#endearments

Over a month later (after the events of the epilogue)

Steve was tired.

It was a banal assessment of his state as it didn’t seem to encompass all that he was feeling: all the aches in his body and in his brain, exhaustion of a week-long mission of recon, making a plan, executing the plan, throwing away the plan when it went off rails and coming up with a new plan in the matter of seconds only to eventually fight tooth and nail and bruises and blood – it was etched into his weary bones.

And so he guessed it was acceptable that his mind didn’t have enough energy to come up with a better word than tired when FRIDAY politely asked him how he was doing upon his return from the long albeit successful mission.

Tired and lonely, but that he didn’t mention.

He hadn’t been alone – in fact, he had had his closest friends by his side, Bucky, Natasha and Sam watching his six – but he had missed you.

A little over a month passed since your first date, a little over a month since your blossoming relationship took an officially romantic turn. A month of stolen moments and borrowed kisses that needed to be returned immediately and thus creating an infinite loop, subtle glances as well as not so secretive smiles, longing brushes of hands, grins as you sparred with attempts not to let it turn highly unprofessional… your incredible body under his hands, trapped between him and the wall, under him, a whirlwind of emotion and lust, the first time, the second time, always--- a little over a month of intimacy Steve perhaps hadn’t even believed he could ever find.

You were careful with your heart and he respected that, treating it with same care; but at moments when as he had offered you his own on his sleeve, you tended to open yours in return. And there was not a day when you did that that didn’t tug at his heartstrings, as if you gently wrapped those around your hands and pulled him closer, making him fall for you deeper. Getting to know you, the true you, meant a confirmation of what he had known, deep down, long before you had allowed yourself to be vulnerable with him and long before he had been willing to admit to himself he had found you wonderful rather than merely utterly infuriating: that just because you didn’t open your heart easily, it didn’t mean you didn’t have an enormous capacity to love.

Neither of you had spoken the words, even as Steve almost had more than once, but your deeds, your touch, the look in your eyes – all that spoke of affection profound enough to make warmth bloom in his chest and a bring a soft smile to his lips even at times when raising the corners of his mouth felt like too much work to his weary muscles.

Just like every step did. Just like moving his thumbs to text you he was on his way back had.

He would have come find you the moment the quinjet touched the ramp, but he wanted to make himself presentable. Shower, change, eat something that wasn’t a protein bar, an energy bar or a banana. Then he could come find you and be the man you deserved, the man you too missed for a week, hopefully at least half as much as he had missed you. Then and only then; even if he had secretly wished he could step out of the quinjet right into your arms, that he would find you waiting for him there to welcome him home.

God had his combat boots always been so heavy? Had his shield always felt like such a burden on his back? Had the stealth suit always constricted his movement so much or was it that he had almost got tinged by the flames or was it just the unforgiving force of gravity? Why did he have the tendency to wear so many things in his to-go bag and why did they seemed to be made of lead?

Steve could have changed on the jet, but there had been no water left but for washing their faces and hands and flushing the toilet, and he hadn’t really seen a point in changing without a shower. He was also aware there was about seventy percent chance that once the warm water soaked his back, he’d let out embarrassing noises which the trio of his friends would have never let him live down; and he’d fall asleep within five minutes after that shower unless he had the motivation of you being in his immediate vicinity.

Jesus, was the click of his door opening always so loud? At least FRIDAY was kind enough to open it for him without entering a code, recognizing that the word ‘tired’ was a bit of an understatement.

He thanked the AI lowly, rewarded by a voice that almost seemed to be smiling. Or was it? His brain might be too exhausted to tell, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it was hallucinating.

Stepping into his apartment however had him perk up instantly, his back straightening in attention; because for all his exhaustion, this he didn’t imagine. He couldn’t have.

Something, something foody, smelled incredible, making his stomach growl in anticipation; and soon enough, his brain caught up enough to make assumptions, even as he did so carefully. His heart had no such reservation, however; it already stumbled in his chest in pure delight, sending a signal to his lips, a smile forming without effort.

Leaving his bag by the door, crouching with a low grunt, he undid his boots and removed his shield, following the smell and the low clutter of kitchen utensils drowned in the music playing in his kitchen.

In his very much occupied kitchen.

His smile only widened, his heart somersaulting achingly in his chest, the warmth humming in his ribcage upon the sight offered to him melting the tension from his shoulders.

The sight of you; in his home no less.

It wasn’t the first time you were in his quarters, not by far, not the first time in the kitchen area either; in fact, Steve had quite fond memories of you standing by the counter and sitting and nearly sliding down the kitchen island where he had hoisted you up to. But this was the first time you had come here of your own accord, accepting his invitation to his doors always being open even in his absence. And you used that invitation to… cook for you two, apparently.

And you were enjoying it too, judging by the wonderful smell, the song playing from your laptop, you humming under your breath and your hips swinging lightly to the rhythm, a seemingly effortless and criminally alluring movement.

Not daring to move further, Steve allowed himself to take in the domestic scene, resisting the urge to pinch himself as to convince himself this was not a dream; all his senses were telling him this would be toovivid of a dream. The working mess on the counter, the bowl of salad sitting on the island next to your laptop, the lit-up stove with what he believed to be roast beef with seasoning that made his mouth water, the sizzle of oil on the stove you were standing at, the music, a melody he recognized reaching his ears – and you. God, you. In simple leggings and a shirt you had stolen from him at some point and he’d never hold it against you, but would beg you to do it again for you looked like a goddess in your own right – and with the not so subtle subtext of being his – , and in an apron with a print of small shields Bucky had given him as a gag gift of all things.

It might not be a dream, but it certainly was a dream come true.

Steve took a wavering breath, letting his senses soak in the scene and write it into his eidetic memory; and into his heart.

He couldn’t see your face just yet, but you seemed perfectly content being here. And everything about this whispered of home to him of which you already seemed the most essential part. Because even if you’d burned the meat to crisp, if it tasted awful, you were here. Doing this for him. Hell, you could be here waiting for him with take-out or ice-cream or stale bread and he’d kiss you and hold you and never let go (until he’d feel like passing out from hunger at least).

Yes, Steve was hungry and tired; but no longer all that sleepy and all the more content, leaning carefully against the wall, head resting there too, feasting his eyes, the song washing over him as well as your low humming.

He was sure he hadn’t heard it before – but the melody felt familiar as he had heard you humming it every once in a while, especially lately. The gentle guitar chords and soft female voice with a raspy, smoky note felt just right; though perhaps the alluring sway of your hips contributed greatly to his perception of the tune.

Registering the lyrics, he smiled wider, an image painted in his mind as the woman sang about taking things slow and dancing in the living room; only for his heart to ache just a bit when he soon understood that as much as the song was about love, it was a love of people who had been hurt before.

And as much as Steve had yet to find out about all your past loves, he couldn’t but think that he already knew of unreciprocated great love from your past that had nothing to do with romance. The thought alone made him want to make himself known just to greet you, kiss you and hold you close and protect you from any potential demons wanting to touch you with the grimy long fingers of memories of being less than adored.

It was when the refrain hit that his voice died in his throat before a word could come out, his heart stopping, fallen smile freezing despite the sweet fact your voice now lowly joined the singer’s, not only humming, but singing.

That one word.

He’d heard it before. More than once.

He didn’t need to close his eyes to remember, but he did so anyway. And he remembered it all.

The dance you two had shared at the function before you had got kidnapped. The moment he had heard the word – an endearment at this point, truly – fall from your lips for the first time. It had been endearing, a little teasing.

He recalled how too many endless hours later, when you had been safe and sound in a hospital bed after a terrible ordeal, little softness, gratitude and a little secret had crept into your voice as you’d said it.

He thought about how he’d swear that his heart might have almost jumped out of his chest when you had whispered it after the first time you’d made love – the affection laced between the letters, a brand he’d wear with pride.

He recalled all the times in-between, some of them more playful, some of them affectionate.

And he remembered the moment you had asked about the endearment he himself had for you, that little traitorous word full of affection that had slipped out too many times for you to ignore it, too early, even before you had started dating – let alone after.

Firefly.

“Firefly?”

A hint of red flushed his cheeks as he got caught again, sensing this time he was not getting away all that easily, not with your alert curious eyes on him, even as a shadow of doubt as to whether you should be asking passed over your face.

“I’m sorry. Is that a bad thing? It’s just-“

“I don’t think so,” you whispered, leaning in closer as you sat on the couch having just finished a movie, cheeks flushing as you pecked his cheek, reluctant until you weren’t, narrowing your eyes. “Is it because I’m always bugging you?”

His lips twitched, exasperation at both your pun and what was clearly an evasion.

He had messed up before, reaching too far; but he was not a complete idiot. He recognized the gentle light in your eyes, reluctant hope bleeding into understanding that an affectionate nickname meant, as unlikely as you seemed to find it still much to his chagrin, feeling affection for you.

“No and that’s a terrible pun.”

“It’s an amazing pun,” you argued lowly, his lips twitching further despite being aware he was walking a line.

And what a thin line he it was.

You had a large heart. And you weren’t scared of love, he thought – but much like many, himself included, you were reluctant to believe and hope at times and he did not want to overwhelm you with just how much he felt.

“Yes, it is. You’re… do you mind it?”

“Depends. Why do you call me that?”

Something in your eyes, even as he felt some of your walls coming up, told him nothing really depended on anything. You seemed… to like it, no matter what his explanation would be.

Hopefully, he was not deluding himself.

“Well… for one, you certainly have a lot of fire in you.”

You narrowed your eyes, a mischievous crinkle lighting up in your irises.

“Should I be offended or flattered?”

“Both.” He smirked, even as he already weighted his next words. “And… well, there’s that little glow to you, your actual body, when you’re projecting, not to mention that technically, you do fly a little bit. Levitate half a feet above the ground at least.”

Your smile, soft, remained, even as the light in your eyes dimmed a bit, Steve’s heart stumbling in alarm.

“Oh… that’s… nice. Thank you. For telling me, too.”

Steve took a wavering breath, cursing himself even as he was not sure why this part was the one to have upset you. If anything, it was the last part he had been pondering whether to share… but seeing your hand toying with your skirt as you bravely held that tender smile in face of some sort of disappointment or hurt, something in him whispered this was the right time to share it for some reason.

If anything, there was no denying that opening up his heart to you had only ever brought you closer. If anything, showing you he was only human, only ever seemed to… bring understanding and acceptance, even if his vulnerability was tied to yours.

“And… the reason why it feels so right to call you that is-- I learned you were and are in a dark a lot more than people know,” he whispered carefully, feeling you stiffen, continuing knowing now he had to explain the rest. “You overcame a lot and… you still shine, despite that. And… you shine against my own dark too.”

Two full seconds of utter silence and stillness; that was his reward as he himself waited with a bated breath, eyes fixed on you, not daring to blink.

Another second passed; and then your calm façade crumbled just like your face, a glint of tears in your eyes all he could see and panic about, already gathering words of apology that never made it off his lips; because they were suddenly too occupied by responding to the press of yours, your hands framing his face as you sweetly and without a single word let him know what you thought of the endearment Steve thought fit you so well.

He smiled into the kiss, tension melting off his shoulders as your mouth moulded into his, a little frantic and clumsy with emotion and all the more perfect, his palm instinctively cradling your cheek to keep you close.

He only allowed your lips parting from his because you rested your forehead against his with a sigh. The sound was both weary and amused, breath tickling his mouth and enticing him to kiss you some more, hands aching to bring you back and closer, and closer, and the closest possible. And if he was honest, his hands were not the only thing that ached and nor was his heart.

“You, Steve Rogers, are infuriatingly thoughtful,” you rasped, clearing your throat even as your eyes remained closed, blind to his proud smile. “And really set the standards way too high. How the hell am I supposed to come up with a nickname for you now?”

Steve grinned before capturing your mouth again, sweet and infuriating all the same, because what a nonsense you spoke. You could call him anything or nothing at all; though if should he be honest with himself, his name and his rank sounded damn pretty falling off your lips, especially when they had that breathy quality after you made out or when they sounded as if you were begging for more.

His groin damn well spasmed at the imagery and he shook his head not only to let you know what he thought, but to disperse the image for now because this was important. But god, so was your soft and hard wonderfully pliant body that had somehow pressed closer to his and he had tasted you once and he just needed you to understand that was not the only thing he was after, not at all, but he’d had you and he’d never get enough.

Focus. Breathe. But oh you smelled so sweet and alluring and like you too needed him to continue kissing you and sneaking his hands all over you, lips wandering.

“I’m fine with any nickname. Or no nickname at all,” he hummed into your skin, “I like the way you say my name just fine, especially after I do this.”

Your head tipped back just a fraction, a mewly breathy sound of his name just like he loved it already escaping you and sending a surge of undiluted want rushing through his body, hands moving you to his lap of their accord.

Your mouth sought out his again, not a single protest, hands as eager as his in their exploration, every touch leaving a brand even over the fabric of his t-shirt he had never hated as much as in this very moment.

It was only when you rested your forehead against his shoulder with a little laugh that sounded a little too on edge that Steve physically forced himself to slow down, sensing another kind of intimacy.

“I… I think I’m gonna call you a caterpillar.”

At that, Steve couldn’t but laugh, even as a little alarm bell rang in his head, alerting him this was another evasion with humour – and as much as he was glad to see you use humour to cope with things rather than lashing out or isolating yourself, the latter two mechanisms he himself knew all too well and the former one used by Tony, he’d rather if you didn’t.

