#...posted in october

Beautiful.

In the dim lights peeking through the worn curtains of a motel room – another one you hadn’t been to before to avoid coming back where they might have tracked his steps only to be days too late to catch up with him – Steve’s face was nothing short of beautiful.

And you were thinking – if they caught you and asked you when, how and why you had fallen in bed and into trenches with an international fugitive, you’d tell them you couldn’t remember.

But you remembered all of it.

You remembered your first chance meeting. The second meeting that had been all but accidental too. You remembered falling in love long before falling into the sheets with him, and not just because the first time you made love, there were no sheets involved; only thick ropes of hot water, the tension having built over weeks bubbling over when you offered to help him clean up when he had showed up at your doorstep in the dead of the night, bruised and bloodied in search of calm, safety and careful tenderness.

You’d tell them you didn’t remember who kissed who, but it was you. With only your bikini and his boxer briefs between you, both drenched as you helped him wash his body and hands clean, you kissed a scar over his collarbone to sooth the memento of pain. It elicited a goddamn whimper from him, your lips spilling apologies in an instant only to get silenced by Steve’s mouth, desperately latching onto yours like you’d both wanted to for eternity.

It became a habit.

It had grown from fruitless pining and softness and comfortable silences with stealthily lingering looks into a relationship that was to be your doom – yours or his, you didn’t used to be sure.

Now you knew it was about to be both and more.

But he was heartbreakingly beautiful. An angel who fought for humanity so fiercely it offended God so he banished him to Earth and sent the wrath of hundred nations after him.

His hair was longer again, his beard still thick, and your mind distantly compared the image of him now, head laid on your chest, wrapped in a peaceful sleep that made him look younger, to the image of the golden boy they used to present him as.

You wondered if his eyes had always looked so tired as when you met him when not smiling for the camera. You wondered if they had ever looked so soft and pained as when he felt your tender touch.

You wondered if you or anyone in the whole damn world saw his eyes so feral, pained and hopeful as when you had shyly placed his broad hand over your throat tonight in a moment of reprieve between desperate fucking.

He had stopped, gaze boring into your soul, touch hesitant as he tested out the feeling, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Oh… you… like that?”

You too had been shy even as he’d been buried deep inside you, the aroma of sex heady and filthy in the air; mind racing, you desperately tried to figure out what had possessed you to do that, to reveal that to him; and if you could reveal more.

“I… didn’t know,” you had admitted, gaze falling to his chest, where his heart, that precious heart that had got so many hits it was a miracle it was still beating so vigorously, laid, open and vulnerable. “…not until you. But it… it feels like you’re holding my life in your hand...”

Steve’s fingers had twitched on your throat, not squeezing, but not pulling away as you reluctantly lifted your gaze to meet his.

“…and you’re the only person in the world I’d ever trust with it.”

He had been silent for a long time, motionless, safe for the frantic scanning of your face, his features gradually softening further.

“It feels that way too.”

I feel that way too.

“Is that okay?” you had asked, breath catching when awaiting the answer, his thumb carefully stroking over your pulse point.

It had brought memories of how he had done the very same thing, over and over, so many times since you had met him. A caress over your wrist. A touch of his little finger over your carotid when cradling your face to kiss you. A tender kiss to your temple. His large hand resting over your inner thigh.

When you thought about it, that was the only way you had ever slept; with him, feeling or listening for your heartbeat, like now, when he laid his head on your chest.

And so you had had no reason to doubt his next words.

“Your life’s the one precious thing I had the selfish privilege of having in the past months. I… I’m not sure if you’re right to trust me with it,” he had whispered, voice dropping an octave as his lips neared yours, brushing over your willing mouth like he was whispering a prayer and a confession at once, “but I’ll protect it with all I am. I swear it.”

The next kiss had been hunger and desperation and being cut open and mended together all at once; what had followed then, even more so. You had thought you’d fall asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow, exhausted and sated.

You hadn’t.

You had too much on your mind.

