⋆｡𖦹° are you lucid? ⭒˚｡⋆

“C’mon, Harrington,” one of his teammates mutters in his ear, pulling him in for a one armed hug and leading him off the pitch, away from the other team’s celebrations. “You did good, don’t worry about it. You can’t save ‘em all.”

But worry is all that Steve would do. It’s all he thought about as he followed his team into the locker room, as he peeled off his kit and showered. He could feel the disappointment in the room, could see it on his teammates’ faces and all he could think was that it was his entirely fault.

After a post match de-brief with the coach, it doesn’t take long for him to find you.

You were waiting patiently with some of the other players’ partners, nervously fiddling with the hem of Steve’s jersey you were still wearing.

The moment you see Steve slipping out of the changing room—his head hung low in shame, trying desperately to avoid the flashing of the cameras directed at him—you find it hard to stop yourself from running over to him and kissing every inch of his face until he was okay again.

“Hey honey,” was the first thing you say to him when he approaches you, a soft smile on your face as you gently brush your fingers through his still damp hair.

The fact he doesn’t smile at the pet name—not even a little bit—tells you that he was not okay. Not in the slightest.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

He doesn’t even argue when you tell him you were driving home. Nor does he crack a smile when you start to play one of the playlist he had lovingly made you.

You knew how important that this match was to him, knew how hard he and his team had worked all season to get to the finals and you knew that he believed—that he truly believed—the loss was all his fault. And it was breaking your heart to know that he blamed himself.

“M’going to bed,” Steve murmurs to you as soon as the front door closes behind him. “Tired. Love you.”

You swallow, letting him kiss you on the cheek before he slips upstairs.

You don’t take it personally, not at all. After all, an entire stadium of people booing you would make you shut down too.

But you were you and you refused to let Steve Harrington go to sleep blaming himself.

You wait maybe three minutes before following him upstairs. You can hear him sniffling, muttering words of self-loathing to himself in the bedroom and you can’t stand to listen to it a second more.

The bedroom door swings open and you find Steve sat on the edge of your bed, tears streaming down his face. Something inside of you twists horribly.

“Oh, baby.”

You’re by his side in seconds, pulling him into your arms and letting his tears soak your his jersey.

“M’s-sorry,” he stutters out, arms wrapping around you and pulling you even closer as though he didn’t ever want to let you go. “M’tried t-to s-save ‘em, I-I really d-did—”

“—shh,” you hush him gently, rubbing soothing circles on his back as his shoulders shake, his body nearly collapsing into you. “I know, honey. I know you did.”

You knew Steve had a tendency to be a little hard on himself when he lost, you knew he’d rather die than blame it on poor defending from his own team but when it came to big games like this? Steve couldn’t barely hold it together after a loss.

But you were always there to pick him right back up.

You pressed your lips to his forehead then to the tip of his nose as he pulled you even closer, looking so lost and young that you felt something inside of you break.

“J-just didn’t w-want to dis-disappoint anyone,” he murmurs as he buries his head into your shoulder. “Didn’t w-wanna disappoint y-y-you.”

Your heart felt as though it had been torn apart by that.

“Baby, you could never disappoint me,” you tell him, meaning every word as you pull away enough to look at him, so he could see the determined look on your face. “Never.”

“But—”

“—but nothing,” you interject. “I don’t care how many goals you let in. I’ll always be proud of you. Always.”

Steve swallows, seeing the intensity in your gaze, hearing the conviction in your voice, knowing that you meant every word. That you would be there cheering him on, no matter what.

“Thank you,” he says finally, grateful that he had you to remind to not be too hard on himself. Grateful that you were there to hold him when he needed it most. “I love you, baby. So much.”

“I love you too,” you tell him with a small smile and a soft kiss to the lips, one that Steve finds himself melting into, his hand lifting to cup your jaw so that he could deepen the kiss.

And though he wouldn’t admit it—not to anyone but you—but being in your arms was much better than any damn trophy anyway.

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“Steve.”

“What?” he smiled, innocently dragging his nose up the column of your neck. He was grinning like he wasn’t aware that his hand was sliding over your inner thigh, lazily teasing at the edge of your cotton nightgown.

Your skin was still dewy. You’d hardly caught your breath. His legs were still tangled with yours. That’s what. 

“You want one more?” he asked, lowering his tone into something warm and gravelly in your ear, “I’ll give you another one, baby.”

His voice was slightly slurred with the effort he’d already expended, almost like he was well and truly drunk on you tonight. His weight pressed against your side, lying exactly where he’d collapsed just minutes ago.

“You just gave me one,” you reminded him, lithly tracing your fingers over his freckled arm. You felt him shiver against you at the delicate swirls of your fingernails. 

It would be hard to forget the climax he’d just given you, actually. In case he needed his memory refreshed, you touched your fingertips to the aggravated, red marks you’d raked down the expanse of his back with your nails.

Steve paused, pressing his lips to the junction of your neck and your shoulder, letting his mouth linger there. You felt him inhale you deeply before humming, the sound rumbling low in his throat. 

“I mean, yeah… but that’s not what I asked you.”