And yet, he leaned into it. It was not his place to criticise – and he did not want to. Especially since you felt so beautifully warm and real and close in his arms.

“Is it because I used to be puny and slow and then turned into a huge butterfly or because I’m always hungry and eating something?”

He expected you to laugh, or perhaps press closer, a silent thank you to him for humouring you, the subtle kind you excelled at.

Instead, you sighed, a shaky breath tickling the sensitive skin on his throat. You still didn’t raise your head, your fingertips toying with his t-shirt stretched above his ribs. Your words were coloured with reluctance and emotion that grabbed at his heartstrings and tugged with power not matching the volume of your voice.

“Because, Steve… even though you are entirely infuriating, you’re worming your way into my heart.”

Two beats of stunned silence.

Breath hitching as a surge of affection so powerful it stunned him lit every single nerve ending in his body.

It wasn’t ‘I love you’ – and for that he was glad for he’d prefer he’d be the one to have the privilege to say that to you first – but it was pretty damn close.

It was so close he had to bite his tongue and clenched one of his hands into fists just so he wouldn’t grab you with enough vigour to hurt you in attempt to hold you so tight you couldn’t move away a single inch.

With a wavering exhale, he pressed his lips to your scalp, breathing you in, hands caressing your stiffened form.

You’re worming your way into my heart.

Fuck.

What could he even say to that? How could he even encompass-

And surely you had to feel the way his heart hammered against his sternum, his pulse skyrocketing in almost ridiculous excitement.

His head was spinning, but his fingers slid under your chin to ask you to meet his gaze, no doubt shining like thousands stars because that was what he felt like.

You looked up, eyes still glassy and almost empty of emotion as your walls started to rise, gulping, not moving another inch when he pecked your lips.

“I’ll take it.”

You nodded minutely, a tiny pressure against his fingers on your jaw and then you were lifting your chin a bit, a speckle of pride, a speckle of cement to solidify the paper-thin protection you clearly felt the need to build between you after revealing so much.

“I--- just so you know, that wasn’t a serious suggestion of a nickname,” you said, your defiance as heartbreaking as endearing, words spilling without control now. “Tony would definitely turn that into something dirty and make a joke about a caterpillar in your pants or something, and I am not giving you a nickname that is a name of one of the biggest construction equipment company in the world, not to mention it’s pretty mouthful and-“

You were cut off by his lips attaching to yours again, and that was when you pressed closer to him in a wordless thank you, for shutting you from spiralling, from accepting it, for not making a big deal out of it even if Steve was all too much aware of how big of a deal it was, for kissing you again, because that felt damn nice—he was not sure which it was.

But that night, he made sure you forgot every coherent thought and every single worry and could only think of how good he could make you feel, hopefully both where pleasure and emotional safety were concerned.

And for the first time, even if he did so in the veil of the night when he was absolutely certain you were far enough into the dreamland, like the coward you believed he was not, he whispered he loved you.

Words he had not dared to speak even until now, even as every single cell of his enhanced body screamed at him to do so.

He loved you. God, he already loved you so much it almost hurt.

And seeing you here, and feeling like he saw you more than ever, it only made him fall deeper.

That was how much power a single word could hold; that silly little word he had come to love so much even before. Before he could imagine that perhaps there was more to appreciate than the sentiment you spoke it with.

Perhaps. Or perhaps he was being presumptuous.

Yet, his chest already felt as if someone inflated his lungs and he might actually start levitating above the ground like you always do when holding your Spectre in existence. And the woman continued singing, her voice complemented by yours.

Stranger. A beautiful stranger.

Beautiful stranger, here you are

in my arms

and I know

That beautiful strangers only come along

to do me wrong

And I hope

Beautiful stranger, here you are

in my arms

But I think it's

finally, finally, finally, finally, finally safe

For me to fall

Strange, Steve had always thought, how a term for someone one did not know could hold so much affection.

Strange, how he had never felt prouder to be a stranger like when you called him that – and he suspected that now, whether you thought of this song when you called him that or not, he knew he always would, because this.

This was what he hoped he could be and perhaps was. Someone you could and did trust to catch you, someone to treat your heart with tenderness and protect it with the ferocity it deserved.

But Steve would also be lying if he’d try to deny his ego wasn’t tickled by the thought of you – and a memory as well, the image of your parted lips and curious fingertips roaming his body with the very whisper in his ear – calling him beautiful. He thanked and cursed his eidetic memory for the vivid sensation sneaking on his tired brain even now-

The shriek you suddenly let out snapped Steve from his reverie, his eyes focusing again, offering the sight of your face twisted in a mask of fright and painted over by embarrassment.

His heart startled in his chest, regret flaring – and completely giving way to the fact that the expression on your face was all the confirmation he needed.

Yes. Yes, when you called him a stranger, in that soft or teasing voice, you most definitely thought of this song.

And Steve felt something in his chest open for a crack, a rush of affection filling that space to the brim even as you both stared at each other mutely, slightly awkward as Steve had bounced off of the wall on instinct and you were still holding a spatula in your hand, a lot more like a weapon now rather than a kitchen utensil.

It was only when the song finally faded out, leaving Steve’s heartbeat the loudest sound in his ears, and another, more upbeat song filled the air, when you snapped from your trance, switched off the stove in an admirable speed, tossing the spatula to the pan and all but leaping to the laptop to turn the music off with a frantic breath of Steve’s name.

The picture perfect was given the last touch when a shaky but no less delighted smile spread your lips when you approached him, slowly raising your arms as to hug him hello. You changed your mind the last moment, moving to cradle his face gently instead, attentive eyes roaming his face and figure for scrapes and bruises or worse, fingertips tracing his cheek, his jaw, as if they allowed you to see better and Steve was not at all complaining, not even when your hands stayed and your gaze moved to scan the rest of his frame, searching for even the slightest changes in posture that would betray the fact he had been injured.

There was a lovely flash of appreciation in your eyes that made Steve’s ego float, the liking you found in his suit not a secret; but your brow furrowed as your fingers hovered over the shiner under his left eye, your inspection over too soon.

And yet; Steve felt his lips melt in a smile, any residual tension melting with the warm affection of your touch.

“Hi,” was the only thing he could muster up and then he was leaning in for a kiss he had been longing for for days.

You sighed against his mouth as you let his arm sneak around your waist and pull you closer, cautiously so, no doubt cataloguing every possible flinch of pain and ache on his part; and Steve couldn’t breathe. His chest felt too full still, a little lightheaded from the overwhelming affection, your touch an undeniable prove that all this was real. You, in his apartment, having been swinging in the rhythm and singing under your breath about falling in love and bone-deep trust, in his home, cooking, apparently, now tenderly assessing if he needed mending beyond your soft touch.

