#nervous steve

The ride back to your place was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Steve kept glancing over at you when he thought you weren't looking - one hand on the wheel, the other still buzzing from where your fingers had laced through his. Every time your knees brushed in the car, something warm settled in your chest.

You lived a few blocks from school, tucked at the end of a sleepy cul-de-sac. Your parents were out of town - some anniversary weekend trip to the lake - and your porch light flickered a little as Steve walked you to the door.

You unlocked it slowly, like if you move too fast, the magic would break.

"Want something to drink?" you asked, flicking on the kitchen light. The bulb hummed above you, and Steve shrugged off his jacket, slinging it over one of the dining chairs.

"Sure. Water. Or whatever. I'm easy." He leaned against the counter, watching you grab two glasses. "Nice place," he added, eyes lingering on the family photos and crocheted potholders like they were artifacts.

You smiled. "Thanks. Feels different with no one home."

"Better different?" he asked.

You looked over your shoulder. "Yeah. Better."

He followed you upstairs, slow and unsure, like he wasn't totally convinced you wanted him to. But when you turned back and reached for his hand, he melted into your side again like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You didn't realize how quiet it was until you stepped into your room - the kind of quiet that makes everything feel a little heavier. A little more real.

Steve stood just inside the door, eyes scanning the space like it gave him clues about who you were. The floral comforter, the stack of cassette tapes on your nightstand, the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, the way your denim jacket was slung over the desk chair. There were little traces of you everywhere.

"I like it," he said softly, lips quirking. "It's... cozy."

You smiled, shy. "It's kinda cheesy."

He shrugged, taking a slow step closer. "It's you. And I like you."

You didn't respond - not with words. Just leaned in and kissed him again, slower than before. His hands came up to cup your face like he was holding something precious, and you stepped backward toward the bed, breath catching as the backs of your knees hit the mattress.

You sat first. He followed.

Another kiss. Another pause. And then his fingers were pushing the strap of your dress off your shoulder, his eyes flicking to yours for permission.

You nodded.

He tugged the zipper down with care, easing the fabric over your body. It slipped off your shoulders, pooling at your waist, and then you were left in your bra and underwear. Steve stared like he'd never seen anything so stunning in his life.

"Holy shit," he breathed, voice barely there. "You're...god. You're unreal."

You flushed, smiling in spite of yourself. "You too, Harrington."

You tugged at the front of his maroon jacket. He shrugged it off, followed quickly by his tie and button-down. Your fingers skimmed the smooth skin of his chest, the subtle line of hair down his stomach. You felt him shiver.

"You okay?" you asked.

Steve let out a breathy laugh. "More than okay. Just... really trying not to mess this up."

"You won't."

He kissed you again - deeper, hungrier now. His hands explored slowly: the curve of your waist, when his fingers brushed along your side, and he groaned against your mouth.

You reached behind yourself to unclasp your bra, letting the straps slide down. Steve pulled back just enough to look, eyes going wide with awe. His mouth parted, but no words came out. Instead, he bent down and kissed you - the swell of your breast, the slope beneath your collarbone, the softness of your stomach. Each kiss was slow, reverent, like he was learning you with his mouth.

You gasped when he reached your panties, fingers hooking in the waistband. "Can I?"

"Yeah," you breathed. "Please."

He eased them down your legs, tossing them aside. You were completely bare now, chest rising and falling fast as Steve took you in.

“Jesus,” he muttered, voice shaking. “You’re so beautiful.”

You reached for him, tugging him down into a kiss that left you both breathless. When his hips pressed against yours, you felt him — hard, straining against his slacks — and it sent heat flashing through your whole body.

“Steve,” you whispered, fingers fumbling with his belt. “I want this. I want you.”

He looked at you like he was still afraid you’d change your mind.

“Are you sure?”

You kissed him again, slower. “Yes. I’ve never been more sure.”

He nodded, hands trembling slightly as he stood to finish undressing. His pants and boxers hit the floor, and when he looked down at you — flushed, spread out across your flower-patterned sheets — something in him cracked wide open.

He bent down to his wallet, tugging it from the pocket of his pants and pulling out a condom. You watched him tear it open and roll it on, heart pounding in your ears.

Then he was above you again, one hand braced beside your head, the other cupping your cheek.

“We’ll go slow,” he murmured. “I’ll stop if you need me to, okay?”

You nodded. “Okay.”

You felt the pressure first — the slow, careful push of him slipping inside you. It burned a little, tight and unfamiliar, and you gasped quietly. Steve froze instantly.

“Too much?” he asked, panic laced in his voice.

“No,” you breathed, squeezing his hand. “Just… slow. Keep going.”

He moved inch by inch, giving you time to adjust. You clung to his shoulders, breath shaky, until he was fully seated inside you. And when you looked up — into those wide brown eyes — all the nerves dissolved.

“Okay?” he asked again.

You nodded, your voice barely a whisper. “Yeah. You can move.”

He rocked into you slowly — careful and sweet — his forehead resting against yours. You gasped softly with each movement, body gradually learning how to want this, how to open for him. You wrapped your legs around his waist, tilting your hips until the angle made something flutter low in your stomach.

Steve moaned, the sound low and needy. “Fuck… you feel so good. So good.”

His thrusts were slow, almost shy, but you could feel the tension building — in you, in him, in the way your bodies tangled and your hands gripped each other like lifelines. Every stroke was like a quiet confession.

“I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear. “Wanted you.”

You arched into him, mouth finding his, your moans swallowed between kisses. The air smelled like your shampoo, like his cologne, like heat and sweat and something unspoken finally spilling over.

When you came, it hit you like a tidal wave — your whole body tightening around him as your fingers dug into his back. He followed with a gasp and a groan, hips stuttering, burying his face in your neck as he came apart.

He stayed there, holding you, breath heavy against your skin.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. The clock ticked somewhere in the room, but neither of you moved.

When he finally looked up, his hair was a mess, his smile dopey.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered.

You grinned, brushing his hair back. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

He rolled to the side, tugging you with him, keeping you wrapped in his arms beneath the tangle of your blankets.

And when you both drifted off, your head tucked beneath his chin, the soft rise and fall of his chest under your palm, you knew: