#milasstevebinderfics

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You sit down, gripping the arm of the chair with white knuckles. Your heart is still pounding in your ears, sending painful shocks through your head. After heaving a few shaky breaths, you reach over for the telephone and lift it to your ear. You dial in the number you’ve memorized by heart and twist the phone chord around in your fingers as you beg, pray, and plead for an answer. After a few rings, the other line clicks on and static fills the space between you.

“This is Steve Binder with NCB Studios," the familiar voice crackles through the phone speaker and you sigh in relief.

“Steve, it’s Y/N. I-I didn’t know who else to call,” you say as you try to gulp the tears away.

“Y/N, it’s good to hear your voice,” Steve replies. “Are you…alright? Is something wrong? How can I help?”

You smile weakly at Steve’s willingness to just jump right in. He’s always been like that, for as long as you’ve known him. And it's one of the things that made you fall in love with him so many years ago.

“I…I assume you’ve heard the news?”

“About Bobby Kennedy? Of course. I’m not sure what to do with myself, honestly. I…working feels so wrong when our country is bleeding out like this.”

You nod vigorously even though you know Steve can’t see you. You grip the phone with both hands, closing your eyes and giving in to your brain as it replays the scenes over and over again.

You were there when it happened. You were just walking across the street, just passing like it was any other old day. The gunshot ricocheted through your body as if you were the one who’d been hit. Your eyes immediately flashed to follow the people along the street, sprinting and screaming. You hadn’t been able to see much, thanks to the crowd which had gathered around. But when two people shifted with the most unfortunate timing, you’d seen enough. There was no question as to who had been assassinated. Everyone was shouting and repeating that “Bobby Kennedy’s been shot!” You didn’t know what to do, so you stood, frozen, and watched as they loaded his body into an ambulance and sped off toward the hospital.

The bang, the blood, the screams…all of those terrible images continue to flash in front of your eyes. They're all so vivid, as if you're watching them happen in front of you again.

You don’t want to worry Steve, but you truly hadn't known who else to call. He was the first person you found yourself wanting to speak to as you stumbled back into your house and crashed onto all fours on the floor of your living room. You scrunch your nose as your face screws up with grief, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. You grip the phone and take a shaky breath.

“I was there, Steve,” you say.

But you've said it so quietly that you aren’t sure whether Steve has heard you, especially after several moments of silence follow.

“I was there,” you repeat, a bit louder this time.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he finally replies before sighing loudly.

You know that sigh. You envision him leaning over his desk, elbow propped on his knee, fingers stretched across his forehead. It's a position you’d seen many times when you were together. It always came out during stressful evenings at the studio.

“It’s not your fault, Steve. There’s nothing you could have done. I just…” you glance up at the ceiling as the images roll through your brain again. This time, you aren’t strong enough to stop the tears which begin to stream down your face all at once. Your breath shakes so loudly that he can probably hear it on the other side. “I just didn’t want to be alone.”

“You won’t be. I’m coming to pick you up.”

“Steve, that’s like an hour drive from you. You-”

“End of discussion. I’m leaving now. I hate to ask this of you, but would you mind if we came back to the studio? I have a really important guest star that I sort of need to be with. If that’s too much, I’m more than happy to take off early and stay at home with you.”

“No, no. The studio is fine. Maybe I can help. It’ll get my mind off of…what happened.”

“One hour, I’ll be there.”

He doesn’t even wait for you to respond before clicking the phone back onto the receiver. You slowly place your own line back into its position on the side table and curl up on the couch. You don’t want to wait an hour, but the thought of running into Steve’s strong arms is enough to keep you satisfied for the moment. You reach for the remote to turn on the television but stop when you realize that all of the coverage will be showing the very images you're trying to escape. Instead, you lie down on the couch and close your eyes.

The shrill sound of the doorbell is what awakens you. Shocked and disoriented, you stumble off the couch and rush toward the door. You unlock the latches and swing it open to reveal Steve, dressed in a beautiful blue velvet suit. Your eyes quickly trace down his figure which is familiar in some places but strange in others. He’s bigger, stronger than the last time you’d seen him. His hair is much longer, falling in chestnut waves across his forehead and neck. He wears a blue ascot tied expertly around his throat which leads your eye perfectly down onto the exposed skin between two flaps of fabric on his chest. You gulp and allow your eyes to connect with his.

As soon as they do, you can see the concern in his expression. His eyes are bloodshot, red with what you assume were his tears after watching Bobby Kennedy die on national television. His eyebrows are pulled upward and his lips look red and swollen. His hair is disheveled and his face drawn. He looks like he hasn't slept in five days.

“Hi,” he says quietly.

“Hi,” you respond in a voice barely above a whisper.

You both stand still, staring at each other for a moment while you each wait for the other to make a move. Finally, Steve holds out his arms, stepping into your house. His small gesture is all it takes to break you. You fall into his arms, gripping onto the soft fabric of his jacket. He gently maneuvers you onto the ground, pulling your body into his lap. He wraps one arm around your shoulders and the other rests on the top of your head, stroking your hair. He doesn’t say anything but his presence is enough.

Your shoulders wrack as the tears flood out of your eyes and onto his clothes. His fingers methodically tense and relax on your head. This is something Steve has always done. You can’t explain why, but it’s oddly comforting. Maybe because it reminds you of what you two used to be, the good times you had together. Once you’ve finally gotten ahold of yourself, you pull back and wipe your eyes with a sniff.

