Call it What You Want
Masterlist
Summary: Pure drabble, just giving the good captain the appreciation he truly deserves
Even with his shoulders curved inward and down against the wind Steve was still a massive form weaving through noon traffic. A languid sidestep kept a chattering business woman from spilling what was most likely her third cup of coffee down his nice sweatshirt, the hood of which was pulled up and over his combed blond locks. He wore sunglasses to add to the fugitive ensemble even though the sun only beat down delicately between bloated clouds every now and again.
Her wedge heel kept her chair perched on its back two legs as she observed his steady progress, eraser of her pencil jammed between pensive teeth with much better ideas of what they could be busy doing. He still moved like he was on the run or on his way to a clandestine meeting in one of the alleys he passed, even with months of clear charges under his belt.
The dark wash of his jeans fit him unfortunately well and the curves they hugged were something she could sketch with her eyes shut. So she did.
She drew on the image of him from this morning before she had to slip out for work. His body free of the covers. Bare. Just how she left it the night before; precisely how she preferred it. The warm light from her bedside lamp gave his tanned skin a soft glow. Hair tickle his forehead and more traced down his chest, nestling between his sprawled legs and trickling off downward.
She sketched the permanent indent her kiss surely must have left on his shoulder as she left their love nest. Their trysting place. Their stomping ground. She had no word for it and decided the name of the painting could be whatever the viewed decided to call it. Just as their love was.
Even with his head angled down away from the muss and fuss of the world on its lunch break, the smile he bore still could place him decidedly high and soaring through the clouds.
His kiss was swift and scorching against her lips like a wind burn, too fast and too strong.
She forgot her complaints from work, the stressors of the morning, and the sour taste of her tea when he took his sunglasses off and met her gaze. With her mouth still hanging from his kiss, he let loose an endeared laugh and collected the sketch pad that lay between them.
“You always get my forehead weird. It’s not actually that big right?” he asked.
“It is. And I got something else right too.”
“What’s that?”
Day faded into midnight. Days passed and weeks, then a whole lifetime and through it all she still pictured him right at her side. She leaned across the table, recreating the sample kiss from earlier with a full portion sized one.
“You.”