And Steve was so breathtakingly beautiful. The arch of his brows, relaxed for once; the elegant slope of his nose; the cut of his jaw, softened by the beard, muscles unclenched as he slept the sleep of the righteous. The large shape of him, curled around you under the thin blanket, warm and real and grounding to you as you hoped you too could be the solid ground under his feet when nothing else seemed steady.

You loved him. You loved him and you wanted to give him everything, to cradle his cheek and kiss him, to run your fingers through his locks as he enjoyed so much when he allowed himself to be taken care of and for, to gently take his heart into your hands and protect it with your life.

He had fought for so long, the constellation of scars on his knuckles but an echo of those on his soul and all he deserved and secretly longed for, you knew, was peace. He had fought the injustice in this world for so long and yet, the world failed him when he was the one who’d been done wrong. It wasn’t fair.

If you could, you’d give him a little world on his own and now, in a twisted, strange and beautiful and absolutely terrifying way, perhaps you could.

It made your ribcage ache with just how much you wanted, for him, for yourself; and anxiety curled in your gut as your head buzzed with brain noise too loud to let sleep take you.

There was no point; you knew from the experience of a the last few nights before he came that sleep would evade you for a while.

As much as you basked in Steve’s proximity and the safety of his arms, you weren’t going to fall asleep any time soon. It was almost too hot in the cage of his embrace; you couldn’t scramble for a coherent thought, you couldn’t stay there, not a second longer, as much as among the million ungraspable thoughts, there were those screaming at you to enjoy the time you had with him to the fullest, because you never knew when he could come back, when you’d be able to see him, let alone touch him.

As carefully as you could manage, you untangled from his gentle hold, breath catching when even in his sleep, he tightened his grip minutely before he relaxed again and you could slip away.

Reaching for his hoodie and a pair of warm socks, you kept your steps as light as possible as not to disturb his sleep. The door creaked a bit as the fresh air hit your face – but when you glanced back towards the bed, Steve didn’t even stir, his arm now draped over the pillow still soaked in your warmth and scent.

The metal chair wasn’t exactly comfortable and the small coffee table was far from clean; the view of the sky littered by stars was dimmed in contrast to the neon signs and the light pollution from the nearby city, and you could still see two people in separate seating areas of their room getting their midnight smoke. None of them minded you or vice versa; you still left the door open for a slit, just in case you needed to get in quickly. You had none of Steve’s training, but that didn’t mean you were a half-wit and didn’t know what motels could be like.

And still; there was something peaceful in the dead of the night despite the white noise, a meddle of a passing car here and there and the crickets from the nearby field. The night was peaceful, even as your mind was not. The night was now and you tried to take it in; the night was sure and your future everything but.

Ever since you had been thrown into adulthood, there had been more uncertainty than ever before – and yet, this was the shakiest ground you had ever set foot on. And the one thing you were certain of, the one solid point of your life in the form of Steve, could still be taken away at any moment.

That terrified you.

Because as much as you believed his words, as much as you believed his actions, the world – at least the part of the world that mattered in the long run and had power to keep ruining his life – was against him.

You wished for him to have a life and have a life with you, you wished to give it to him, but if it was just you against the world, you’d lose.

And with you, so would he.

The door creaked once more, startling you minutely.

You sighed and closed your eyes, lamenting. Of course you had woken him up. That man had been a soldier – still was in body and heart – and a man on a run from about hundred different governments. He didn’t get the luxury of a deep sleep.

The next second the comforter, still warm, was draped over your shoulders, Steve’s lips pressed into your hairline with a sigh.

“I’m sorry I woke you up-“

“Don’t be… not sure I was actually sleeping or just dozing off.  I’m sorry you’re losing sleep.”

You craned your neck to look as him as he stood behind you, a gentle hand on your shoulder – keeping the comforter in place, the heat of his skin the real source of warmth. His hair was ruffled way too adorably for a man his size and posture, but his eyes spoke of a mind lost to deep thought and worry too heavy for his actual age.

“Why can’t you sleep?”