“Sorry, I just need to change really quickly, if you don’t mind. And then I’ll be ready to go.”

You move to stand, but he grabs onto your fingers.

“Don’t be sorry. And take your time. I have a surprise at the studio which I think you might like,” Steve replies, offering a weak smile. You return it, your mind dancing around the word surprise.

You quickly change into a more comfortable outfit and rake your fingers through your hair to make yourself as presentable as possible before returning to the living room. Steve’s back is turned to you as he examines some of the framed photos you have propped up on a bookshelf in the corner.

“I’m ready,” you say and he jerks around to face you.

“Sure, uh…” he awkwardly hovers for a minute before striding forward to open the door for you.

You thank him and walk through, shutting and locking it behind you both. He’s parked right out front, so it only takes a few minutes to get in and take off toward NBC Studios in Burbank. You curl up against the window with your back facing Steve and close your eyes again, trying to get some rest. He turns the radio on low but the broadcast keeps getting interrupted with news reports and updates. You block them out the best you can over the next hour and are thankful when you finally pull up to the studio. As you wake yourself up, Steve rushes around to open the door for you. You thank him and he offers you his hand, which you accept.

He leads you inside, holding every door for you and smiling each time you glide past him. As shitty as you still feel, his intense need to be a gentleman is making you feel a bit better already. Before you enter the last set of doors, Steve pauses.

“Remember how I told you that I had a surprise for you?” he asks and you nod. “Well, we’re doing this special and the star of the show is Elvis Presley. He should be in here working on a new song.”

“Elvis? Wow…” you reply breathlessly. “That must be cool.”

A smile, a genuine one, breaks across Steve’s features for the first time since you’ve been together. You can’t help but return it, tilting your head to take in every angle of his charming face. The additional few years of age look good on him. He’s even more handsome than you remember.

He, once again, opens the door for you to step through. You do and freeze in the doorway when you see that the Elvis Presley is, in fact, there. He’s laying back on some pillows on the ground, holding a sheet of paper up to his eyes. You tense as you feel Steve’s hand sliding around your back to support you.

“Hey everybody, this is Y/N. This is Bones Howe, who you’ve met before, and Elvis Presley,” Steve says, gesturing with his arm as he introduces everyone. “Y/N…is gonna be helping us out today since Margaret went home hours ago.”

You sheepishly wave at them both as Steve gently pushes you toward a couch across from the piano. You assume Margaret is probably the secretary and, although you have no secretarial experience, you’re happy to help.

“Nice to meet ya,” Elvis murmurs with a small smile.

As you sit, you feel heat creeping into your face. He is incredibly handsome in person, even more than he is on tv. But when Steve begins talking to direct the session, your eyes stick onto him and stay there. You watch his eyes light up when Elvis begins to sing. You watch his mouth as he takes a drag from his cigarette, his plump lips expertly holding the stick between his teeth. You watch his hands as they shuffle through papers and drag across his chin and lips. You miss him. You feel a longing for him, even though he’s right here in the room with you.

Even though you’re supposed to be the secretary for the night, you aren’t asked to do a single thing other than hold a sheet of paper for Elvis for a few minutes. You feel incredibly lucky, just getting to be an observer of the magic that’s currently happening in such a small room in NBC Studios. Every so often, you and Steve make eye contact across the room. Each time, you both share a small smile. A few times, Steve winks and you bite your lip.

There comes a time during the morning when all that can be done is Elvis replaying and practicing the lyrics until he has them down. At that point, Steve makes his way over to you and sits down on the couch with a sigh. You glance over at the clock to see the hands gesturing to 4:15. The realization draws a yawn out of you, and you press your fingers to your lips. You’re curled up, your knees pulled tightly into your chest.

You glance over at Steve to find his eyes already on you. He offers a small smile and reaches out to place his palm on your cheek. You don’t mean to but your body leans into his touch, and you close your eyes. His hand is warm on your skin and you want to jump out of your place on the couch to wrap your arms around him and kiss his beautiful pink lips. But you banish the thought, just happy to be in his presence.

“How are you feeling?” he asks quietly so as not to disturb Elvis. His hand slides from your cheek and you sigh.

“Better. Much better, thank you. This is amazing. What you’re doing here.”

“Thank you,” Steve smiles, averting your eyes. You think you see a little bit of a blush settling on his cheeks.

“No need to thank me. I’m just telling the truth. You know, I always knew that you’d do something great. You were always so driven, so dedicated. So good at what you do. That was part of the reason I…”

You trail off, unable to finish your thought. The reason I love you, was what you mean to say. But, despite the fact that you had dated for a few months several years ago, neither of you had ever gotten the courage to say those three little words.

“The reason what?” Steve presses. When you glance up into his beautiful blue eyes, they’re sparkling. They flick between both of your eyes as he searches for your answer.

“The reason I called you. Because I knew that you’d understand. And I think I made the right choice.”

“Alright, folks, well I think we should wrap it up for now,” Bones’ voice interrupted your conversation. “EP, you’re sounding great but get some rest so you’re not completely exhausted tomorrow.”

Elvis nods, thanking Bones and Billy Goldenburg, the piano player. As he, Bones, and Billy are leaving, Elvis turns toward you and Steve. He speaks so that only the two of you can hear him.

“Try and get some rest in, lovebirds,” he winks with a mischievous smile as he leaves the room.