He didn’t. And by god even if he had, he did not.

He needed to sleep and process this gift of a moment eventually, however, because he felt actual tears burn at the base of his nose, his throat so tight he was not sure he could push more than another ‘hi’ past the lump that had grown there – which was unfortunate because there were three important words fighting to get out in the open.

Steve was tired. He hadn’t showered, he could lie down and sleep right there on the floor and he didn’t have the capacity to think without the process hurting, but being grounded in this reality felt like a touch of something divine and he hated you were already pulling away.

You frowned and he realized your lips had moved and he willed himself to listen, even as the arch of your lips was more mesmerizing than anything.

He needed to focus. That frown of yours and your slightly downcast gaze possibly meant that you misinterpreted his silence as something akin to anger at you being here, or some kind of disappointment, and it would be criminal to let you think that for another second when the exact opposite was true.

And dammit now your hands left his face and he was already missing their warmth.

“Oh god, the apron--,” you muttered, moving to untie the garment now slightly stained by the ash that had lingered on his suit quickly, gingerly placing it aside before meeting his gaze, apologetic. “I’m sorry… and I’m sorry for sneaking in unannounced. I… wanted to surprise with something… nice.”

Unfreezing at last, Steve clasped his hand around one of yours, lifting it to his lips to press a tender kiss to your palm. Your skin still smelled of the seasoning and the throbbing ache of the word home hummed in Steve’s chest louder, your lips twitching in a hesitant smile.

“Mission accomplished. You are plenty nice, Firefly,” he assured you, grinning when the remark had your eyebrows arch up, hand slipping away – but so did the last remnants of uncertainty and shame.

“Har, har. Might be the only nice thing you’ll get because I’m not so sure I didn’t mess up. I’m not exactly a Master Chef candidate, cooking wasn’t something that—it’s not something I practice too often.”

But I wanted to try. For you.

Steve took another wavering breath, hearing the unspoken words in even as you now held your head high as you should.

“So I’m going to take it on faith it’s the thought that counts and you’ll have to take it of faith that I didn’t intend to poison you.”

There was a pang in his heart at the deflection of what he knew must have been shining from his gaze, the truth of him feeling exactly like that – the fact you wanted him to feel welcomed and cared for and home meaning the world to him – but he’d take it. Because you were here and you had taken a big step and a huge leap of faith no matter how light-hearted tone you managed to charm.

“I do have faith in you. It smells incredible,” he said. “But if it does come to it, we can always order something. Thank you. This is a wonderful welcome home.”

One corner of your lips lifted in a lop-sided smile as you echoed his words, squeezing his hand as you lead him further into the kitchen: “Welcome home.”

And it was enough.

It was so much more than enough, but he was only human and even as he was soaking in the precious moment and the warmth radiating from your actions, even as he was almost certain he had got it right, that one insistent thought had latched onto his mind and he needed his answer.

“It’s good to be home. Can I… hear the song again?”

You froze mid-step, taking good three seconds to turn face him fully, your expression schooled into perfectly pleasant neutrality and a shaky distracted smile.

Had Steve not got the precious chance to see beneath your perfect, he wouldn’t have realised you were looking every bit like you painfully want to talk about literally anything else. It was another compelling evidence that the song carried plenty of meaning for you and him.

“You liked it?” you asked, sounding genuinely surprised and achingly casual. “Wouldn’t… think that was your style—though it is pretty cute, right? I mean the images-”

“Firefly…” he sighed.

“Sure. I can play it for you again, just give me a-“

Steve used his hold on your hand to pull you back to him when you spun on your heel to follow through, his fingers slipping under your chin to softly lead you to meet his gaze.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You don’t have to. It’s okay.”

It was a double-edged sword, he was using, he was aware – a dirty bargain, he admitted. While he did mean every word, he was also painfully conscious of how you responded to a challenge. And how you’d respond to the suggestion that you did not have to rise up to that said challenge, a subtle hint that it was alright to back down if you didn’t feel like you could handle it.

You were a lot like Steve in this regard.

You stuck your chin higher, a flash appearing in your eyes, face flushed with conflicted emotion.

He loved it and hated it at the same time; paradoxically, he was no stranger to feeling like that around you. He supposed that was what he got when someone offered him a mirror to his own personality. That was what he got for falling in love with someone so amazingly infuriating as you.

“I know,” you said, an edge to your voice revealing a tinge of vulnerability he knew you wished wasn’t there and which he cherished. “I want to.”

Steve didn’t let go of your hand when you headed to the laptop.

Two taps of your fingers and the gentle chords filled the air again, a familiar melody bringing a smile to his face, a smile you reciprocated shyly when he pulled at your hand and you let him, that little movement easily bringing you into his embrace, a loose hold for slowdancing.

“Can I have this dance, stranger?”

You didn’t respond with words; but you let him lead, perhaps unwittingly pulling at his heartstrings when you gradually relaxed into his arms, slow effortless steps following his with an instinct of a dancer, and eventually laid your head on his chest and closed your eyes as the pre-chorus picked up.

It was a tender gesture of trust, he thought; it was also a very smart way of hiding from him.

He’d take it. At least you’d got to listen to his heart stumbling against his sternum when he carefully rested his cheek on the top of your head, drawing a shaky exhale from your lungs.

Oh, we're dancin' in my livin' room

And up come my fists

And I say I'm only playing, but

The truth is this

That I've never seen a mouth that I would kill to kiss

And I'm terrified, but I can't resist

Your fingers twitched against the Kevlar minutely, expectant; Steve only smiled and pressed a brief kiss into your hair, warmth exploding in his chest when you sighed contently and melted into his embrace further, relieved and finally able to enjoy the moment.

And I said

Beautiful stranger, here you are

in my arms

and I know

That beautiful strangers only come along

to do me wrong

And I hope

Beautiful stranger, here you are

in my arms

But I think it's

finally, finally, finally, finally, finally safe

For me to fall

If your eyes turned glassy, he wouldn’t know. All he knew was that his own burned, his heart thundering in his ribcage under the pressure of a confession fighting its way to the surface.

You finished your dance without a word; and even if Steve’s bones felt heavy with exhaustion, his body seemed lighter than ever with a resolution.

You had set the song to be the only one to play; you must have because there was no sound but the rustle of clothes and his own heartbeat deafening in his ears when he kissed the top of your head again and cradled your cheek, meeting your gaze, indeed glassy. But so full of affection and trust he felt his breath hitched, the words almost, almost stuck in his throat.

“It’s a beautiful song. It truly speaks to me,” he said softly, the corners of your lips twitching up a bit as you clearly felt the same way. About the song, that was. Clearly.

He gulped, his next words coming out quieter than he intended – but hopefully firm enough. Because this was important; so important he thought his heart was about to give out under at the severity of his confession.