His lips twitched, the raise of their corner amused and sad at once. “Probably the same reason as you.”

You almost snorted. And nearly sobbed.

For some reason, I really, really doubt that.

He must have read those words in your eyes before you moved to stare ahead again and shivered; both of his hands settled on your biceps, rubbing gently to keep you warmer, your hand automatically covering one of his as the other one kept the hems of the blanket to cocoon you.

“Would you like the extra blanket?” he asked sweetly, something grave and meaningful in his voice causing your heart to race, even as you couldn’t put your finger on what exactly that was. “Can’t get you getting cold… now more than ever.”

You stilled. The comforter slipped from your suddenly lax hand.

And your heart starling in your ribcage felt like a punch against your sternum from the inside, and proceeded to keep punching with every wild rapid beat.

Your throat turned dry but your eyes welled-up with tears.

Of course he knew.

You couldn’t remember why you had ever thought he wouldn’t.

You didn’t even have to ask how; he squeezed your shoulders, a little too hard, before he went to wrap you in the blanket again, the closest to fussing you had ever seen him, though less fussy than you had imaged he would be.

He crouched in front of you, hands on the armrests bracketing you, his gaze, a bit teary too, meeting yours.

“Your heartbeat’s different,” he explained softly and the sound torn form your chest was a lovechild of a chuckle and a sob and you glanced up to the heavens, blinking away tears.

“Of course it fucking is-”

“I can’t… I can’t hear their heartbeat yet, but it’s in your scent too. Your…” You looked at him when he cleared his throat, a blush, a blush visible even in the limited light, creeping up his neck, causing you to giggle a little to relieve the unbearable tension and anxiety curling in your stomach. “You taste different too.”

“Uh-huh, right.”

“It’s just… it’s the enhanced senses,” he said, almost apologetic.

You just chuckle-sobbed again, hand running down your face. As funny and slightly mortifying as that was, that really was the least of your problems.

Steve’s hands clasped over one of yours, warmth and safety incarnate, and you couldn’t resist looking into his eyes, full of stars and worry.

The tips of his index and middle finger touched to your wrist, right over your pulse point.

It occurred to you that his earlier determination, his ‘I’ll protect it with all I am, I swear it,’ might have been about more than just your own life.

He had already known then; it was about the life growing under your heart too.

A life he had had a generous hand in creating, even as neither of you had planned to and had in fact taken measures to prevent it. At least it warmed your heart it hadn’t even occurred to him to ask if it was someone else’s with who you would have had been less careful perhaps; he always had been a smart man. He had to be. And you liked to think you weren’t an idiot either.

You weren’t sure if either of you had the brainpower to figure this out though. To align your desires, your lives; hell, hadn’t it been for the dim stars in his eyes, you wouldn’t even assume what was it that he wanted.

“I meant what I said,” he whispered, gaze boring into yours with determination that could move mountains and deny world order if that was what he’d put his mind to. His hold shifted so one of his hands pressed directly over your inner wrist. “This is the one and only and the most precious thing I have. You. And I need you to know that.”

You gulped, even as your heart fluttered, the shiver running down your spine everything but cold or fearful.

Safe. Cared for. Loved. That was what you were, no matter what, Steve’s gaze promised.

And then so did he.

“Whatever you decide, whatever life throws at you, I’ll do everything in my power to protect you.”

“I think I want to keep them,” you breathed out almost soundlessly, a grave confession you weren’t sure you wanted heard, a few tears rolling down your cheeks.

Steve smiled tightly, eyes glimmering with tears, his grip on your tightening.

“Okay.” I love you, whispered the breeze, the dark blue of Steve’s irises brimming joy and worry all at once. “Then I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you’re comfortable too.”

You blinked at he released your hands, reaching into the pockets of his sweats.

First, he pulled out a credit card; before you could as much as breathe in so you could protest, he was pressing it into your hand and curling your fingers around it with a hard uncompromising stare.

