

The air is thick, the residue steam from his previous shower seeps through the ajar door and the moisture of laziness sticks on your touching skins. It is Saturday, after all, what are you both doing standing in front of the bathroom instead of laying down doing other things?

“God,” Steve murmurs. You move your head back, tracing the dip of his spine with a finger, eyebrows pulled together with your lips tugged in an upside down smile. “I’m so in love with you,”

Your eyes widen. “Thank you?”

He laughs, like a soft, harmonious siren in your ear. “Do you always have to say ‘thank you’ whenever I say that?”

“Yes,” you lean closer, pressing your chest against his, droplets melting into your shirt, creating wet spots that make the color darker. “I don’t know what else to say!”

Steve’s eyebrows raise, eyes softening, taking your hands in his and grasping them tightly with his thumb slipping between the bumps of your knuckles. “Say you’re in love with me too!”

It’s desperate, almost. He kind of thinks you’re not in love with him, or not as in love as he is with you — if it had been the latter, he’ll definitely argue, or write an essay about how much he loves you more than you love him. 

But anyway, the way you say ‘thank you’ floods the dam of his doubts. Loving someone is different from being in love with someone; Steve knows you love him, he just kind of needs reassurance.

“Aw, honey,” you bring your joint hands beneath your chin, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “I’m in love with you, too,”

He wonders if you would have told him that if he didn’t playfully tell you to. Stupid thoughts. But you look like you meant it — it’s a cathartic waft on him, seeing the luster of candor in your eyes that look up at him. Steve’s body itches more for your touch, scars flaring for a kiss of aid, and he wants to hear you say it again.

And so: “Say it again,” his index drags across your jawline, the rest of his fingers still laced with yours into a fist. “Wan’ hear you say it again, please?”

You laugh, untangling your hands with his to wrap a finger around his lovelocks, and you say it again. “I’m in love with you, Harrington,”

He winces, eyes scrunched, driving his face away from you. “Say my name,”

“Steve,”

“Babe,” Steve untwines his hands from yours, only to splay his palms across your cheeks and cradles your head, tilting you up that the back of your neck aches. “You’re killing me here,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry,” you laugh breathlessly, placing your hands on top of his. “Might I cure you with a kiss, sir?” 

Steve’s eyes flit between yours — wide, curious, two brown enamel buttons, sick, and in love; he nods no longer than a millisecond later, thumbs rough against the soft skin of your cheeks. “Okay,”

You stand on your tiptoes and kiss him again, like two petal roses conjoined from the summer breeze of August; soft, sultry of hot breath and slick mouths, moans muffled. 

Eager for more, Steve tilts your head to the side, slanting his lips with yours, mouth opened only to lock it together on top of your mouth, his satisfied hum that lets itself escape from the back of his throat takes you back to earlier this morning when he’d hummed his way to the kitchen to cook you breakfast — 

You can still taste it, by the way: scrambled eggs and beans, with semi-burnt toast and your mixture of coffee that he claims was now his favorite, because he kissed it off your mouth before he drank your coffee. To save you the hard work from making a new one, he said, before he kissed your lips swollen.

Like now.

He’s hungry, like he’d been famished after you broke the kiss for a simple bathroom break. He swore he actually would have continued kissing you even as you sat on the toilet bowl. Steve would have knelt, just so he’d keep his lips pressed against yours. But he had to stop, eventually, you couldn’t breathe and neither did he, but only because he’s got the wind knocked out of him at the sight of you. 

Lips breaking from wet snaps, his hand journeys down to cup your neck before he’s tracing the shape of your shoulders, pressing against your collarbone. Then he moves them down your arms to squeeze at the plump flesh of your biceps, down to your forearms. Steve’s finger traces the insides of your elbow, the hairs on your skin tickling his palm.

You let your own hands venture back around his waist, blunt nails scraping the lumpy cicatrix. Steve sighs against your lips, shivering, his head cocking to the side for a split second before they go back to kissing you. 

“Steve,” you breathe out, hands swimming their way to his back to scratch your nails on his skin. You say his name with tender keenness, an acute bump swelling out his towel that pokes on your thigh. He hums, fully leaving your mouth to mushroom kisses across your head. 

The dulcet susurration of his name was enough to make the blood rush down to his soft cock, the noises from the back of your throat had bordered from contentment to craveful. Steve removes his hands from your forearms, bending his knees so that he’d wrap his arms around your waist, pushing you close to his chest, hands splayed on your shoulder blades.