Your eyes widen but you say nothing, glancing down at your knees with a nervous gulp. A few moments of silence pass before Steve turns to you.

“So what did you think of the song?” he asks awkwardly and you chuckle.

“I love it. I think it’s really powerful. It’s sort of a song that only Elvis could sing.”

“I agree.”

A few more awkward silent moments pass.

“Um, do you,” Steve’s head drops as he chukles, “do you remember when, um, we were at that bar and they were picking people out of the crowd to sing in front of everyone? And they picked us, of all people. They wanted us to sing ‘I Got You Babe’ by Sonny and Cher?”

Your eyebrows furrow as you try to remember what he’s talking about. Suddenly at the mention of Sonny and Cher, all of the memories come flooding back to you. You slap your hand against your mouth and laugh out loud.

“Yes, of course I remember! Oh, that was a disaster,” you reply and Steve laughs. “You were horrible!"

“Me? What about you? You forgot half of the lyrics!”

“Okay but at least I could hold a note, Steve!”

You've both rotated now, turning to face each other. You've also leaned in, so your knees are touching and faces are only a few inches apart. Steve has absentmindedly taken your hands in his, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“You’re beautiful…” Steve’s exrpression flattens as he realizies what he’s said. Your smile also fades, leaving your lips hanging open in surprise. Silence settles, although neither of you break the intense eye contact you’re sharing.

“Y/N…”

“Yes, Steve,” you whisper, leaning forward ever so slightly.

Your eyes flick down to his lips and then to his chest. The ascot has been discarded and his jacket removed. His blue silk dress shirt is mostly unbuttoned now, and you long to run your fingers down his smooth chest, to grab onto his skin, to feel it against yours. He reaches out, placing one hand on each side of your face. His eyes dart around you, drinking you in.

“I love you. I should have said it a long time ago, but I just was scared. I loved you so much that the thought of you not loving me back physically hurt. I was afraid that you wouldn’t want me, and I just-”

“Steve, Steve, Steve,” you whisper, bringing your hands up to cup his face. You smush his cheeks a little to get him to stop speaking. His eyes recenter on yours and he gazes into you. “I love you, too. I always have. Why do you think you were the first person I called? The first one I thought of? Because you’re the one I want to be there when I need someone. You’re the one I want.”

He jolts forward, pressing his lips onto yours. You yelp with surprise but quickly kiss him back, winding your hands around his neck and threading your fingers into his soft chesnut hair. His hands slide around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His lips are perfectly soft, tasting like cigarette smoke in your mouth. When you pull back, you press your foreheads together and giggle.

“I love you so much,” he says. “Sorry to keep saying it but I just wanna say it all the time now. Every second of every day.”

“No complaints from me,” you respond and chuckle.

He smiles and presses his lips to yours again, leaning back onto the couch and pulling you down with him. Yeah, you definitely made the right call.

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You tap your fingertips on the table in front of you, each digit following the same rhythm every time. After a few more uneventful seconds pass, you turn your wrist to check the time. 9:30 p.m. Your husband was supposed to have met you at Mariano’s an hour ago. When the door to the restaurant opens, your gaze pops toward it. A nicely dressed couple enters, arm-in-arm. Nope, not your husband. With a deep sigh, you raise a hand to flag down your waiter.

“Check please,” you request dryly.

He nods curly and spins on his heel to go fetch your bill.

You can’t believe this is happening. On your wedding anniversary no less. Three years of being married and you would expect that your husband is capable of tearing himself away from work for one single night to celebrate the very thing that binds you together. Legally and forever. How could he do this to you?

When the waiter returns with your check, you’re surprised to find a bag full of gourmet chocolates on top of the check-holder.

“Oh, I didn’t order these!” you say quickly, hoping to catch him before he bounces away again.

“No, ma’am. They’re on the house,” he replies.

He throws you a sympathetic expression. Although you genuinely do appreciate the sentiment, your face heats up with shame. How much more pathetic could your night get? You sign the check as quickly as possible and lift the jacket from the back of your chair. You’ve never been happier to escape a public place so quickly.

You’re nothing short of devastated. This has not been the evening you were envisioning. By the time you get home from the restaurant, you’re so emotionally exhausted and disappointed that you decide to go straight to bed. Before climbing underneath the covers, you give Steve’s office one last call to make sure he’s still alive. Kate, Steve’s secretary answers and directs you to leave a message. Kate is an incredibly sweet woman. She apologizes on your husband’s behalf and ensures that he’ll make it up to you. You aren’t sure how he could at this point. But you thank her and leave a quick message anyway. Then, you pull on your pajamas, wash your face, and pull the covers up to your chin.

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“And that’s a wrap! Great work tonight, everybody!” Steve yells, clapping his hands together enthusiastically. “Drive safe and see you all Monday.”

As soon as the last word has left his lips, Steve is bounding up the stairs toward his office. He has to call his wife as soon as humanly possible. As he barrels through the waiting area, Kate, his secretary, calls out to him.

“Mr. Binder, your wife called. Again. She-”

“I know, I know,” Steve replies frantically. “Damn!”

He rushes into his office and immediately reaches for the phone. He’s in deep shit. He knows very well what day it is: his wedding anniversary. And where is he? Not at Mariano’s like he was supposed to be…he glances at the clock in the corner of his office and his eyes widen. 10:30?? How could it already be 10:30? He’s two hours late, even worse than he thought.