“I did fall… and I fell hard, Firefly… I love you.”

I love you.

God, it felt so good to finally say it, even if your jaw fell a fraction, your reaction but a mute awe and a few tears welling up in your eyes. He felt the burn of tears in his own too, releasing a shaky breath, his other hand moving so he could frame your face, thumb brushing over your cheekbones, over your temple, a stunning statue with overwhelming emotion etched into its expression.

He whispered your name with a tender smile, the words that had him in a chokehold for weeks now suddenly the easiest thing to say, asking to be repeated over and over again.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead when he realised you were holding your breath, then to your lips, gentle, forehead reasting against yours.

“I love you,” he whispered once more, a barely-there sound pushing past your lips and perhaps he should be disappointed at that. A part of him was, a sharp, a little selfish pang in his heart.

Steve longed to hear it too. God, how he longed to hear it, that visceral need vibrating in every single cell of his body, but he couldn’t hold it against you. As much as a profession of love often prompted one back, it was not conditional. That was not the main reason why he said it. He said because he could not hold it inside anymore, because you were absolutely brilliant and strong and soft, and everything he could ever want and if he had learned something in his long years as Captain America, it was that actions spoke louder than words and yours spoke plenty.

And as tired as he was, he was not deaf.

The lyrics of the song spoke to him, but he understood they spoke to you a whole lot more; not just those of love, but those of fear too.

Your hands came up to his face, into his hair, caressing and tangling, perhaps the softest he had ever felt them, softer than that godawful night that the fireworks had pushed him into a PTSD episode; and you kissed him.

Your lips tasted of the salt of your tears and of a promise, tense yet pliant body moulding into his as you kissed him with enough ferocity and emotion to make angels weep and his body too, his lips melting to respond in kind, love unspoken but given all the more freely.

When you whispered that you fell for him too and you had never felt safer to do so with anyone, it was enough to have Steve feel his chest puff out, heart so full it might burst.

You kissed until you were out of breath and then some, until Steve’s stomach growled in response to not your alluring perfume but that goddamn deliciously smelling food and you chuckled, eyes still brimming with tears but face determined to get all Captain on him for a change, leading him to sit down and eat, still in the uniform or not.

And later, after sharing a shower which was as much tender care as heat, when you lay in his bed, your head on his chest, fingers tracing a soothing patter over his shoulder, Steve knew he was about to have the sweetest dreams despite coming off the high of a mission still.

Barely conscious still, Steve smiled at your quiet admission.

“I’m really glad you came home in one piece. I… I missed you.”

“I m’ssed you too, sweetheart. ‘m more than ‘kay… got the prettiest welcome home... nicest I mean… too,” he muttered, realizing his slip which only had you nuzzle into him closer. He had a faint inkling that you were smiling into his sleepshirt. He wondered why.

He wondered a lot harder, annoyed even, when you pulled back a bit. Why? You were lying so comfortably against him, why would you-

A brush of your lips to his cheek was his answer, his mouth absently curled up in a smile. He thought. Probably. Was he dreaming already?

Maybe. But it was not the best dream – because you wouldn’t lie back down, as if you propped up on your elbow. He wasn’t sure he could muster up enough energy to open his eyes. 

Not even when you whispered his name, so quietly he might have as well only dreamed it up indeed. But there was tension in your voice; and there was silence long enough to startle him just enough to make him open his heavy eyelids, eyes barely focusing to find you looking at him, lips parted, something incomprehensibly soft written in your irises even in the dark.

“Sweetheart?”

You took a deep breath and slowly released the air like a caress, something flashing in your gaze, your lips curled up just slightly, carefully so.

“I… I love you.”

The single beat of his heart was like a punch to his chest from the inside; and then a pregnant pause.

And then it startled and raced gently in his ribcage, a sleepy but all the more precious moment keeping him awake for just a tad longer.

The littlest movement of the corners of his lips took way too much energy; but it was the most effortless thing he ever had to do, his chest inflated with suffocating sweetness. His hand felt as if made of lead but he lifted it anyway, running his fingers through your hair clumsily enough to make you chuckle breathlessly. His hold on you must have been feeble, but when he cradled your jaw, and tried to bring your face closer to his, you followed his lead easily, kissing his lips with tenderness that set every nerve ending in his worn body aflame in the gentlest possible way.

“I love you,” you whispered to his mouth again and he was almost, almost sure he was dreaming already.

You didn’t seem to mind his tongue now felt too heavy to respond, laying back to your place on his chest, melting against his body with a shudder; and it truly settled in his mind that you had just said you reciprocated his affection. At the doorstep of the dreamland, it felt like an intangible touch of your hand reached into the depth of his soul and caressed it with utmost tenderness.

He wasn’t sure if he’d crossed that threshold and only dreamed it or if he managed to form the words for real; but he hoped it was the latter, because you deserved to hear it all day and every day and he was going to make sure you would from now on.

“I love you too, Firefly.”

Used to think that lovin' meant a painful chase

But you're right here now and I think you'll stay.

Bonus 3

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Ehm. I hope you enjoyed 💕 Please know that I am always happy to hear from you.

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP. PLEASE TELL ME AT LEAST ONE OF YOU FEELS THE SAME.

LOOK AT THEM. LOOK AT THE PROGRESS THEY MADE.

You woke up to Logan’s tongue encircling your clit. You quickly awakened to fingers sliding into your drenched entrance. You gasped and thrusted against his fingers. “Mornin’,” his rough sleep voice teased. You hummed before moaning as his fingers found that delicious spot inside.

Panting, he rapidly pushed you over the edge. Your body tensed, your toes curled, and arched your back as your sleep-filled, hoarse voice moaned. He thrusted in and out, and in and out riding out your orgasm until your channel calmed some. He slowly removed his fingers which made you open your eyes with a pout on your lips. He chuckled, sucking all your juices off his fingers before crawling up your body to box you in with his. “Got one more in ya?”

You huffed and quirked a brow. ”Dude, I just woke up, and as much as I’d love to continue this.” You frowned. “I’m still mad at you about last night.”

He rolled on his back with a heavy sigh. “We talked about this.” You sat up and turned, getting off the bed. “No, you talked at me last night and didn’t listen, let alone address any of my issues I brought up to you. You didn’t even apologize.”

He sat straight up. “I need to apologize. You were the one who had a drink in one hand and let two guys rub up all over you,” he growled. He jumped out of bed and stalked over to the bathroom.

Toothbrush in hand, you began to explain. “First of all, I had my jacket on and covered the majority of my skin—“

“So you planned that?” He accused loudly.

“No!” You turned back to the mirror, turned on the water, and got your toothbrush wet.

“No,” you spoke quietly.

“I did not know what to expect last night so it was a precaution. You invited me out with the X-Men. You ignored me most of the night—“ He huffed incredulously.