He inhales you, consumes you, wishes you’d melt against him so he’d keep you within him forever; lapses into a navel-gazing covetation, a sommelier that keeps feeding you everything he has and everything he wants to give you. The pathological urge to get to know you more, despite the fact that he knows every single molecule that keeps you whole, drives him insane. 

Steve wears your initial on a chain around his neck, the pendant singeing his skin, burning his tawny skin until the golden letter melts on the space between his collarbone. He harbors it with pride.

“Baby,” you call him again, bringing his feet down to the ground. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes,” his mouth hovers over yours again, opening his eyes. “Fuck, yes, please. Didn’t have to ask, honey.”

In a swift motion, Steve’s being spun around and pushed, his soul gravitating from his body when he falls down to the bed, back meeting the soft covers. His hair bounces, no longer dripping but still damp, cold around his head. 

You’ve got your lip tucked between your teeth and a cute smile on your face when you crawl on top of him, stopping until you’re kneeling on top of him, legs on either side of his torso with the swell of your ass abrades on his covered shaft.

“Getting aggro there, babe,” he jokes, his palms feeling up your sides, slipping them beneath your shirt to palm at your breasts, rolling your slowly hardening nipples between his fingers. 

“I’ll show you aggro,” your eyebrows connect, head tilting back while your jaw slackens, grinding against him as he continues to fondle with you. “I’m gonna be straight forward and say I wanna suck you off right now, Steve,”

He laughs. “Go ahead, babe.”

You haul his hands from beneath your shirt, bringing them up to playfully snap your teeth on his fingers. Steve chuckles, watching you scoot back until you’re floating from his thighs, untucking his towel until they loosen, throwing them to the side.

While his towel stays beneath him, his cock springs up, aching pink tip bobbing down to his navel, a bead of precum falling down to the tush of curls above his length. 

A sudden flush of puddle surrounding your tongue, you swallow thickly. Never had you thought the sight of a cock would entice you so much; cocks weren’t meant to be pretty, but Steve had a huge, thick, and pretty cock — an embodiment of pleasure and inebriation, of sweet nectar blessed upon the parched as they seep through the thin slit of his head; of the fat girth to silence your mouth to prevent all sins spat out between your lips. 

The pit of fire in your eyes starves him. And when you finally let a trembling hand wrap around his veiny shaft, oh does he let out the most angelic sound of relief that rings inside your ears to wrap around your brain and tickle it. 

You move backward, until you’re resting between his legs that part itselves to give you more access as you lay on your stomach. Your head hovers, mouth pursed to let a glob of spit fall down to his tip, falling down to his shaft and onto your thumb. Amalgamated with his precum, you use the gathered slick to lube him up, gyrating your wrists until his dick’s wet enough.

“Christ,” he lifts his head, an uncomfy ache on his spinal cord, but anything to see you. Your hand bobs, moving up and down his throbbing shaft. You look mesmerized, and what he finds so amusing is that you’re not even looking at his face; though, with the treacly feeling of your hand squeezing around him felt good. “Oh, fuck,”

The ink of his words blotch when it’s thrown out the window, all senses hazed and wrapped around you and just you, and the feeling of you and the touch of you. It’s spirituous, an unhealthy addiction, but alas — he can never get enough.

Neither did you.

Your mouth parts, wrapping your lips around his pulsating head. Steve groans, his head falling back, a hand that presses on his forehead and the other gathers your hair in a loose ponytail with his fingers as a tie, giving you more access.

When you suck, using your hand to give the rest of him the attention your mouth isn’t giving, he can’t fight back his whimpers. “Yeah, yeah fuckin- fucking suck my dick like that. Quit teasin’ me though, ‘s not funny,”

You playfully roll your eyes, lips still suctioned on his gummy helmet. You’re lapping your tongue on every inch of his spongy tip, pressing it flat on his slit, where the translucent liquid of his seed lathers on the middle of your tongue. Steve fights the urge to tug on your hair, or maybe push you deeper until he feels your throat close around him and your nose on his pubes.

“S-shit, y-yeah. Just like that- ohhhhh,” 

When you pull back with a loud pop, you hope he doesn’t see how you embarrassingly gathered all the air in your lungs before you went and pushed his cock in your mouth in one go, but he was too distracted with the sudden overwhelming feeling of your mouth around him.