You weren’t expert at law, but you had enough wits to know that whoever Steve once had been, a war hero, an Avenger, an idol, however potentially rich, they must have frozen his accounts. You hadn’t talked about money much, but you knew he paid in cash. If he did have a credit or debit card, he hadn’t been using it with you; and if he was giving one to you, it must have meant that using it was safe. You didn’t know how that could be, but he would never give it to you if it had any ties to him and anyone could connect the dots and follow the breadcrumbs to you as a person who was harbouring a fugitive.

“You’re taking it and you’re using it however you need, sweetheart,” he said, the same note of non-negotiable in his voice despite the tenderness of his touch. “It’s safe.”

“Then you need it.”

Steve smiled, warm. “No, I don’t. It’s not the only thing I have. I promise you: we do have allies. Not just Wakanda – which is open to us, to you, by the way, if that was the direction you wanted to go-“

“I don-“ 

“-once we figure things out. Figure out what we want,” he added, guessing your arguments against.

You glared at him, even as relief was spreading from your chest to your fingertips.

You had options. You had him. And perhaps he was less alone against the world that you had believed.

“Nat helped us set it up; and this kid who was once against us but decided there was error in his ways. People have been… donating.”

Your jaw fell a little slack and Steve’s smile grew wider, turning more genuine – and hopeful, which was something you didn’t want to allow yourself to be as not to have your hopes crushed. But the traitorous light and shiny feeling blossomed in your chest anyway.

“And I… Tony and I aren’t speaking, but… I think he might have been helping us out too. Keeping the accounts safe, monitoring the donors, running background checks, making sure it’s not the government trying to track us down. Which reminds me…”

He pulled out the second item, causing you to frown in confusion, even though you were still processing what he had just said and given you.

A burner phone.

He had already got you a second one over the course of the months you knew each other and were together, making sure you could securely contact each other. The second burner came not a bit more than a month ago when he had last visited to replace the original one.

It was too soon to replace it again.

“There’s one single number programmed into it, not more. Not even mine. If anything goes south, or you can’t reach me, you call him.”

A beat of silence, confused and tense.

And then your eyes went wide, heart stumbling anew.

Not a replacement then. Just another one. A burner phone specifically to reach---

“Steve, you’re not serious.”

Steve, for his part, didn’t even flinch at your incredulous tone.

“Deadly serious.” You just shot him a sharper glare at his choice of words. He didn’t relent. “I mean it. If anything happens to me-“

You squeezed his hand, hopefully hard enough to make it hurt, nails digging into his skin.

“Don’t-“

“If anything happens to me,” he repeated as if you weren’t a millimetre into his skin from drawing blood, “the chances are it’s happening to Nat or Sam or even Wanda too. So Tony is the safest bet. And we might not be on great terms, we disagree on a lot of things, but trust me – he would not turn his back to this.”

“I’m not taking Tony St- Tony’s charity if you get hurt or arrested or worse, Steven-“

Faster than you could comprehend – and more careful than you ever remembered him manhandling you and that was saying a lot – he pulled you into his lap and really, it was the least convenient time for your hindbrain to marvel at how easily he balanced you both or how hot and firm his body was, but you were only human in a rather fragile emotional state.

His hands framed your face firmly, face but three inches from yours, his gaze boring into your very soul and making you shiver even before he spoke – and it had nothing to do with the comforter sliding off your shoulders. Steve’s touch, like always without fail, found your pulse on your throat, his broad palms making his job easier. Your palms landed on his chest, the damn credit card and phone an uncomfortable barrier between you.

“I’m not asking you to accept his charity, even as he’ll probably try to bully you into doing so,” Steve said, every word carefully articulated, holding your gaze and attention unrelentingly. “I’m begging you to accept his protection. Physical or legal. It’s been on my mind for a while now.”

You gulped as tears sprung from your eyes, not doubting his words for a second.