“Most of the night you were talking to your X-Men buddies other than us reaching out and needing to connect…to touch. Don’t act like you didn’t know how I felt. We’re mated, Logan.”

He walked out of the bathroom throwing up his hands. You stepped out and looked at him to continue. “You knew I felt lonely and like a third wheel. I even sat and tried talking. It was Kitty who told me you fell out of the fucking jet and she saved you with her phasing. You didn’t even tell me!”

He turned around, tilted his head, and sighed. He softly addressed, “Nothing happened, sweetheart. I didn’t even get hurt—“

“You could have. That’s my point. You don’t talk to me. You just want to fuck and cuddle. I want to understand you. I don’t understand why you have nightmares or what they're about. I want to know your triggers to support you if they happen. I want to know why you have metal on your claws. I want to know how you got the name Wolverine. I want to know about your parents and your childhood. Did you have siblings? What you’ve been doing before the X-Men! I just want to know the person I’m spending the rest of my life with, Logan! Or do I call you James, which I didn’t even know until Ororo was going over paperwork with me? Where did ‘Logan’ come from?!” You realized you were yelling, and yelling never communicated what anyone needed. Your mind suddenly felt strange, alone. “Did you just block me out?!”

He scowled at you.

You put on the jeans you wore yesterday, grabbed your teddy bear Logan had given you that smells like him, and his favorite flannel before walking out of your shared room. You scowled at anyone who looked at you. Walking over to the student dorms, you headed over to Laura’s room. When you knocked and received no answer, you headed over to Yukio's, a level down. You knocked and Yukio’s chipper voice answered. “Come in.”

When you walked in, Ellie looked at you so confused. “Who died?”

You looked at Laura. “Your Dad is a possessive asshole.” She huffed a laugh. “Yeah.”

“He won’t listen to me or even consider my feelings at all.”

“Sounds right for an Alpha male,” Ellie said, chewing her gum while she looked at her phone.

“I’m sorry it’s such a rocky start,” Yukio sympathized.

You look at them as you speak. “You know, I get this is some fated, destiny thing and it’s basically an arranged marriage but you’d think he’d try harder.”

“He is,” informed Laura, quietly.

You looked at her with a quirked brow.

“He blocked me out,” you gritted through your teeth, seethingly.

Laura raised her eyebrows and eyes wide.

Your anger was beginning to increase dramatically. “I hate this. I’m glad my shit is over with those fucking violent urges but what the hell am I supposed to do with an alpha who just wants to—“ You growled suddenly. Eyes changed to amber, tore the teddy bear in half, and changed into your wolf, shredding the clothes you were wearing. You ran out of the room and down the stairs. Your wolf-self grumbled out the front door of the dorm before running toward the woods.

You ran and ran and ran until you were out of breath. The anger in you was turning to red-hot rage and you didn’t understand. Your wolf and human sides were battling. The loss of control makes you shift back to your human form, naked and boiling rage in your veins. Your fangs lengthened and nails grew as you clawed into the closest tree trying to expend this rage within you.

Meanwhile, Laura was nearly at your room when Logan turned a corner. She stopped and held out the pile you left in Yukio’s room. He frowned and grew angry at the ripped teddy bear.

“You have to talk to her, Logan. She feels everything you do, and right now, she suddenly raged,” Laura explained, frowning.

“Shit,” he quietly exclaimed. “Would you see—“ he began holding the teddy bear out to her.

“Si. Vámonos.” She smiled and headed back to the student’s dorms. He paused right before the stairs and went back to your room to grab sweatpants and a shirt, seeing you shred your clothes.

Once outside, Logan followed your scent, easily tracking you. When he found you, he opened his mind back to you, only to be onslaught by your inner turmoil. You appeared human, naked with bloody hands, tears rolling down your freckled cheeks, flecks of small cuts scattered on your skin, growling, shredding a tree to bits, before you pushed at it.

In your mind, your wolf was in control and wholly confused. It lashed out at everything nearby, including him. A headache began to form that he ignored. You were most important right now.

As the tree fell, he didn’t realize how strong you were. The loud thud he felt and crashed on the forest floor did nothing to your mood. You began to kick and punch at it before falling to your knees. When you screamed, he felt his rage reflected to him. His eyes widened at the realization. Somehow, you had tapped into his feral rage and this was the outcome. You were attempting to rid yourself of nearly two centuries of pain and white-hot rage within him. He couldn’t even do that.

He slowly stepped closer and closer, and then he heard you whisper. “Stop, stop, stop. Please just stop.” You sobbed and returned to punching the tree trying to expel all of Logan’s pent-up rage you were feeling. You were feeling all of it with no understanding as to what or why.

He knelt next to you and whispered, “I’m sorry.” You turned to him, face flushed, amber eyes, and then he noticed the blood you were leaving on the tree. “We need to get you to Hank.”

“Fuck off, Wolverine,” you snarled at him before returning to the tree. You’ve never called him anything other than Logan in anger. “I’m not in the mood for your alpha bullshit.” Logan could feel your exhaustion beating at you but the rage fueled your body’s adrenaline nonetheless.

He knew if he could get you to stop for just a minute, exhaustion would win. “Let’s get you dressed, darlin’?”

He slowly got behind you, quickly wrapped his arms around you, and pulled you back laying on top of him faced away. You growled and wriggled before clawing at his arms. You dug your toenails into his legs, shredding his calves and the blue jeans he had on.

You screamed, suddenly, your head going side to side as you did. He repeated over and over again “I’m sorry. I’m sorry” as he held you. He pushed his emotions, showing his sincerity for hurting you and allowing you to experience this alone. He was sincere and remorseful.

“Lies! You’re lying! You’re lying. You left me alone,” you screamed and he felt your abandonment. The rage was consuming you. You and your wolf were losing control. Logan did the one thing he hoped would snap you out of this: terrified, he opened his heart and showed that he loved you, deeply. Within seconds you stopped moving, tears fell heavily, and you slowly went pliant in his arms. He wrapped his love around you like a warm blanket and himself with it. You held on to him and his heart as you slowly drove the rage into a corner of your mind for now. You opened your own heart to show that you love him in return, pushing memories to him of every action you had witnessed that caught your heart before you two were ever mated. Tears fell from his eyes, he didn’t know he could experience this. That this could be done. You revealed that you knew this because of his nightmares but never said, not wanting to expose him or trigger him when you saw what he experienced without any further context. You didn’t want him to feel guilty or bad for seeking comfort and support in his darkest, most vulnerable time when he had no control over his mind demanding to process these traumatic events.

You sobbed, shoulders shaking. “I hate this!” You sniffled.

“I’m sorry you experienced this…my rage,” he hesitated on the last two words.