He’s been so busy recently with the Elvis Presley special coming up. The studio has been putting an unhealthy amount of pressure on him and the rest of the crew to be absolutely perfect. Steve didn’t mean to work late but he was just so stressed. He must have lost track of time. Before he has a chance to dial in the familiar number, he notices the answering machine blinking. He clicks it on and leans over the desk, tapping his finger neurotically as it plays back his messages.

“Steve, honey, where are you?” Y/N. “We have to leave soon or we’re gonna be late. Our reservation is at 8:30. Please don’t forget. Okay, I love you, bye.”

The answer machine beeps before playing the next message. The sweet sound of his wife’s voice fills the small office once again.

“Okay, well, I’m not sure what you’re doing or why you’re not calling me back, but I can’t wait any longer. I’m gonna drive myself over to the restaurant. Please, please leave soon so that you’re not late. 8:30 at Mariano’s, okay? Okay, love you.”

Steve sighs as the answering machine beeps one more time and the last message clicks on.

“Steve, don’t bother going over to the restaurant. I waited an hour and you never showed up, so I went home. I don’t know what could have caused you to miss our wedding anniversary, but…” her deep sigh sends a pang through Steve’s gut, “just drive safely on your way home.”

The machine clicks off without another word. Steve has clearly noticed the fact that his wife neglected to tell him she loved him in her last message. He couldn’t blame her. How could he have made such a stupid, foolish mistake? He runs his hand through his hair with a frustrated groan. He knows there’s no valid excuse for his behavior.

“If I were you,” Steve jumps at the sound of Kate’s voice from the doorway, “I would come up with something pretty damn romantic. And quickly. Y/N is a good catch; you don’t want to lose her. At the risk of being unprofessional, sir, this mistake is gonna be hard to come back from. You better do something extra special.”

“Like what, Kate? I have no idea what I could do that would possibly make it up to her now.”

“You’ll think of something,” Kate replies with a shrug. “You’re a good guy, Steve. Think about one of those classic movies the studio has produced. You’ve overseen some romantic projects. Use those as your inspiration.”

Steve shakes his head dismissively but, as his mind spins in circles, he realizes she’s completely right. A fantastic idea occurs to him and he snaps. A smile spreads across his face and he quickly yanks his coat off the corner of the desk.

“Kate, you’re the best! Thanks!” he shouts as he sprints out of his office.

He’s down the hall quicker than a flash. In order to make this work, he’ll have to pick up a few things first. A short trip to the store should solve that. He rushes to the closest grocery store and slides in just as the doors are closing. He normally wouldn’t have bothered, but he needs this to work. Badly. Once inside, he scans up and down the aisles, gathering everything he can possibly think of. In record time, he checks out and stuffs the bags into his old Chevy before pulling away toward home.

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The next thing you know, you’re being gently shaken awake. You blink into consciousness, confused and discombobulated. You rub your eyes in the darkness as they adjust. Before you have a chance to figure out who you’re looking at, a familiar voice answers your question.

“Y/N, darling? Wake up, baby. I have a surprise for you.”

Steve. You sigh and roll over, intent on going back to bed. Steve resumes his movement, shaking your shoulder again.

“Steve, what are you doing?” you ask, irritated. “I’m trying to sleep.”

“I know and I’m sorry to wake you, but I have a surprise for you.”

You sigh and roll over, propping yourself up on your elbows.

“I don’t want a surprise, Steve,” you quip, shaking your head. “That’s why I made reservations at Mariano’s a month ago.”

“I know that,” Steve replies with a sigh. “I know that and I know that I messed up royally this time. There’s absolutely no excuse for me missing our reservation. And I know you’re upset and you have every right to be. You should have the chance to tell me off. I really believe that. But…can I just show you what I’ve done, first?”

“Why? Is it a time traveling machine so we can go back and not miss our reservation at the restaurant?”

“Not exactly, but I think you might like it. And, for my own selfish reasons, I think it might soften your blow a little.”

“No,” you respond. “I’m furious with you right now. Honestly, Steve, I just want you to go away so I can at least get some rest.”

“Y/N,” Steve pleads, “I know I messed up but please let me try to fix it.”

You say nothing for a moment, considering his offer. He really doesn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt after his behavior, but you can’t deny that you’ve noticed how hard he’s been working. As thrilled as you were to hear that your husband was going to be producing a television special for the Elvis Presley, you’ve begun to hate that name. Steve has been under so much pressure from the higher-ups to get it right. Not to mention that Elvis’ manager, whose name you can never remember, sounds like a real pain in the ass to deal with. You know this has turned into something of a passion project for Steve. It’s your last wish on earth to take something like that away from him.

“Please,” Steve begs again, his voice snapping you back to reality.

Although you can’t see him properly in the darkness, you can clearly hear the desperation in his voice. You sigh loudly and nod your head.

“Fine. But if I don’t like what I see, then I’m going back to sleep without another word.”

“That’s completely fair,” he agrees, clearly energized by your willingness to indulge him.

He hops off the bed and holds his hand out for you. You slide your palm into his begrudgingly. His warm fingers close gently over yours and you smile into the darkness. His touch still manages to make your heart flutter. Steve leads you through the dark room, being careful not to steer you into anything. When you step into the hallway, you notice a soft glow coming from the living room. You can see it over the banister on the stairs. As you descend, your arm linked in your husband’s, your heart starts to flutter with excitement.

“Oh, Steve…” you mutter as you step onto the ground floor.