If there was one thing Steve was deadly serious about, it was the safety measures. The burner phone. Never the same motel twice. Once he was in your home and never again. Paying in cash. Dark corners. You had seen the shadows in his eyes, even as he rarely mentioned it, that he wished he could give you more than lurking around in secret – because your safety had been the absolute priority. If he had ever felt like he was in danger, he hadn’t even called for a full week, let alone visited. It was a little ironic that the caution now flew out of the window as you were still outside, but at least you were whispering.

Even though you could tell Steve noticed the salty streaks down your cheeks – how could he not as they soaked his palms – he continued, words turning hoarse.

“Knowing this… that’s just the impulse for me to stop being a coward about how important you are to me. I wish the circumstance was different, so fucking different, but right now, I can’t give you what you deserve and need. So I’m begging you to---” his breath hitched, as he forced himself to inhale slowly and you mimicked him on instinct, realizing you had been to stunned and torn wide open to breathe yourself. His forehead gently rested against yours, his eyes slipping shut.

“I need you to be safe. And I need the mother of my child to be safe too.”

You didn’t bother to try and swallow the whimper at hearing the latter spoken out loud, spoken with such raw emotion, and the crystal-clear distinction he drew to let you know you had always mattered in the first place. God, he really was one in a million and you wanted to give him everything in return of the love he had for you.

“Do you understand that, love? Can you do that for me, please?”

“Yeah, yeah I can,” you husked and then you were kissing him, or he was kissing you and this time, you truly weren’t sure which came first.

It didn’t matter.

What mattered was his mouth on yours and his arms around you, easily lifting you as he stood up, blindly reaching for the comforter as he walked back inside, never once tearing his lips from yours as he kicked the door shut with a loud crack.

A silent curse against your mouth was the only acknowledgement and you cursed with him – because you wanted your hands empty of the generous gifts he had given you and wanted to appreciate the gift he was instead and to forget for a moment that you were terrified of the future. And perhaps be appreciative of the good things that awaited you there instead.

If his enthusiasm was anything to go by, he felt the same, laying you down on the too-soft bed carefully, dextrous fingers taking the items from your hands and still, without as much as coming out for air, moving them wherever you could find them if you ever needed them later.

When his mouth did part from yours, he let his lips wander to your throat, pressing a lingering kiss to your pulse point, as if drinking in the precious sound of your frantic heartbeat, obediently speeding up under the affection.

When his hand slipped under the hoodie you were wearing, lingering over your belly with a new purpose, you’d swear you could hear his heartbeat accelerate, his chest expanding with a generous inhale, just like yours.

The caring and yet possessive gesture stirred scorching heat in your belly as if to respond to the heat of his touch, body arching against it in kind.

“Steve-“

“I love you and I’m holding you personally responsible for being perfectly well and taken care of when I’m not around,” he whispered to your skin, fingers already teasing places that he seemed to want to take care of right now, causing you to sigh and reach for him so you could feel his mouth on yours again. He went willingly, but wouldn’t kiss you until he said his piece. “And when I’m here, I’m going to take care of you myself and I’m gonna give you everything and you’ll let me.”

It wasn’t a question.

You didn’t answer it.

You accepted it and let your hands roam and caress and squeeze and hold and tease, once more basking in his proximity and affection and able to breathe even as you barely ever let your lips part from his.

Hope bloomed in your chest, wrapping around the love in your heart and when Steve let the desire in your core burn hot and quenched it all the same, his loving affection and desperation aligned, you sank into it, for a moment without care for the world but the two of you together, with the testimony of your love fighting all odds humming under your heart.

And in the morning, Steve lingered; then again, you barely got any sleep in the first place.

But for the first time, you saw more than peace in his eyes when he lied by your side, hand gently laid over the side of your throat, your heartbeat obediently singing for him under his palm. There was hope. And joy.

And for the first time for a while, you allowed yourself to truly feel these things too, reaching for his lips over and over; until he’d have to go and it would be your turn to take care of the most precious thing Steve Rogers had and protect it with a fierceness of his love and the mother of his child.

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Please weep with me over gorgeous precious Steve getting gently fussy and all🥺🥺