His tip’s right in your throat, blocking the airway, but you’ve done this more than a normal person should that you’ve learned how to breathe through your nose. Steve moans a bit louder, almost a mewl that mimicked yours when you’re in his place. You shake your head a little, nose right on the tush of curls above his cock, tongue flat beneath his shaft. 

Finally, his grip tightens on your hair, his musk clouding your mind. You take his fat girth in your mouth with pride, heavy on your tongue and tangy on your taste buds. Your other hand that doesn’t grip tight on his thigh comes down to paw with his sack; the hot, loose skin being squeezed in your hand, and his hips jolt.

“Jesus fucking christ,” Steve bucks up into your mouth, the lewd sound of you gagging around him makes his lips twitch into a smile, feeling your cold spit dribble down to him and your neck. A wave of heat shoots down to your throbbing pussy, feeling the silk of your underwear dampen, ‘till your thighs go sticky and your knees turn foible. 

You bob your head around his length, sucking your cheeks in, pressing your tongue up to append pressure, gagging, and you scrape your teeth ever so lightly on his loose skin the way he loves it. His low noises, borderline smutty, ring around the silence of the room. 

Your cunt throbs, and when you fully lay down and use his cock as leverage to keep your head up, your ass raises, keeping your hand from his thigh to wedge it between your body and the bed to slip your fingers beneath your panties and rub your clit slowly.

Steve, whose eyes are on the verge of shutting, with his jaw slacked and his cheeks flared as well as his rising chest, sees what you’ve done, and fucks himself up in your mouth again.

You moan around him when your fingers move fast, harsh circles around your swell clit, grinding against your hand; your head moves faster on him too, oscillating on his cock, pulling back fully to see a tendril connection of your saliva to his dick. Steve lifts his head. 

Before he could say anything, your lips trail heat from his length right down to his sack. Removing your hand, you take one of his balls into your mouth as you wrap your hand around his neck, gyrating your wrist on the base of him. 

You roll your tongue on the loose skin, his balls growing wet with saliva that continues to pour heavily from your mouth; your fingers lose control, like a drunken hand rubbing you raw, yet you seem to know what you’re doing perfectly when it came to Steve’s dick — squeezing below his tip, moving fast on his length and a cheeky swipe on his small opening.

It felt incredibly gratifying to have your mouth full and your hands occupied simply to pleasure him, knowing you’re the receiving end of his saccharine mewls was enough to satisfy your needs yet it also wasn’t; you wanted more. You’re greedy, you’re yearning, and you’ve got every right to be so.

Steve is yours, after all.

Your hips jolt and rise from your jagged circles, you're pulling away from his sack with a loud pop before you try to take both of his balls into your mouth, suckling on the sticky skin.

The sounds of his moans are harmonized by your muffled whimpers and the slick sound of your hand jerking him off, coalesced with the gags and the heavy breaths from your ball-sucking, and the slight squelchy noise emitted from your pussy. 

“Fuck, ‘y rubbing that pretty little clit, hm?” Steve musters up enough energy to prop himself to his elbows, caressing the sweat from your head, running his hand from your hair. You moan, your back arched, panties dampening and a small puddle forms beneath him from your saliva. “Dirty girl. Keep rubbing that clit for me, yeah? K-keep my balls in your mouth- shit- be all filthy for me.”

But luckily for you, Steve’s feeling generous. So despite his order, he’s leaning forward, the top of your head meeting his belly, suddenly feeling his warm hand squeeze the fat flesh of your ass, pulling one to the side. He pushes you closer, your body bending in an awkward fold, until his palm presses right on top of the wet patch of your panties.

It’s an ache you know will make your back hurt like hell, but when Steve pushes your panties to the side and slaps your hand away to rub fast figure-eights on your engorged clit, hand moving side to side, his arm almost a blur from his speed.

You break away from him to moan loudly, one of his arms hooking beneath your head as the other rubs your clit ‘till it burns pleasurably. You wrap a hand around his bicep, resting your temple on his hairy chest, trying to match his pace as you continue jerking him off.

“S-Steve,” your eyes roll to the back of your head, squeezing around his base that makes him moan. His palm slaps against your folds, rubbing it against your sticky folds. Your blunt nails are a vice on the tight grip you have on his bicep, the hand on top of your head pulling lightly on your hair. “Oh- fuck- fuck! Steve. That feels s-so—  so good,”

“Yeah?” he cocks his head to the side. “Like it when I rub your clit while you jerk me off? Like it when daddy gives your cunt some attention, hm?”