He’s set up a beautiful scene in your living room. All of the furniture has been pushed to the side. In the middle of the room, he’s positioned a small square table with two chairs. On top is a candle and two dishes, your finest China. The entire space is lit solely by firelight, the fireplace is crackling quietly and candles are strewn all around the room. Red rose petals are littered everywhere, on the floor, on top of the bookshelves, on the couch. Soft 50s romance tunes are spinning quietly on the record player in the corner. It’s a perfect sight.

You pull away from his arm to examine the table closer. A bottle of expensive-looking champagne is tucked neatly into an ice bucket. You can’t help but chuckle as you notice spaghetti and meatballs globbed onto the plates. Steve is a horrible cook. You’d discover that on your third date when he insisted he would make you a meal. He made chili and it was probably the most detestable thing you’ve ever put into your mouth. You have to admit that you’re not very excited to try the spaghetti. But the scene is absolutely breathtaking, nonetheless.

“How did I do?” Steve’s voice breaks through. “I know I should have been at the restaurant. Like I said upstairs, there’s no excuse for why I wasn’t. I’m an asshole. I know that. I’m a horrible husband and I wouldn’t be surprised if you wanted me to sleep outside tonight. But I did everything I could think of to try and make it up to you. I know it’s not Mariano’s but-”

“I guess it’ll have to do,” you interrupt him.

You’re lying through your teeth. It really is perfect, so beautiful and dreamy. He’s right; it’s not Mariano’s, but it’s damn close and more than enough for him to have made it up to you. You refuse to let him know that, though. You want him to sweat a little longer. It is your anniversary, after all.

“My lady,” Steve says, pulling out your chair.

You’re about to take a seat when you remember what you’re wearing.

“Oh, Steve, let me at least go and change first. I look ridiculous in my pajamas like this.”

“No, no need. Please don’t change. You look beautiful just like this.”

You don’t believe him for a second, but his eyes are so earnest and honest that you give in immediately. Besides, if you’re honest with yourself, you really don’t feel like changing back into normal clothes. You’re far more comfortable than you’ve ever been while seated at a romantic dinner like this. Although when Steve pushes your chair in, you can’t help but feel underdressed as you watch your husband, still in his work clothes, take a seat in his own chair. Steve fishes out the champagne and offers it to you.

“You better fill the glass, Binder,” you say, tight-lipped.

He gulps but follows your directions anyway, filling your glass up almost to the brim. You bite your lip to keep from laughing. You like seeing him nervous; you like watching him cater to your needs.

“I know I’m not much of a cook,” Steve says, reaching behind his head to itch the back of his neck nervously. “But I tried my absolute best with this one. I used one of your recipes from in there.”

Your eyes follow his gesture toward the kitchen. You’re afraid to look, anticipating a massive mess from his inept cooking ability. To your pleasure, however, you find the space squeaky clean. Not a dish or stain to be seen. You raise an eyebrow. He really is doing everything he can think of to fix his mistake.

“You cleaned up after yourself. I’m proud. That’s a big improvement from the last time you cooked for me.”

Steve laughs.

“The chili incident of 1961,” he nods. “Believe me, I remember. I don’t think you’ll ever let me forget about that.”

“No, I couldn’t. I think my stomach is still recovering from the acid reflux that meal induced. If this spaghetti inflicts that pain on me again...”

“I really hope it doesn’t,” Steve replies, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.

You take a forkful of spaghetti and twirl the noodles around your fork. You hesitate before lifting it to your lips, genuinely scared to taste it. Since you really want this evening to pan out, you take the plunge and shove the noodles inside. If this food is as bad as you remember, the night will be sufficiently ruined. As the flavors melt on your tongue, your eyebrows shoot up in shock.

“Oh my god…” you mumble.

“Oh hell. Is it really that bad?” Steve asks, cringing. His head drops to the side, disappointed.

“No…no it’s actually really delicious,” you say. “Like actually tasty, maybe even better then when I make it. What did you do to it?”

“Are you…is this a joke? I just followed the recipe, I think. It has some garlic in the sauce, maybe…I…I don’t know what I did.”

Your smile is too powerful to stop this time around. You giggle at how adorably humble and befuddled he is.

“This isn’t a joke, I swear," you say. "I don’t know what you did either, but I’m pleasantly surprised, Stevie. I really am. This is far, far superior to the chili incident of 1961. I can’t believe you actually cooked this. Wait, you did actually cook this yourself, right?”

“Yes, I swear I did. I’m so, so glad to hear that you like it,” he replies, beaming from across the table.

You lift your gaze. He looks absolutely precious, so incredibly happy that he could do something right for a change. You can see, written on his face, how pleased he is that he made something good. You love him all the more for it. You can feel him breaking down your angry walls. Your heart is beginning to swell with love. While you’re a little bummed that your hard-to-get game is up, you’re desperate to get back to normal. You both fall into quiet conversation as you munch on your meals. Once your plates are mostly empty, silence settles. You absentmindedly glance down at your pajamas and shake your head. You chuckle.

“What? What are you laughing at?” Steve asks.

“I just can’t believe I’m sitting here celebrating my wedding anniversary in PJs,” you reply. “I should be wearing a sexy red number with my hair curled and my eyelashes primped. I should be sitting in a fancy Italian restaurant, not in my living room.”

“You look stunning in your pajamas,” Steve answers without missing a beat.

“Stop it, you liar.”