“I don’t care,” you breathed. “I don’t care. I just…want…you.” You wiggled slightly. “Could you loosen up? My arms hurt.”

He did as you asked, knowing you weren’t going to attack him. You turned a full 180, laying chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis as your exhaustion began to take over. He could hear your breathing and heartbeat begin to slow. He held you as he sat up. “You need clothes.”

You hummed, questioning, nearly asleep. He grabbed the flannel, carefully pulling one of your arms in, and then the other before button a few buttons to mostly cover your chest. He repositioned you onto a bridal-style pickup. Your head resting on his bicep as he got the sweatpants on you one-handed. “Let’s get you inside,” he quietly cooed. You hummed acknowledgment. Your red-rimmed, puffy eyes closed, tear-stained, red cheeks cooling, and your head nuzzled against his chest.

He slowly walked into the mansion, shushing anyone who was talking. Jean walked away before Logan even got close, only for Hank to come running up with a first aid kit that he gently laid on your abdomen. He smiled at Logan and whispered, “Let me know if you need help.” Logan smiled and nodded before heading up the stairs to your room.

Hank, Charles, Logan, and you discussed the connection Logan and you shared with Charles helping you two build and strengthen your relationship.

Once in your room, he locked the door and laid you on your bed. He set aside the first aid kit on the nightstand. He grabbed a cup of warm water from the bathroom sink with a washcloth and a towel before unbuttoning the flannel and wiping off your chest and all around your breasts. He picked up the first aid kit before using the tweezers to pick out the splinters, wiping each spot clean. Using the dry towel, he gently wiped the water off to keep you warm. He buttoned the flannel back up before continuing. He pushed up the sweatpants legs, one at a time, and wiped each one down, front and back. He continued to check for splinters, removing them, and cleaning the areas before he dried you off with a towel. He even did your feet, carefully removing the few splinters in your heels, before washing and drying them. Saving your face and hands for last, knowing they may wake you from the possible pain.

He rinsed out the washcloth in warm water and replaced the warm water in the cup before he slowly and gently wiped the dirt and sweat off your face. He removed splinters from your face and cleaned it up prior to gently taking the closest injured hand. He slowly wiped your fingernails off first. A grumble came from your sleeping form with a slight tug. He kept your hand in his as he began to examine your knuckles and forearms to find any more splinters. While there were none on your forearms, the knuckles of the top of your hand had several from you punching the tree.

He visually skimmed over your fingertips and inside of your hand, only finding a few on your fingers. Your nails were the most damaged, having broken them clawing at the tree and anywhere else you may have gone. He took out the splinters and slowly washed the palm, and up each individual finger before approaching the knuckles. The splinters were large and more like small pieces of wood. He pulled one out without much issue. The second one was deeper than expected.

You whimper and try to remove your hand from it. He shushes her and kisses the top of her hand. “Almost done,” he coos. He yanks a bit harder and removes it. You whimper. He licks the wound, helping it close and heal. He kisses where the wound is and wipes it off. He sets your hand down next to you. When he switched to the other hand, he examined your palm, finding no splinters and flipped your hand over, finding some on the knuckles at the top of the hand like the other. These were smaller, easier to remove and you hardly pulled from Logan. He wipes each knuckle before kissing each one. His eyes remain on your dozing form. He sees many of the small cuts and scrapes are gone but the bigger ones are still healing.

Setting your hand down next to you, he returns to the bathroom and rinses everything, putting the washcloth and towel in the dirty laundry hamper before returning to the bed. He undresses to his boxer briefs before sliding in on his side of the bed. He gingerly rolls you on your side and pulls you towards his chest. You rest your head on his bicep and nuzzle into his neck. He waits, knowing you overheat easily. Within five minutes, you wiggle around working your clothes off with just a touch of sweat on your brow. “I got you,” he coos at you.

You frown and nod, eyes remaining closed as your mate holds the sleeves taunt for you to pull your arms out, right then left. You hear the shirt fall to the floor. You lay on your back and start shuffling the sweatpants down, only for Logan to finish pulling them off. He then takes off his boxer briefs since you rarely like clothes on either of you two when sleeping. Once he is back in bed, he wraps his arms back around you. Your head returns to his right bicep and nose against his scent gland. Your right arm is thrown over his ribs, and your right leg is thrown over his left hip. He pulls a sheet over you both and watches you fall back to sleep.

“I don’t care,” you whisper.

“About what?” He whispers back, brows furrowed as he tucks a stray hair behind your ear.

“About your past. I don’t care.” Your sleep eyes flutter open, their usual human color. “I love you for who you are right now, Logan.” You turn your head and yawn. He cards his fingers through your hair. Returning your eyes to his. “That’s who I have always loved. That’s why I was so afraid to hurt you, baby.” You hold his jaw in your palm. “I never want to hurt you, ever, but I know I’m going to. I know it can’t be helped. Just means talking to be listened to and listening to hear, to understand, and to adjust as needed. We choose each other every single day. I promise you this, Logan. I promise I will always love you and always choose you every single day of my life no matter what.”

He played with your hair, removing a few tangles and wrapping a few strands around his finger as he listened. He smiles softly. “I promise to always love you and to always choose you every single day of my life no matter what,” he repeated. Your sleepy eyes match the joy in your smile.

“Sleep,” he commanded.

You hummed and returned to your former position around him. He held you close, nuzzling into your hair periodically. He watches the few cuts left on your face and chest heal, using his tongue to wipe the remaining blood spots from you. Enjoying the little tastes of you he can get right now.

As you sleep, he begins to doze himself. He even starts purring, waking you. You shift and look at his chest listening. He opens his eyes at your movement and the purring stops. You pout and whimper looking up at his face. His face is so soft looking at you, only to start purring again. You grin widely and snuggle against his chest, your ear under his collarbone. He wraps both arms around you, holding you in place as you listen and find comfort in the vibrations. You, yourself, begin a returning purr.

It wasn't until that evening that you two left your room, fully dressed. Laura, Ellie, Yukio, Wade, Ororo, Pietro, Jean, and Scott were downstairs in the foyer chattering away trying to play charades. Laura was up. Logan and you stood at the entrance watching her. “Mountain Lion,” you called out.

“Yes!” Laura grinned, pointing to you two. Logan stood behind you in his usual dark jeans and a matching navy t-shirt fitted to him. His hands are on your shoulders, grinning at his daughter, and a thumb rubbing your mating mark. You were barefoot in a long denim skirt and navy peasant shirt that Logan had bought you.

Amazingly, Logan had even braided your hair, advising Laura lets him practice different braids on her hair. He whispered in your ear that he liked doing it but not to tell her. You had chuckled, making a note to tell her later. You walked in, greeting everyone. Wade was the first to hug you and then Laura.

