#djotimr

You notice it properly one rainy Thursday night in his bedroom.

The windows are cracked just enough to let cool air drift through the room, carrying the smell of wet pavement and summer rain. Somewhere outside, thunder rolls softly across Hawkins while Steve kisses you against the edge of his mattress, one hand curved carefully around your waist.

You pull back just enough to murmur, “Hey.”

Steve chases after your mouth instinctively before catching himself halfway there.

“Hm?”

“Slow down.”

The words clearly catch him off guard.

Steve blinks once, hands still settled warm against your waist. “What?”

You smile slightly despite yourself, brushing your thumb softly beneath his jaw.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“This.” Your hand trails lightly down his arm. “Acting like you’re being timed.”

A faint line appears between Steve’s eyebrows immediately.

“I just thought we were-”

“We are.”

You kiss him again before he can spiral into apologising for something he hasn’t actually done wrong.

Slower this time.

Careful enough that he has to feel it.

Steve makes a quiet sound against your mouth - soft and startled, like the gentleness caught him off guard - and something warm and painful pulls tight beneath your ribs.

The real thing reveals itself quietly after that.

Steve Harrington is very good at taking care of people. He remembers how everybody likes their coffee. Notices when someone’s cold before they do. Gives pieces of himself away so naturally he probably doesn’t even realise he’s doing it anymore.

But the second somebody tries to hand that tenderness back to him, he gets almost shy about it.

You guide him backwards slowly until the backs of his knees hit the mattress.

“There,” you murmur softly. “Better.”

Steve looks at you with an expression that suddenly feels much younger than the rest of him. Not nervous exactly. Just unaccustomed to being handled this carefully.

“You’re being weirdly nice to me,” he says suspiciously.

You laugh under your breath. “That’s a horrible thing to say to your girlfriend.”

“No, I mean-” Steve runs a hand awkwardly through his hair. “Usually you’re the one getting taken care of.”

“And?”

“And…” His shoulders lift faintly in another helpless shrug. “I dunno.”

“Steve,” you say quietly, “when’s the last time you actually relaxed?”

Steve snorts immediately. “Probably 1984.”

“Be serious.”

“I am serious.”

You stare at him for a second before both of you start laughing softly.

The tension loosens after that. Only slightly, but enough.

Steve’s shoulders drop beneath your hands while your fingers continue moving lazily through his hair. He closes his eyes for barely a second at the feeling before catching himself doing it.

Interesting.

“You like that?” you ask softly.

Steve opens one eye immediately. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Use that voice like you’re discovering something.”

Your smile widens. “I am discovering something.”

Steve groans quietly while you scratch lightly against his scalp again.

His entire body visibly relaxes.

“Oh my god,” you whisper dramatically. “You’re basically a rescue dog.”

“Wow.”

“You are.”

Steve tries rolling his eyes, but it loses some impact when he’s actively leaning into your hand now.

“There he is,” you murmur softly.

Something in Steve’s expression changes at that. Tiny and fleeting, but noticeable. Like the affection in your voice hit him harder than expected.

You kiss him again, carefully, slower than before, and this time Steve follows your pace automatically. His hands still twitch occasionally like instinct keeps trying to pull him back into urgency, but every time he starts rushing ahead, you guide him back down again.

A hand against his jaw.

Fingers through his hair.

A kiss slow enough to feel deliberate.

Gradually, Steve starts melting beneath it.

You can read him everywhere if you know where to look - in the hitch of his breathing, the way his eyes flutter shut when your nails scrape lightly against the nape of his neck, the quiet sounds he tries unsuccessfully to swallow whenever you touch him somewhere sensitive.

The calmer he gets, the softer he becomes.

Not grasping now. Not hurried.

Just warm hands sliding beneath your shirt to feel your skin. His thumb drifting absentmindedly along your waist while he kisses you like there’s nowhere else he needs to be.

At some point he just… looks at you.

Really looks at you.

“What?” you murmur.

Steve shakes his head once, gaze still fixed on your face.

“Nothin’.”

“That’s a lie.”

His mouth twitches faintly. “You’re just really pretty.”

Your stomach flips embarrassingly hard.

“Steve.”

“I’m serious.” His fingertips brush beneath your jaw now, mirroring the way you touched him earlier. “You’re always taking care of everybody too, and somehow you still…” He shrugs slightly. “Look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

His expression softens.

“Like I’m worth being gentle with.”

The air leaves your lungs all at once.

God.

There he is.

You kiss him before he can look away.

Slow, lingering.

Your hand settles against his cheek while Steve sinks gradually backwards onto the mattress beneath you, one arm wrapping around your waist like he wants to keep you there.

“You know what your problem is?” you murmur softly against his mouth.

Steve looks mildly offended already. “Excuse me?”

“You think love only counts when you’re giving it.”

Something fragile flickers briefly across his face.

You smooth your thumb beneath his eye.

“But you’re allowed to have it too, honey.”

Steve goes very still beneath you.

Then, quietly, “Oh.”

Your chest aches.

You kiss him again before he can retreat into embarrassment, letting your hands drift slowly over him without urgency now. Every time he starts trying to touch you more than letting himself simply exist in the moment, you pull him gently back down again.

“Relax,” you murmur at one point, fingers brushing through his hair.

“I am relaxed.”

“You’re flexing every muscle in your body.”

Steve pauses.

“…shit.”

You laugh softly and kiss him before he can get embarrassed about that too.