“No, I’m serious. This is exactly how I want to remember you. Fresh-faced and comfortable. Free. This is the real you and this is the woman I wanted to marry, more than anything.”

You falter for a moment, his words touching your aching heart. Your gut flutters with butterflies, a sensation you haven't felt in a while. You drop your gaze as heat creeps into your cheeks and neck. You can’t help but notice how Steve’s dress shirt is clinging to his frame, half-unbuttoned. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, putting his toned forearms on full display. He looks like a sexy professor, teasing and mischievous. His handsome features are emphasized by the shadows in the room. His sweet lips are parted, looking unbearably delicious and soft. His sandy brown hair is messy and uncouth, just the way you like it. Your eyes drop onto his bare chest. You gulp as you realize that you’re finding yourself insanely attracted to your own husband.

“I know you deserved better than this tonight,” Steve continued. “You deserve everything the world has to offer, the best of whatever you want. You deserve everything. I should have been there to give it to you, but I wasn’t. I haven’t been and I’m sorry. I’m so incredibly sorry. I can’t even explain it using the human language.”

You wait a beat before responding, debating what exactly you want to say.

“I do deserve that,” you concede. “And you haven’t been here. It’s been bothering me for a while.”

“I know. I’m such an asshole…I’m sorry, I-”

“I understand why you’ve been so distant lately, Steve,” you interrupt. You weren’t finished. “I promise I do. I know how much pressure you’re under. And I know that this project is special to you. I can tell by the way you talk about it that it means everything to you. Don’t diminish yourself. You deserve everything, too. And if this special is what makes you happy right now, then I want you to do it and enjoy it and be proud of it.”

“It doesn’t mean more than you. Besides, how can you even say that? I didn’t even bother to show up to our own wedding anniversary, a celebration of the most important day in our lives, and you’re as supportive as ever. I don’t deserve you, I really don’t.

You smile softly and reach across the table. You rest your palm on top of his hand, your thumb reassuringly rubbing circles on his skin.

“Because I love you, Steve. Because when I married you, I agreed to stand by you for better or for worse. And if this is as bad as the worse gets, then I have nothing to complain about. I just…want us to get a little more better back in our lives. I miss you. You should have been there tonight and you weren’t. But you can be here for me now.”

Steve nods resolutely, his eyes staring straight back into yours. His other hand clamps over your intertwined fingers. He holds your grasp tightly and gazes at you, the soft candlelight glowing on his face.

“I got you something,” he says.

“What? Why did you do that?”

“Because when I married you, I agreed to support you for richer or for poorer. Fortunately, right now, we’re richer," he offers a goofy smile and you giggle. "I want you surrounded by things that remind you of me. Plus, this one is special. I’ve had it in the works for a long time.”

“How long?”

“Since we met.”

“Really?” you ask, unconvinced. “That long?”

“Well, maybe not until our second date,” he stands up and grabs a small silver bag from the kitchen countertop. He drops it before you on the dining table. “That was when I decided I wanted to marry you. I didn’t know if you wanted me that way yet, but I was going to do everything I could to persuade you.”

You smile and glance up at him. He returns your happy expression and points toward the bag, encouraging you to open your surprise. You turn to the gift and carefully untie the strands holding the top together. It opens to reveal some wrapping tissue which you set on the table beside you. You finally fish out a small red velvet jewelry box. Tilting your head affectionately, you open it and pull out a small heart-shaped charm.

“What is this, Stevie?”

“Open it.”

“I did…I…what do you mean?”

“Open it,” he repeats, pointing at the necklace.

Your fingertip grazes along the side of the heart and your eyebrows raise as you feel a tiny mechanism. You click it open and the necklace unfolds.

“Oh, Steve…” you muse. It’s a locket, of course.

Your breath fades from your lungs as you examine what’s pasted securely inside. It’s the very first photograph that you and Steve ever took together. It’s a horrible picture, blurry and wildly outdated. But it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. You run your fingertip over the picture and bite your lip to contain your happiness.

“Do you like it? That’s the first picture we took together.”

“I know what it is,” you reply with a giggle. “It’s absolutely perfect, Steve. Just perfect. Thank you, darling. Here, help me?”

You hand the necklace off to him and readjust so he can fasten it around your neck. His fingers gently graze across your skin and you close your eyes in pleasure at his ghostly touch. Once fastened, his hands rest on your shoulders, his thumbs massaging the muscles by your neck. You grab the locket and peer at it from above, smoothing your fingertip over the precious thing charm more time.

“I love you, Y/N,” Steve says, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you too, Steve. So much.”

He steps to your side, leaning on the table with his elbow. You gaze over at him, letting your eyes drop down to his lips. You can tell he knows what you want. You’re not being very subtle about it at all, but why should you? It’s your wedding anniversary. He slowly leans down and you raise your head up to meet him. Your lips touch gently at first, the way they have a thousand times before. This kiss feels different, though. You are so enraptured by your husband that time feels like it stops just for you. You linger on each other’s lips for what feels like ages before separating. You keep your forehead pressed against Steve’s and hum contentedly. This anniversary has turned out alright, after all. You’re incandescently happy but you can’t help the yawn that forces itself out of your mouth.

“Oh my,” you say. “I’m so exhausted. Let’s get in bed. I want to fall asleep in your arms.”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?” you repeat incredulously, tilting your head.

“I’m not finished with you yet.”

“Excuse me…” you reply coquettishly.

