#stevie

“Are you?” he asks teasingly, raising an eyebrow as he props his chin up on your sternum, fingers rubbing softly over the place he pinched you; a silent apology. 

“Yes! I promise,” you reply, holding your hand out towards him, pinky outstretched. 

Steve’s finger wraps around yours, pulls your hand up to his mouth to kiss it once, as he eyes you seriously, a teasing lilt to his voice, “You know how serious pinky promises are, babe.”

“You have my full attention, Stevie,” you reassure him, untangling your fingers from his to brush them through his damp hair and out of his face. 

“Good,” he grumbles with a huff, even though he’s smiling, cheek pressed into the soft fabric of your shirt. Steve’s only there for another moment before he’s pushing up onto his hands so he can hover above you. 

His face appears above yours, his smile boyish and charming as always. There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes, but his name isn’t even halfway out of your mouth before he’s dipping down to press his lips to yours, kissing you as if he hasn’t kissed you in ages. You’re a little startled by the suddenness of it, but you absolutely are not going to complain, and you quickly melt into his touch. 

Moments later, Steve pulls back suddenly, just enough to look at you, hand cupping your jaw. Your brows crease in confusion at the abrupt change, and even more so when the question he had stopped kissing you to ask is, “What’s your book about, baby?”

You blink, not expecting such an innocent question after the way he’s just kissed you, but he’s genuinely curious, and it makes your heart swell, “Oh. Um, well, it’s about—“ 

Your boyfriend’s lips are on your neck a moment after he asks, and it’s distracting enough that the words die on your lips as your eyes flutter closed. Ever attentive, Steve’s lips pause at the crook of your neck as he mumbles into your skin, “‘M listening…”

“Right,” you say, shaking your head a little, like that’ll help clear it. Your hands push up Steve’s arms, resting on his biceps as he resumes pressing kisses to your neck, “It’s about, um, this girl who…” 

Only moments later, your thoughts trail off again, entirely preoccupied with the way Steve is nipping at your neck, hands wandering your sides slowly, deliberately, his fingertips creeping underneath the hem of your pajama shirt. Goosebumps prickle on your skin in their wake, trailing up up up towards your ribs. 

Your book is long forgotten, teetering on the edge of the bed. Faintly, you wonder if you did anything to mark the page before you dropped it, but the thought is gone just as quickly as it’d appeared. Steve finds the spot on your neck that makes you turn into putty in his hands, and he knows it with the way your breath hitches, your fingers curling around his arms more tightly. There will be a mark there tomorrow, you’re sure of it. 

You can feel the curve of his lips on your skin, his knowing smirk as he mumbles, “Book must not be that good, huh, baby? Can’t tell me anything about it.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to reply with his teasing kisses and the way his hands drift up to your breasts, taking your shirt with them. And just when you think he’s going to touch you, to give you the attention you’re so desperately craving, his hands continue their ascent, pushing your shirt over your head. 

Steve tosses it to the side, discarded just like your book, leaving you in only your underwear. You squirm under his heavy gaze, desperate for him to kiss you, to touch you, to give you anything. You sigh his name, sounding more like an impatient whine, “Steve… please…”

He grins down at you, collecting both of your wrists in one big hand and holding them against the pillows. Leaning down, his lips brush yours, nose nudging into nose as he says with a teasing lilt, “Make ya a deal, honey…”

A questioning hum is all you can manage in reply as you fight against Steve’s grip to kiss him properly again. Your back arches off of the bed, hips searching for friction against his. 

“Tell me ‘bout your book,” he pauses, planting another wet kiss to the underside of your jaw, “and I’ll give ya anything ya want."

"Anything?" you ask shakily as his kisses dip lower, brushing over your collarbone, and lower again.