Your legs raise, feet rocking, sweat forming in the heels of your feet. With a hand lazily pumping his throbbing length, you bury your lips on his supple flesh, eyes clenched shut to cry out his name like a hymn. Your thighs jolt, feeling the burn of his palm swim pleasures up from the lower half of your body to every single cell of your being. 

“God, baby,” you nip lightly on his arm. “Wan’ wan you inside me, please. Please, please, please,”

When you look up at him, his mouth twitches to a smile and pulls his hand away. You fall to your back beside him, legs spread but your chest heaves heavily. Steve immediately slots himself on top of you, hooking his hand beneath your knee and lifts it so that your heel presses on the bottom of his spine.

He helps you take your shirt off in one go, almost ripping it from its seams. Steve dips down to take one nipple into his mouth as soon as the shirt’s gone; a hand on your waist and the other gripping the base of his cock and slapping his tip on your clit.

Lazily grasping his bicep, he presses his chest against yours. “I’m going in, yeah?” He kisses your cheek. “Think you can handle it, huh, baby?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Yeah, fuck, I always do. Just- push it in, please?”

In one, single and slow thrust, Steve pushes inside. Your walls open, though tight around his length, your thighs rubbing against the gnarly damage on his skin, but your heels dig hard on his back, like it’ll help him go deeper. He doesn’t stop until he’s buried to the hilt; until his heavy sack rests against your puckered hole, where he sees a light bulge on your lower belly.

And every single time Steve’s fucking you, there’s an overwhelming hurt on your lower body. It’s a pain you consider yourself used to, that sting expected once his head’s engulfed by your small hole. And he knows this, too, falling still against your chest when he sees the joint eyebrows on your forehead.

He kisses your forehead in quick, gentle pecks, hooking his arms in the pit of your biceps, propping himself up by his knees. When the affliction droops into a ripple of bliss, you sway your head to press your lips against his shoulder.

Taking this as a signal, Steve starts to move, slowly. The slow drag of his cock cleaves you open, a heavy feeling of rapture that bathes on your nerves brings you to seventh heaven. You moan lowly in his ear, a quiet squelch from below making your toes curl. 

“You okay?” he pushes your hair aside, digging his nose on the slope of your neck, sucking gently. 

You run your hands through his unkempt hair, pulling on the nape of his neck. The coarse shrub of dark curls above his dick rubs against your blushing nub, your legs trembling as they remain hooked around his back. When he pulls back, leaving just the gorged mushroom of his head, Steve thrusts in suddenly, hitting right at your cervix that makes you mewl.

He cups your jaw. “Yeah,” you nod. “Yes, yes, I’m okay.”

Steve sighs deeply into your flesh, fucking you slow. Too slow to be considered fucking– no, no he’s making love to you. When everything else falls, and you feel like you’re both lifting into the air and suddenly you’re making love in this lewd abyss of eternal devotion; when everything burns beautifully like runes carved into your skins, showing up slowly at each slow thrust he makes. 

He takes your head into his hands, your own hooked beneath his armpits, pulling at the lump of flesh– thick and warm, neverending, compelling you to scratch and tug. 

You feel his warmth in your cunt, his veins pressing up against every inch of your gummy heat. You let your eyes fall shut, head digging back, moaning when his balls slap against your ass.

And fuck, when Steve looks down at you, it’s like staring at a patron saint; he revels in your parted mouth of elation, your sweet pussy an arcadia to his aching cock that he continues to piston into you, knocking the air out of your lungs like a pistolwhip.

Your back arches, one of his hands travelling down to keep you against his chest so that he can continue hitting that sweet spot of yours that makes you cry prettily.

“Look so pretty, baby,” he says softly. “Look at you, taking me so well. Doing so good, hm? Kept you waiting for too long when I was in the shower? Just wanted me, yeah?”

When you whimper, he sees a tear threatening to fall right at the corner of your eyes, your weeping cunt making his movements faster– easier. “Steve!”

“I know, I know,” he pushes the astray, sweaty hair off your forehead, panting against your salty skin after he presses a soothing kiss. “‘s always too much for my baby, isn’t it? Too big for you?”

