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“Well how could I ever say no to a look like that?” You asked in faux shock, teeth digging into your lower lip to stifle a laugh as you stood from your spot beside her and turned up the radio until you were sure it could be heard from Enzo’s.

You then looked back in her direction, gauging her reaction as you slowly danced towards her. Your shoulders shimmied on beat with your strut as you got lost in the music, lips moving to sing along to the song in an attempt to coax her from the bed the closer you got.

“… Full of wonder and surpriiiise, and just now I realiiiize…”

You slurred in a horribly off-key manner, making Nancy laugh and her face burn as you approached her side of the mattress and reached your hands out in a silent plea.

She looked between your upturned hands and your face in amusement, blue eyes somewhat hazy and warm from the alcohol and adoration before she eventually conceded and set her half empty can on the nightstand, taking your hands in her own with a sheepish grin.

“Ooh, you’re an angel!—“

You suddenly sang louder when she gave in, a smile breaking out across your features as you clumsily pulled her up and started jumping around the room.

It got tiring quickly and you both had the coordination of baby fawns, but you’d be lying if you said the way you moved against each other and the puffs of her laughter hitting your face didn’t make you want to keep going.

Eventually your hands moved lower, gripping her hips to somewhat steady yourself against all of the chaotic movements while her own arms wrapped firmly around your shoulders.

You could feel the heat and sweat collecting at the base of your neck, making the fibers of her baby pink sweater scratch your skin uncomfortably— but there’s no way you’d pull yourself from her grasp. It was the closest you’ve been all night and you could feel the tip of her nose brushing against your warm cheeks as the bouncing turned into unsteady swaying and the song faded out.

With everything you’ve both been through, it felt criminal to cut the small act of normalcy you rarely got to indulge in short. So, you continued to sway as Madonna turned into Tina Turner and your breathless giggles turned into quiet hums to the lyrics.

You were the first to pull your face away, taking in her flushed features and messy hair with a quiet sigh. She was staring right back, arms leaving your neck so she could place her slightly sweaty palms on your cheeks, thumbs brushing right below your lash line with a small smile on her cherry chapstick lips.

“Hey, we did it, you know.”

She whispered hopefully, swiping her thumbs one more time as you leaned further into her touch.

“Yeah, I know.” You replied back just as softly. Your hands squeezed her hips through her jeans before you tugged her closer, making another quiet huff of laughter leave her.

You couldn’t tell if it was the way she was looking at you, the booze, or the high of knowing that the monsters that kept you both up at night were finally gone— but you suddenly felt warm all over.

She was right. You did it, and you were both here; holding each other close and seeing the hardened walls you built over time slowly melt away to make place for something pleasant. A future, a possibility to finally navigate feelings you both haven’t been brave enough to put a name on out of fear of being ripped away from each other the moment you did.

It was over.

As if she knew you were going somewhere else, Nancy lowered her hands to your shoulders and nudged you gently.

“Still with me?” She asked playfully, lids fluttering closed and face leaning closer until her lips met the corner of your mouth. Featherlight. Like she was still cautious of what this all finally meant despite the way her chest pressed even harder up against your own.

“Always, Nance.”

You turned your face to fully capture the soft curve of her lips against your own, taking her bottom one between yours— no doubt rubbing whatever was left of your lipstick right off as you both melted into it.

Fingers desperately twisted in the strands at the base of your skull, guiding you in whatever direction Nancy wanted as the kiss got more heated; teeth clashing and tongues meeting before she eventually dragged herself away with quiet gasp.

You almost chased her, eyes opening slowly as the warmth of her mouth left you and boring into her needy gaze.

She was taking you in, nails scratching lightly against your scalp with furrowed brows and still parted lips as the song changed yet again. Making way for The Smiths; draping her childhood bedroom in something softer, quieter as she worked up the courage to speak again.

You see, you were a pest because you couldn’t keep those hands off of him and it was driving him crazy.

If you were behind him coming up the stairs? You were playfully patting his rear until he reached the top.

“Come on Harrington, double time!” You’d singsong pleasantly. He always obliged, taking the steps two at a time with his head ducked to hide his smirk.

In the car he could guarantee that your fingers would find the nape of his neck and lightly scratch, sending shivers up his spine.

Then there was the bed…

Every time you both crawled into bed you would instantly press into his side and tuck your cold feet under his legs. Running as hot as he did, the feeling always made him suck in a sharp breath and tighten his arm around your waist.

“Shit- do you have to do that every time? You’re freezing.”

And you’d just move in closer, head on his chest and hand laid over his tummy. Immune to his attitude.

“Duh, you’re warm.”

To Steve’s credit, he really tried to pretend it irritated him further by muttering something like “yeah so are socks”— but then his legs would adjust to better cover your feet and suddenly any argument he had was invalidated.

Any chance you got you were touching him and he was not used to it at all. All of his previous relationships had involved him reaching out, touching, feeling, and giving comfort without asking for any in return no matter how desperately he needed it. Like he was supposed to— like a good boyfriend.