You yelp as Steve whirls the chair around so that you’re facing him straight-on. He drops onto his knees, his palms wrapping around your thighs. He gently slides his hands up your skin, pushing the fabric of your pajamas away as he does so. You giggle when he raises his lips toward your cheek. He presses a chaste kiss there then trails his mouth down your neck. Your eyes close as he nips at your shoulder and the sensitive skin below your jaw. He’s so close that you can smell his intoxicating cologne, spicy and sweet. Your favorite. It draws you even further into him. A familiar sensation builds in your lower stomach. Steve pauses by your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin.

“I have one last surprise up my sleeve,” he whispers.

You snort. You can’t not make this joke.

“Don’t you mean down your pants?”

You gesture toward your husband’s crotch, an area you know quite well by now if you’re honest. Steve pulls back and just shakes his head with a smirk.

“Nope. I have everything I need right here.”

Steve wiggles his long, slender fingers and then drags his pointer finger across the tip of his tongue. Your heart pounds in your chest and your mouth pops open in surprise.

“Steven!” you scold him playfully, although the smirk that spreads across your features gives you away. “Maybe you should miss dinner more often if this is the treatment I get afterward.”

“Dessert is served.”

“Ooh, my favorite. No complaints from me.”

“Oh, I wouldn't be too hasty. You have no idea what I’m gonna do to you tonight.”

His head leans to the side, begging you to come closer. Your toes curl in excitement as you give in, touching your lips to his. His hands travel further up your thighs, sneaking across the inside of your legs. His grip only tightens as he kisses you deeper and deeper. The force from his kiss makes you breathless. You can tell that you’re in for a long night. He did owe you, after all. And you desperately look forward to each and every way he’s planning to repay you.

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**If you notice any triggers or grammatical errors that I missed, please let me know!

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

You stuff your last folder into your tote bag and string the bag over your shoulder. After the long day you’ve had, you’re more than happy to head home for the night. You flick off the light in your office and start down the hall. The heels of your shoes click, echoing with each step. You suddenly think you hear a sound and pause in the hall. Listening closely, you definitely hear someone still here.

You walk quietly toward the sound, albeit away from your exit. As the noise grows louder, you realize that it’s coming from the control room. You stop outside the door and peek your head around the corner. You’re shocked to find none other than Steve Binder, one of the studio’s producers. He also just happens to be the man on whom you have the world’s biggest crush.

You met Steve when you started work at NBC studios in Burbank and have basically had a crush on the man since you first saw him. He’s absolutely gorgeous with striking clear blue eyes and soft sandy hair. He has the most perfectly sculpted face you’ve ever seen. You want nothing more than to kiss his pink plump lips every time you see him.

But you could never do something so bold. Besides, he barely even knows that you exist. You’ve worked closely here and there, passed each other in the hallway. He knows your name and your face. But you only work in the costume department, which means you rarely have any reason to be near him. The office isn’t that large, so you’ve shared passing comments about the weather or lunch or other usual small talk topics. But you’ve never had an actual conversation about something real. You could never be with him. He’s out of your league.

You wait a few minutes, observing him in the control room. He’s on his hands and knees, bent over at the waist with his arms shoved elbows deep into some machine. He’s grumbling and spitting quiet profanities to himself. You know it’s ridiculous to find him attractive at this current moment, but you do. You really do. As you stand, watching him in the eerie silence of the building, you realize that this is the first time you’ve ever been alone together. Just the two of you.

This is your chance, maybe the only chance you’ll get. With a deep sigh, Steve grumbles angrily. Stifling a giggle, you clear your throat and step out into the open.

“Goodnight Mr. Binder,” you say, just loud enough for him to hear.

His head snaps up and you wince as a loud bang accompanies his head hitting the table. He glances over his shoulder with one eye closed in pain. He reaches up to rub the back of his head with his fingers. You hold a hand up to your mouth in embarrassment, glad that the low lighting is hiding you from his sight.

“Oh….Y/N, hi. I didn’t hear you come in,” he says, his hand still massaging the back of his head.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Binder, I didn’t mean to startle you,” you say, shaking your head.

“No, no that’s okay,” he replies with a soft chuckle.

A semi-awkward silence settles between you as you both wait for the other to continue the conversation. Your heart starts to pound in your chest as you realize that you should say something to fill the void.

“Working late?”

“Attempting to. I guess that’s why you startled me. I was a little too involved in this…mess.”

“Oh?” you say, pretending like you hadn’t noticed. “What exactly are you attempting to do, Mr. Binder?”

“Oh, just trying to fix this stupid sound machine,” he responds, laughing nervously.

“Maybe I can help.”

You mentally scold yourself as you start walking forward. You know damn well that you haven't the slightest idea what the hell you're even looking at. But the opportunity to spend time alone with Steve is too good to turn down.

So you walk anyway, all the way into the room where you crouch down next to him. Clearing your throat, you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and stick your head into the space. Steve waddles back to make some room. You can’t help but realize just how close you are to one another. You go to put your hand on the ground, but accidentally place it directly on top of Steve’s. With a gasp, you pull it away quickly.

“Sorry…” you both mumble at the same time.

You lean forward and reach into the machine to tug on different wires. With a nervous chuckle, you parse through red, green, and blue wires which are all tangled together. You raise your eyebrows as your gaze flicks around the machine confusedly. You laugh anxiously and pull back.

“Do you happen to know what’s wrong with it?” you ask sheepishly.