You shake your head. “No. No no, you’re– fuck– you keep me really full, Stevie. Love it so much…”

“You like it when I make love to you?” he bucks up harder, a loud, obscene and hollow squelch coming from your joint limbs. Your eyes open, though heavy as they glance down to see the glistening slick on the base of his cock that you see every time he pulls out. You clench around him, almost milking him from what he’s worth, trapping him inside you. “Oh, honey, I felt that. Like it when I fuck you like this?”

“Yes,” you lazily kiss his cheekbone, dragging your blunt nails on his back, painting his sepia skin pink. “Ohhh, shit,”

Steve kisses the tear off your eye, the salty liquid lathering all over the pad of his tongue. “You can cry, baby. ‘s okay. Come and cry for me, yeah?”

His eyes are sympathetic and proud; so doting and sickly sweet. Your toes curl, the coil twists tightly, and his heart pounds wildly against yours that makes your chest clench. You let tears fall down your cheeks, Steve kissing the tip of your nose every time you sniffle. 

“M gonna cum,” you moan. “Please, baby, I wanna cum,”

“Me too, honey,” he lets his hips roll leniently, his belly just rubbing against yours, your nipples chafed from his chest hair. “Cum with me, yeah? Gonna take care of my sweet little angel. Fuck, god, I love you,”

When he shoots his warm seed inside your cunt, your orgasm coating his cock like alabaster paint, you both moan quietly into each other’s ears. You clench and clench around his cock, Steve grunting from the sensitivity. And after a couple more thrusts, he pulls out.

A lewd shlick is heard when he does so, watching as your joint spent seeps out of your heaving pussy. Steve groans, can’t help but bend down to place his tongue flat from your hole up to your clit.

You wince. “Steve. Sen- Sensitive,”

He pulls back. “I’m sorry, baby,” he chuckles, kissing your knee. “Couldn't help it.”

Ever the romantic, Steve bends back down to press his lips against yours, the sweet but with a salty twange taste of your orgasms coating your mouth when he shoves his tongue in. His palms press up to your knees and close them together, moving them to the side until he’s laying on top of your thigh.

You place your palms on his cheeks, pulling back. He smiles fondly down at you. 

“I love you,” you say.

“I know,” 

“Don’t Han Solo me, you ewok looking bitch,”

Steve gasps. “What’d I ever do to you?!”

You laugh, bringing your arms to his chest, and he can't help but mimic that same harmony of glee. Steve kisses your arm, rubbing a soothing hand up and down your sore muscle. 

“Nothing,” you jest, tucking his hair behind his ear. “‘M just a bit tired,”

“Well, lucky for us, it’s Saturday,” he takes your hand in his, kissing your knuckle. “Dolce far niente, babe. We are not gonna do jack shit today but make love and sleep.”

-

“Yeah,” you tell him, slipping on your underwear, not bothering to wear a bra. “It’s happening again, Steve. I’m sorry.”

Steve doesn’t care being late at night with you, as he’s told you many times before. But he does mind the sadness that creeps up your face when the tiredness can’t let you sleep in those opprobrious nights.

Steve doesn’t care being late at night with you, as he’s told you many times before. But he does mind the sadness that creeps up your face when the tiredness can’t let you sleep in those opprobrious nights.

He instructs you to raise your hands and slips on your shirt, careful not to hit your face and smiles when your head peeks through. “‘s alright, babe. I’ll stay up with you.”

Shaking your head, you secure the shorts around your waist and take the towels off his hands. Steve brushes your hair out of your face, running a hand through your slick tresses and untangle the knots. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” he places a hand on the back of your neck and kisses your forehead, letting his lips linger on your damp skin before he pulls away to massage wipe droplets off your eyelids. “I’ll be with you till you fall asleep, doll.”

2. read a book, 12: 39am

Steve’s head rests on your shoulder, hair lit into a soft brown provided by the orange light of the lamp beside you. A blanket covering both of your enervated bodies, there’s a hand that runs through his hair, and a hand on your book.

He turns the pages for you when you kiss his forehead, fighting his slowly blinking eyes and tries to read with you. But he finds the book you’re reading awfully disturbing, and when he reads a part that snaps his eyes wide open, Steve looks at you with a befuddled gaze.

“Baby, that book’s messed up,” he mumbles, wrapping the blanket closer around him. The soft fabric tickles your skin, and whilst pushing the glasses up your nose, you kiss his forehead. “I’m not turning that page. Let’s read something else.”