Slow at first. Patient. Your hands stay gentle where they move across him, fingertips dragging through his hair, down the warm skin of his neck, over his shoulders where tension still sits stubbornly beneath the surface.

Steve keeps trying to kiss you harder. Instinctively reaching for more every time things soften too much, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with tenderness unless it’s swallowed immediately by hunger.

“There you go,” you murmur softly against his mouth when his breathing finally starts slowing again.

Steve exhales shakily through his nose.

His hands slide beneath your shirt, warm and slightly restless against your skin, but even now he’s still touching you more than letting himself be touched.

You notice immediately.

So you shift carefully into his lap, knees settling either side of his hips while Steve looks up at you with that same slightly dazed expression he’s been wearing ever since you told him to slow down.

“Hi,” you whisper.

His hands instinctively settle at your waist.

“…hi.”

You smile softly before kissing him again, slower this time, letting your hips roll gently against his just enough to pull a low sound from deep in his chest.

Steve has never been particularly good at hiding what you do to him.

You kiss along his jaw slowly while your hands push his shirt up over his stomach.

Steve helps automatically, tugging it off quickly before immediately reaching for you again.

“Patient,” you murmur softly, catching his wrist before he can pull you fully against him.

Steve actually flushes.

“Sorry.”

The instinctive apology twists awfully somewhere beneath your ribs.

“You don’t have to apologise for wanting things.”

Something in his face softens immediately.

You kiss him before he can say anything self-deprecating in response.

Then your hands are everywhere.

Slow. Thorough.

Tracing freckles across his shoulders. Fingertips dragging lightly through the hair on his thighs while you push his jeans slowly down his legs, Steve lifting his hips automatically to help you. Nails scratching gently down his stomach just to feel the way his breathing catches every single time.

Steve looks overwhelmed by the attention already.

Not embarrassed exactly.

Just… unaccustomed to being looked at this carefully.

“You okay?” you murmur softly.

Steve nods immediately.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Just- fuck.”

You laugh quietly against his mouth.

His hands tighten instinctively at your hips when you grind down against him again, only your underwear separating you now, slow enough now that every movement feels deliberate.

Steve’s head tips back slightly against the pillows with a quiet groan.

“Oh, you like this,” you whisper.

Steve opens his eyes immediately, looking mildly betrayed by how easily you figured that out.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I am.”

The honesty pulls another helpless sound from him.

You kiss him again while your fingers slide into his hair, scratching lightly against his scalp in that same way that made him melt earlier.

Steve’s whole body reacts instantly beneath you.

The version of him that only appears once he finally stops trying so hard to hold everything together.

All soft mouth and pink cheeks and helpless little reactions he clearly wasn't expecting you to notice. It makes your chest ache almost as much as it turns you on.

“You’re so pretty like this,” you murmur without thinking.

Steve goes completely still beneath you.

Then, “Jesus Christ.”

You blink. “What?”

“Nobody’s ever said that to me before.”

The confession hits hard enough to momentarily knock the breath from your lungs.

Because of course they haven’t.

People want things from Steve constantly. Protection. Confidence. Control. They like him loud and capable and steady. Impossible to knock over.

You’re not entirely sure anybody’s ever let him simply be soft before.

One hand settles carefully against his cheek while the other carefully pulls his boxers down his hips.

“Well,” you murmur, kissing him once, “they were stupid.”

Steve laughs weakly into your mouth right before you sink down onto him slowly enough that both of you end up breathless from it.

Not rushed.

Not frantic.

Just warmth and pressure and Steve’s hands gripping your waist almost reverently while his forehead drops heavily against your shoulder.

“Fuck,” he whispers shakily.

You move carefully above him, slow enough to feel every reaction pull across his face. Every little loss of composure. The way his mouth falls open slightly whenever your hips drag just right.

Steve keeps trying to help.

Thrusting upwards instinctively. Grabbing at you like he wants to give more than he’s taking again.

Each time, you guide him back down gently.

“Lemme take care of you for a second,” you whisper against his mouth.

Steve actually whines quietly at that.

Steve hides his face in your neck immediately, clearly mortified.

But he still lets you keep going.

Lets you hold him there long enough for all that constant tightness in him to finally start giving way. Lets himself melt beneath your hands instead of constantly trying to stay composed for your sake.

When he finally falls apart, it happens quietly.

Your name breathed shakily against your throat. Arms wrapped around you so tightly that it almost feels emotional.

Afterwards, Steve just stays there for a second, forehead pressed against your collarbone while both of you try to catch your breath.

Then, quietly, “…I think you broke me a little.”

By the time you finally settle fully against him afterwards, Steve looks almost dazed from the softness of it all.

His hair’s a mess beneath your fingers, cheeks flushed warm pink, one arm wrapped heavily around your waist while rain continues tapping steadily against the windows outside.

Neither of you speaks for a while.

Steve just traces absentminded patterns against your back while your legs tangle together beneath the blankets.

Eventually, very quietly, he says, “That was nice.”

You smile immediately into his shoulder. “Yeah?”

Steve hums softly.

Then, after a pause, “Nobody’s ever really… slowed down for me before.”

The confession lands gently between you.

You lift your head enough to look at him properly.

Steve already looks slightly embarrassed for admitting it out loud.

So you kiss him once, soft and lingering.

Then again. Then one more time just because you can.

Steve laughs quietly against your mouth, finally relaxed enough now that the sound comes easily.

“There he is,” you murmur again.

This time, Steve doesn’t try to hide when he smiles.