Laura skipped then walked on the balls of her feet, excited to see you two alright. You glanced at Logan who gave a slight nod, his informed ‘ok’, to your next move. You showered your neck to Laura, while a sign of submission was also a pack symbol of trust. Laura wrapped her arms around your torso and pressed her nose against your scent gland. You grinned and laughed; it was a bit ticklish when Logan wasn’t teasing you. Logan walked around you and waited his turn. Laura rubbed her wrist on the other side of your neck and stuck her tongue out to her Dad before giving him a wide grin and hug. You played with her hair down her back, really rubbing your wrist in between Laura’s shoulder blades as a silly move back, scent marking her with your scent.

You realized Wade was waiting for you three to finish.

Laura stuck her tongue out at you before noticing Logan had shown his neck to her, and she inhaled maintaining space between his scent gland and her—a sign of pack alpha respect.

He rubbed his hand on her hair, a hidden way to scent mark her but not be blatant. When he stood back up, the others were chatting and Wade was hugging you. You nuzzled against his face and rubbed his back, scent marking him. “Hello, sweetie.” You pulled back, still holding him. “How’s the merc business treating you?”

He grinned and shrugged. “Oh, you know, not bad, not bad.”

“Fancy seeing you here, stranger,” Logan said from behind you.

“What can I say? I missed my kitty cats and puppy.” Logan extended his claws and snarled while Wade took out Baby Knife, whispering “Baby Knife”. You looked at Wade and reached out to Logan sensing there was no hostility, only amusement, so you decided to play along. You turned around, back against Wade, and held his hand to your chest. “No, my love. I cannot allow this charade to go on any longer,” exaggerating the drama and your body language.

Laura busted out laughing and bent over, holding her abdomen.

She understood the assignment.

What was the assignment, puppy?

Just play along, dude.

What is with you and the word ‘dude’?

You push Logan away and he takes one step back. His claws retracted and watched you two with amusement. You never let go of Wade’s hand. You turned back to him, throwing your arm over Wade’s other shoulder. “Wade, I love you and to prove your love to me, you must…,” you hesitated trying to think of something silly to do.

“Dance the tango,” called out Ellie who started playing the music, “Dance the tango,” you repeated without thought before your brain caught up. “Wait, what?”

Wade took your hand in his and the other arm wrapped around you, splaying his hand just below your shoulder blade. “Basic,” you stage whispered at Wade.

You tried so hard to stay focused on the drama but kept tripping over Wade’s feet, laughing. Logan stepped in, picked you up, and set you down before taking your place. Wade and Logan kept serious faces and even swapped baby knife from one mouth to the other. It was great. Everyone enjoyed the silliness but they weren’t done. When the two men were done, Logan looked at Laura with a playful grin and a wink. “Flamenco?” Yukio was already prepared and played some wonderful Argentine flamenco music.

You squealed at Logan’s dance moves. Wade watched him for less than a minute before joining in. What surprised you was that Laura and Yukio joined in too. Ellie sat there holding her girlfriend’s phone with a small smile on her face, watching her. You enjoyed the energy and felt Logan’s eyes on you. When your eyes met, he quirked a brow as his thoughts came easily to you.

Join me.

Are you kidding? (You know he isn’t.) I was tripping over Wade. Fuck no.

If you join me, I’ll give you a treat.

Sex is not a treat, Wolverine.

Logan gave you that sexy, flirty smile he does when he has plans to devour you.

Logan (you warned).

Are you sure you don’t want a treat, puppy?

You ass. I hate you. (You love it when he calls you puppy and he knows this so much)

You love me (he retorted).

That’s beside the point.

You watch everyone’s feet and try to work out the movement. He walked over to you and took your hand, walking you both back out. Wade made space for you. Then, unexpectedly, Logan sends images of foot positioning to your mind allowing you to slowly catch on to where you can even stay in rhythm with him. You two dance around each other, clapping.

This went on for another 45 minutes or so before everyone else got tired. You giggled as Logan held you in his arms. Everyone quickly says good night except Wade who tags along to the kitchen.

Logan points to the island. “Sit.” He walks to the fridge and begins pulling ingredients out. “I didn’t know you could dance, baby. Wow.”

“Wait till you hear him sing,” Wade informed confidently. You look wide-eyed at Wade before looking back at Logan. “You sing too?”

“Wade,” Logan warns.

“What? I’m just being honest.” Wade rests his elbows on the island and plops his head down on his open palms as he watches Logan and you.

You look back to Wade. “We’ve only been mated like a month, man. We’re still learning each other,” you defend your mate.

“You two are so cute together,” Wade coos. Logan snorts as he mixes stuff in a large bowl.

“So, he cooks too,” you observe aloud.

“He is multitalented,” Wade agrees. You nod and go back to watching Logan with Wade.

“You spending the night?” You quietly ask Wade.

“Not sure yet,” he admitted.

“Not sure because no one invited you or not sure because leaving Ms. Althea alone is a bad idea tonight?”

Wade doesn’t reply but does hold up his index finger.

“We do have a pull-out sofa in our room,” you offer.

A quiet rumble comes from Logan’s chest. You look at the back of his head. “He’s your best friend and you haven’t seen him in nearly two weeks. Sex can wait a night, my darling alpha.”

Wade giggles at your declaration.

You didn’t have to invite him (you can feel Logan pouting).

Again, sex can wait a night.

…

If you’re that frustrated, I’m sure Wade would enjoy being an audience member. (As the thought leaves your mind, you watch Logan’s reaction—the images that flood his mind of Wade in various states of undress and positions disappear as quickly they appear, saying much about Logan’s extreme attraction to his best friend.)

Logan drops the spatula. Wade quirks a brow at him before glancing at your cat-got-the-canary grin. ”That’s not fair. You’re doing the mate telepathy.”

You looked at him with that grin and winked. “Maybe you’ll find out. Maybe you won’t. It’s up to Logan.”

“Peanut, what’s the misses talking about?”

Logan had picked up the tool and got a new one before working on cooking dinner for the three of them. “Nuthin’.”

Oh, my love. It’s something all right. It’s hot (you pushed images of a shirtless Wade, who has come over to swim when it was warmer, sucking and biting Logan’s neck. Biting at his nipples. You imagined Wade sitting in the corner stroking his cock as Logan pounded into you.)

Looking at Wade, you recommended, “Hey, why don’t we watch the Coneheads tonight?”

“Or keep watching Letterkenny,” Wade countered.

You could smell Logan’s arousal but made no word or action about it anywhere. “You have to make the sweet and salty popcorn,” you demanded.

Wade sighed dramatically as if it was such a big deal. “Ok, if I must.”

(You pushed the image of Logan fucking Wade and vice versa a few seconds later.)

“Damn right,” Logan interjected with a grunt. The both of you turned to Logan with your brows furrowed, confused.

“You ok there, Honey badger?”