“No,” you whine, pulling on his arm when he tries to get up. “Mike told me to read this and I promised him I’d finish it so I can tell him what happens.”

He snorts, pushing your glasses back up when it continues to fall down your nose. “You’re reading a book so you can tell him what happens in it?” Steve shakes his head. "That kid's spoiled rotten."

There’s an incredulous look on his face that mingles with amusement, because he can’t believe you’re doing this for Mike, of all people. “Yeah. I mean, it’s interesting. It’s a killing, shapeshifting clown.”

“Who eats children,” he points out. “Why don’t you read something friendly? Like…like The Polar Express.” Steve looks up at you with puppy dog eyes, excitement riddling in his face at the mention of a child's book being read.

Your heart melts and breaks at the same time, because you know his excitement for it comes from the lack of affection he gets from his ignorant parents. And just like him, you intend to give love to his empty heart.

But you'd do it on another day. “I’d rather not.”

You kiss his forehead again, and he finally flips the page. He remains silent for the whole time, because he craves more of your soft lips on his skin, and he quietly relishes in your loving hands toy with his hair.

At some point, he's requested for you to read it aloud and you do. Which is a thing he regrets as he's on the verge of falling asleep as you do so, especially when you start reading faster and the kisses become frequent.

The sleep’s phantom hovers but never really mingles, and Steve tries to help you fall asleep faster by kissing everywhere on your shoulder, like it used to work. But when it doesn’t, his arm comes across your waist and tugging you closer to him, hopefully giving you some of his sleep.

3. solve a puzzle, 1: 40am

The gelid water keeps Steve awake as he frowns at the missing puzzle pieces, fingers tapping on his chin as blurry eyes look for the tiny squared cardboards.

“Do you know what that is?” you tap his shoulder and tilt your head sideway, neck gauche in its position. “Looks like a deformed lamb, babe.”

He looks down under the table, the lack of light blending in the pieces onto the floor. Steve hears the rapid clicking of the rubik’s cube you’re trying to solve while you simultaneously look for the other pieces.

“Baby, why are you looking there? It couldn’t have gotten that far.”

“But maybe it got blown away,” you crouch and rest your upper body on the ground to peek beneath the sofa, and still with the darkness, you don’t see anything.

Steve drinks his water and looks at the puzzle. “It actually does look like a deformed lamb. Look, he’s missing his eyes. I-I don’t think this ones supposed to go there.”

“I don’t think this is tiring me out at all.” You stand up, back aching the slightest. Steve makes his way to you, a hand to your back to rub the ache off, offering you his water. “We can do number four now.”

You take a sip, Steve holding the glass for you as your boyfriend’s eyes brighten, and suddenly the sleep is fully off his body and now he’s tugging his shirt off. “Great. I’m gonna fuck your brains out.”

4. have sex, 1: 48am

Steve’s got his mouth hot on yours, kissing you wild like he's been starved as his mouth widens and pushes his tongue inside, touching yours before he closes his lips and sinks deeper.

Your hand comes up to tug on his hair, pulling on the back of his neck as his barely covered cock grinds on your clothed cunt, damp underwears colliding, friction eliciting a low moan on your warm mouths.

"Steve," you whimper, leg coming up to press your clit on his dick. "Touch me."

He inhales your scent, breaking away and kisses his way to your already sweating neck. "Where are your manners, doll?"

Panting, you grab on his shoulders when he starts biting on the juncture of your neck, suckling until he's certain a mark would leave. "Please, Steve. Please please please."

"You'll be a good girl?" the indentation of his smile on your neck tickles you, leaving feather light kisses on the spot you're the most sensitive to. "'d you promise to be a good girl when I fuck you?"

"Yeah," you nod, pulling his face back to yours and kiss his lips. Soft, effervescent. "I'll be a good girl for you."

And so he moves down, kissing his way down your clothed top until he bites on the garter of your sleep shorts, fingers hooking underneath to pull it down with your damp panties coming with.

"God, baby, your pussy's so pretty," he looks up at you, senses the heat rushing to your face and possibly everywhere. "Pussy's so pretty you should feel how hard my cock is."

Steve throws it aside, cock hardening at the sight of your cunt glistening from the minimal light the streetlights give. You're already panting despite the lack of touch he's giving you. With his eyes looking up at you with pupils in a dusk of lustful haze, his tongue sticks out and presses the flat of his thick muscle on your folds.