But then he met you… and man, are you seriously blowing his mind.

You who always soothes your hands over his sides when you meet him at the door after work, petting and cooing about how much you missed him. Always reaching out first, leaving his mind blank and his body leaning in for more since he doesn’t know how to ask.

“You know… I’m starting to think you only love me for my body…” He joked one day, voice low as your fingers curled into the belt loops of his jeans and tugged him closer. His hands were on your arms, stroking up and down your bare skin slowly while his eyes glanced toward your lips and silently begged for the ‘welcome home’ kiss you always gave him.

“Only? Oh no, just among other things…”

The ritual of him trailing his eager fingers over your exposed skin and kissing along your neck, all while you blindly reach behind him to turn the water on. You don’t even mind the icy spray that immediately shoots out anymore, just using it as an excuse to huddle closer to the chest of your human furnace of a boyfriend, allowing him to willingly take the brunt of it against his broad back until it eventually warms up.

You love how the moist air makes his chest hair stick to him, running your gentle fingers through it slowly while he leans his head back under the tepid water with fluttering lids and a soft groan, his hands clinging to your hips- fingers massaging into your flesh.

You always take a little extra time lathering your hands up with the coconut shampoo you know he loves, letting him bow his head and come to you. You kiss the tip of his nose every time, the wet smack emphasized by the warm droplets running all over the both of you, before slowly rubbing soap into his thick hair.

Sometimes, if he’s really good that day, you’ll slide your fingers down to the base of his skull and knead into the skin there- just the way he likes after a long week. You savor his pleasant sighs and the way his head moves this way and that, wherever you want him to go as long as you keep touching him.

Steve loves returning the favor.

He always rinses his hair as quickly as he can, just so he can bring a hand up to lift your chin between his pointer and thumb, and kiss you all soft and slow. A thank you for taking care of him when nobody else will.

Sometimes he gets distracted by your hands coming back up to the short strands near his neck, scratching and pulling, getting too lost in the closeness of it all and running his tongue along your bottom lip for more instead of immediately grabbing the shampoo bottle. You don’t mind much, since usually those are the days that you are extra good, so you know the reward is always worth the wait.

After getting his fill of you, he spins you under the shower head, and slowly lathers your scalp up until it is nearly impossible to see your hair underneath all of the shampoo. He’s diligent like that, always putting in all his effort no matter how menial the task. It makes your heart swell.

You watch his concentrated face in adoration every single time, making him flush and mumble embarrassed little quips like: “don’t look at me like that…”, while he shields your face from the sudsy water with his hand on your forehead, and meticulously rinses your tresses.

You both love to wash each other’s bodies.

Your fingers always take their time trailing soap all over his tan shoulders, arms, chest, and torso. He never admits it out loud, but he sometimes tears up when you linger a little longer on his sides and trace the sensitive skin of his raised scars. Like he’s something special. Someone deserving.

You always notice, but only smile slowly to yourself, not wanting to make him more self conscious than he already is.

He takes his time washing you too. His thick fingers always stop along the way to massage all of the tension from your body- hating how wound up you became after entering his life. It’s not his fault, he knows because you tell him so, but he still looks forward to making it up to you in any way he can.

You often let out little whimpers and moans, bracing yourself against him when there’s a particularly nasty knot, but he always coaxes you through it with low, syrupy whispers against your ear.

“Shh… you’re doing so good baby.”

“That’s it, just let me take care of you.”

You always do, and he always chuckles quietly to himself afterwards, bemused with how you turn so pliant under his touch.

Your hands always move lower after that, covering every inch of him in vanilla bar soap. His strong thighs, calves, everywhere.

He always says your name so sweetly when you pass over his length, cup his balls, making you blush and lightly dig your teeth into your bottom lip.

“Not tonight, Stevie, just let me take care of you.” You echo back to him sometimes, knowing how eager he is to please, to show you how much you mean to him in the only way he knew how for a while.

Usually, you let him, knowing it soothes a deep part of him you never press him to confront. He is a creature of habit, as are you, but sometimes you want him to know he doesn’t have to perform for you. That you love him for his thoughtfulness, bravery, and praise the body that kept him safe when you weren’t there to do it yourself.

He doesn’t really understand it, but he lets you guide him in whatever direction you want to go, accepting either outcome as long as you’re happy. Whether that be you moving his fingers lower to slide between your slick folds, or him innocently smoothing body wash down your legs. He greedily takes what you’re willing to give.

Once the steam gets to be too much and the water starts to chill, you turn the faucet off and move to wrap your arms around his neck, inhaling deeply against the warmth of his wet pulse to take in the smell of him before you pull your head back.

You always give him three kisses;

One to his jaw, another to the corner of his mouth, and the last to his lips.

He always squeezes his own arms tightly around your torso and smiles as you do so, big brown eyes half lidded and hazy with the temptation of sleep while he kisses you back earnestly.

And you stay like that for a moment, comfortable and quiet in each other’s arms.