You try to ignore the heat that creeps up into your cheeks and tips of your ears. Steve glances over at you and grins. You can’t help but share the expression at the beautiful sigh of his handsome features curving up into joy. His eyes sparkle, even in the low lighting of the room.

“Nope. Not a damn clue. It looks like maybe something came unplugged but I can’t tell. I think this…”

Steve leans forward as he talks, grabbing one of the red wires with his fingertips. To get a better view of it, you follow his lead and press your head right next to his. You’re extra careful not to allow your faces to touch, though. You watch his fingers as he tries to explain his thought process, although not a single word is getting through.

You’re far too distracted by the warmth you can feel radiating off his skin, by the sweet smell of his cologne, by the way his arm just gently brushes against yours when he shifts his weight, the soothing sound of his voice. Everything about him is intoxicating and you can barely keep control of yourself.

“...but who knows. I’m not an electrician,” he finishes with a shrug.

“I see what you’re saying,” you agree. “Maybe if we just…”

You take the cord from him, your fingers brushing. You both pause immediately, the cord dropping as you separate your fingers as quickly as possible. You giggle nervously and Steve clears his throat. You pick the cord back up and plug it into one of many open sockets in the back.

“And then if we just-”

Steve must have had the exact idea as you, because you both move your heads to the side to raise them up from under the table at the same time. Your foreheads knock against each other and you both immediately fill the room with a chorus of ouches. Wincing and rubbing your head, you carefully sit back onto your bum and open an eye to glance at Steve. He’s in the same position as you, his bottom lip tugged between his teeth from the pain of your collision. When he opens his eyes, they land squarely on yours. Horror crosses his face in a matter of seconds.

“Oh, Y/N, are you alright? I am so sorry. I didn’t…that was a total accident. My fault completely, I-”

You can’t help it, you just start to chuckle. After a few seconds, a smile spreads across Steve’s face and he starts to laugh along with you. The gentle sniggering quickly turns into deep wheezing. The next thing you know, you’re both clutching at your stomachs, unable to breathe.

“Oh no, I’m sorry, Mr. Binder. I can’t believe I’ve wounded you twice in one night,” you choke out through laughs.

“It’s my fault for being so clumsy,” he says, shaking his head. “And, you don’t have to call me that, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mr. Binder. You don’t have to address me so formally. I think we’ve worked together long enough for you to call me Steve. As a matter of fact, I’d like you to call me Steve.”

You lift your eyes to his to find a soft smile resting on his features, his eyes glinting. He stares so sweetly at you that your stomach erupts into fits of butterflies. You avert your eyes and giggle in whispers.

“So, should we see if our pain paid off?” he asks, grunting as he pushes himself to a stand.

He turns toward the switchboard and clicks on the machine. Surprisingly, a familiar slow song starts to play. You shoot him a pleased expression as he claps excitedly.

“Alright! There we go, problem solved, amazingly.”

As the music continues to play, you suddenly realize what you’re listening to: Elvis’ famous song “Can't Help Falling in Love with You.” You smile to yourself.

“Oh, don’t you just love this song.”

“I do.”

You lift your gaze back up to his to find his hand outstretched toward you. You nervously slide your fingers into his. To your surprise, your palm fits perfectly. When his fingers curl over your grasp, your heart skips about a thousand beats. He helps you to a stand and your dumb ass somehow manages to trip back over your own feet.

He immediately places his hand on your back to steady you, holding you upright so you don’t fall flat on your face. Embarrassed as hell, you sheepishly giggle again and apologize. You put your feet flat on the ground, but Steve doesn’t release you as you expect. Instead, he holds tightly onto your body, his free hand carefully sliding onto your back to join the other. Your breath hitches in your throat as he holds your body against him. He smiles softly.

“You know, I have to confess that…I’ve been imagining this moment since the first time I saw you."

“What?” you ask with wide eyes. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No, not at all. I’m being totally serious. Why would you think that?’

“There’s no way someone like you could ever be interested in me. I’m…I’m nobody. You’re…”

“Also nobody,” he replies with a chuckle.

“No! No, you’re everything. You’re so much more than I could ever be. You’re out of my league, Mr. Binder, I-”

“Shh,” his whisper interrupts your words. “How could you ever say that? You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid eyes on. If one of us is in another league, it’s you. You’re…you’re out of this world, Y/N.”

“Mr. Binder, I…I don’t know what to say, I…”

“Then don’t say anything. Because I can think of a far better way to use your lips.”

Your eyes widen but not for long as he leans forward, pressing his mouth sweetly to yours. You melt under his grasp, your arms winding around his neck to pull him closer. His lips are warm and soft, fitting perfectly between yours. His grip on your waist tightens, pulling you further into his body. You don’t want him to leave, so when he acts as though he’s going to pull back, you yank him against your chest, smiling into the kiss. When you start to run out of breath, you finally release him. Your lips separate, although you keep your foreheads pressed together tightly, both heaving for breath.

“Oh, Steve,” you whisper between breaths.

He nudges his nose against yours and you crinkle your face with a smile. You pull back to look at him, but notice his expression deep in thought instead. Tilting your head, you gently shake him.

“What?”

“I was just thinking maybe I should work late more often.”

“Perhaps I’ll join you, if you’ll have me?”

“I’d be glad to take you, anytime,” he replies with a smirk.

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Reblogs, likes, comments + feedback are extremely appreciated! Please help support your content creators!

**If you notice any triggers or grammatical errors that I missed, please let me know!