He moans at your sweetness, pulling back to slip the tip of his tongue between your puffy folds and dragged up in a slow pace that has you mewling with your back arched up against nothing. Steve doesn't stop until he's reached your clit, lazily wrapping his lips around the bud and suckling its arousal.

"You taste so good, baby," a loud, obscene sound created between his lips and your wetness. "So fucking sweet even early in the morning, hm?"

When you move too much at his teasing suckles, his hands slither beneath your thighs until they press flat on your stomach, legs spread as far as they could and thighs locked in place. Steve's access is wide and with his attainability does he take advantage of your cunt open and pretty for him, tongue dragging between your folds and clit but never really going to where you want him.

Hands stopping from clutching the ivory sheets, they go down to tug on Steve's hair, moaning lewdly. "Baby," you whimper. "Stop teasing."

"But I'm supposed to tire you out," he breaks away, lips covered in slick and spreads them around your inner thighs that he generously bites before he's greedily come back to eat your pussy like it's his last meal (like it's not about to be two am). "You gotta be patient, babydoll."

But despite his declaration, a hand leaves your stomach. With your eyes closed, you feel a finger tracing your hold, prodding at it but never sinking in. "Steve!"

Finally, he sinks two inside, slowly as your walls evade his limbs the way you would to his cock. You moan louder than you should, and cover it up by biting your forearm as Steve pushes his fingers in until they're at his knuckles. He rubs your spongy spot, one that has you mewling tumultuously, providing him better music.

"That's it baby, good girl," he curls his fingers, the same way his tone curls into an applaud. It's tantalizingly slow, the pads of his fingers pressing against your walls before they've come to graze your sweet spot over and over again.

With his pink lips wrapped loosely still on your clit, his pace quickens and shoves a third one in, the stretch painfully gratifying until you hear the all too familiar squelching sound of your slick cunt against his versatile fingers. Steve fucks them in with a vigor that you think is impossible for him to have in a very early morning, libido probably driven by the smell of your arousal and your appraising moans.

"That's it, baby," you purr, tugging on his hair and pushing him harder against your cunt. "Fuck! Don't stop,"

And when you feel that coil tightening on your navel, you tell him so that you're close. Steve sucks the living shit out of your clit, fingers using all it's mobility as thrusts them vigorously in a way that you love it, pinky finger slapping on your pussy at every hard thrust.

Steve feels the warm cum evade his three fingers, coating them like paint and doesn't stop until he's milked all of you. He slows his fingers down, lets you ride your high until you push his head away and pull him back up to you.

With a face half covered by your slick and tendrils of cum coating the shadow of his midnight chin, he wipes it off and licks a finger clean, groaning at your delectable nectar. "Like honey on a spring, baby."

He doesn't kiss you first, instead shoves his two cum-coated fingers inside your mouth and presses it flat on your tongue, going deep until you gag around them. You clean your cum off his fingers, swallowing. Steve smiles and pulls them away, replaces it with his tongue that still tastes of you.

Lips still on yours, you tug on his briefs and pull his cock out — all swell and hard for you. You pump him, from base to tip, squeezing until there's a bead of cum seeping through his slit.

"Oh, baby," his head falls into the crook of your neck when you gradually jack him off, jaw slacking at your light squeezes and thumb grazing his head. "Oh, fuck yeah, keep going,"

You do, the other hand coming down to fondle with his balls, squeezing like what you'd do to his shaft, Steve's hips moving and fucking your hand. You tut. "Baby, how 'bout I give you something better? Something tighter?"

Barely a minute of jacking him off and his cock's already twitching. "Baby, you're gonna be the death of me, I swear."

You remove your hands from him, licking his slick off your palm and moaning at his bittersweet taste. Steve props himself up with one forearm, a hand coming down to guide his helmet on your entrance and wastes no time pushing in.

Concomitantly, you both moan at the feeling each other — his cock stretching you out in the best way possible, and your tight walls clenching on his hard cock. You arch your back, clothes tits pressing against his chest but your nipples sensitive and hard from the simple friction.

"N-ah! So, so tight," he kisses your throat, a hand coming up to wrap around it with his thumb and index squeezing the sides. Steve's hips begin moving, pushing out fully with his tip still inside until he sinks back in in a rough force that emits a wet slap from the impact of your sticky thighs. "So good for me, baby. Taking me so well like a good girl,"

Your hands come up to scratch on his back, feeling his muscles flex at every trust he makes. Your legs come up to wrap around his torso, the heels of your feet digging on his fast to urge him to go deeper into your pussy.

"Faster, Steve," you mewl. "Shit—...go harder."

He does, obeying you by fucking your puffy cunt faster, balls slamming on your ass and cock stretching you wide open when he removes he takes his hands and brings them to the back of your thighs, spreading them open to drive his dick deeper into your pussy.

Your moans become high-pitched and short like petulant whines, nipping and kissing Steve's neck as his fucking has gotten to a point where the headboard slams on the wall.

"I'm close," Steve pants, eyes closed tightly and jaw slacked open with a sheen coat of sweat dripping down his forehead and his baby hair. "Fuck, baby I'm gonna cum."

"Then cum," you clench around him, as tight as you could as you bring him closer to his orgasm. "I'm coming with you."

And when his hips stutter and a loud moan leaves his slackened mouth, face scrunched into what is a calamitous orgasm, you whimper and moan as you cum around his cock, his alabaster ropes filling you up to the brim and mixing your cum with his.

Steve drops down on top of you, hands massaging your sides as his ass raise and pulls his softening cock out of your full cunt. He knows he's gotten hard at the sight of his cum leaking off your gaping, clenching hole.

"Fuck, baby," he runs a hand through his hair. "That's so hot."

"Um, Steve?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want another go?"

How could he say no when his cock suddenly springs up when you finally exposed your tits to him?

5. watch a movie, 2:55 am

"So you're telling me his mom is trying to bang his son?"

Marty McFly's bright red vest blinds you and Steve's straining eyes. Your boyfriend shakes his head, hand absentmindedly rubbing your inner thigh to massage the ache away. "No. Well, she didn't know."

"She didn't know he was from the future?"

"Yeah."

"Oh," you nod your head. "And you watched this with Robin?"

"When we were high,"

"When you were high?" you sit up, hands on your lap and looking at Steve with wide eyes. His hand stops moving and looks at you perplexingly. "I thought you stopped getting high, Steve?"

"I mean, by accident—!"

"I swear if I find out you're still taking marijuana, I will waterboard you, Harrington."

"Boobies or water, I don't care being waterboarded."

"It's called motor boating for the tits, dumbass," you smack his arm. "You know what? This isn't working."

You reach for the remote and turn the TV off. Steve's smile falls and lets himself sink in disappointment with you, because even sex didn't tire you out. Your eyes adorn a twilight of hopeless glimmer, and all he can do is wrap his arms around your tired body.

Steve sighs. "I'm sorry, doll. Wish I could help you better."

You shake your head. "You did well, babe."

Then an idea comes into his head.

Steve sits forward and reaches for your notebook, hastily taking the pen off the table and scribbles his thought loudly like he's in an exam.

6. eat those sleeping gummies dance with steve!

His capitalized, brazen handwriting next to your looped and poised calligraphy, you read his addition. Your eyebrows furrow, looking up at your boyfriend who's stood up and offered his hand at you.

"Yeah?" his hand tilts. "Gonna dance with me or what?"

You set the notebook down. "Sure this would work?"

"If it's my idea, it totally will."

You stand up and smack his chest. "Cocky bitch."

With bodies entwined and hearts tethered into the dark morning of your shared home, Steve wraps his arms around your waist, yours coming up beneath his armpits and grabbing his shoulders as he gentles you into his soft humming.

And you rest your ear on his heartbeat, his harmonious humming synchs your heartbeat with his, his warmth and faint elation melting with yours.

"So I turn back in time," Steve sings into your hair, bodies dancing into a rhapsodic song. "I'm at the chateau and I feel alright,"

"Cool song." you say. "You made it?"

"For you," he pulls his head away and looks down at you. Steve leans in and presses a gentle kiss of exhaustion against your lips. "Yeah. I made it."

-

Maybe his idea did work. Because now you're by the sliding door to his backyard, gazing into the naked night sky with the moon high and bright, providing the gentle haze of slumber of those who remain in a dreamless sleep in this nightmarish town.

Your back on Steve's chest, legs on either side of you and yours flat on the carpet as you lay upwards on the couch, his strong arms wrapped around yours with hands entwined in a protective action. The ghost of his lips lingering on your forehead, and you slip in easily into slumber in the arms of your lover.