You sighed, shaking your head softly before pressing a kiss to his hair, burying your nose into the tousled strands that were perfumed with product. Your bodies felt weighed down to the mattress, both of you too lazy to pull up the sheets that had been shoved to the foot of his bed in a heap.

“What? You tired?” he grinned, picking his head up to look at you with his hazy, shining eyes, “Don’t tell me I wore you out.”

Steve shifted his weight, pressing the tip of his nose to yours. You watched his eyes flicker over your face, struggling to fully focus when you were this close, but desperate to admire the flush of your cheeks. 

“A little,” you admitted, unable to help the smile that broke out on your face in return.

“Yeah?” he cooed, tilting his head at you playfully, “I can go nice and slow, just give me the word.”

“I dunno,” you murmured, now carding your hand through his tufts of chest hair.

“What’s the matter?” he asked gently, bringing his fingers to the side of your face to caress your cheek. 

He stared at you for the few moments you took to respond, his gaze unwavering as he watched you avoid his lidded eyes. You could feel his curiosity simmering, his urge to draw the unspoken words out of you bit by bit.

“You know it takes longer the second time,” you whispered, “And I don’t wanna make you work too hard for it.”

“Oh,” he breathed, letting out a soft laugh of adoration.

Steve gathered your hand in his, bringing it to his lips as his eyes danced between yours.

“That’s what you’re worried about? C’mon,” he teased fondly, kissing your knuckles, “Honestly, I’m a little offended that you don’t trust in my stamina.”

You rolled your eyes at him, relishing his pout when you gently flicked his shoulder.

“It’s late! You have work in the morning!” you defended, your tone much less convincing when a giggle burst through your attempt to be stern. 

“Is it?” he answered sarcastically, widening his bleary eyes at you. Without breaking eye contact, Steve reached over to his nightstand, turning his alarm clock face down. “‘Cause… I don’t even know what time it is. I can go allll night long, baby.”

Steve’s hand slipped down the side of your neck, sliding his fingers under the thin, cotton strap of your nightgown. Soothingly, he lowered it, letting the fabric cascade down your arm. You exhaled slowly as he leaned in, his breath warm against your bare shoulder.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, “And I don’t wanna hear anything about my poor fingers getting tired or some bullshit like that.”

You imagine that being resurrected feels something similar to this. A tingling sensation that suddenly spreads under the thin fabric of your pajamas, an instant spike in body temperature. You let your eyes flutter shut, focusing on the slow kisses he generously peppered across your skin, leaving no inch unbranded. Your head lolled to the side against the pillow, never more pleased to be left defenseless.

“Want you,” you whispered, unable to deny yourself for another second longer.

Steve groaned softly, giving your hip a slow squeeze that could only be understood as “thank god”.  With practiced ease, he lazily lifted your nightgown up and out of the way.

“I know,” he murmured, “I know. Gonna take care of it.”

He took his time, languidly reaching his hand down your stomach, then between your legs. His large hand urged you to inch your thighs apart, allowing him to spread his fingers out over your mound. You bit your lip, eyes cracking open to watch as he totally engulfed you with his palm. You could feel his boyish smile against your neck as your hips twitched lightly into his hand, undeniably just as enthralled as you.

Steve sighed heavily with satisfaction. You felt his nose nudge your temple as he settled in, shifting his body closer to yours. He moved slowly, rubbing his whole hand back and forth, the heel of his palm grinding over your clit. He knew better than to show off his usual dexterity when you’re still so sensitive to touch. You could tell he was paying close attention to your body, ready to adjust at the sign of a single flinch. It wasn't about making you see stars or waking up the neighbors this time around. It was a precious, stolen moment, moonlit and only for you.

“Feels good? Not too much?” he checked quietly.

You could feel his chest rise and fall deeply at your side, warm breaths fanning across your cheek. It was one of your favorite feelings, being completely surrounded by him, and only him.

“Mm. Not too much,” you murmured, your back arching lightly into his touch.

Steve nodded, gently pressing a delicate kiss to the column of your neck. 

“You can move, baby. Make yourself feel good, hon.”

Unhurriedly, you rocked yourself against his hand. You sighed softly at the soothing friction, the large surface of his palm causing a subtle current of pleasure deep inside of you. Despite the heaviness of your eyelids, you chased the warm sensation, listening to the low creaking of the bedframe in time with your hips. You were still slick from earlier, your silky arousal gathering at his upper palm and aiding the leisurely slide of Steve’s hand. 

“Steve,” you breathed, smiling hazily as you reached out for him.

“Right here, baby,” he murmured, catching your wandering hand. He threaded your fingers together, bringing your linked hands to rest on your stomach, anchoring you to him.

The minutes dragged on, gauzy and honey-like in sweetness and pace. It was mostly quiet besides your breathing, and Steve’s sugary whispers meant only for his girl. “Love taking my time with you,” he’d murmured, his voice husky with slight drowsiness as his hand worked between your legs.

Eventually, you felt the heat begin to bloom, simmering and tightening at your abdomen in a slow crescendo. You squeezed his hand as a silent signal, a little secret message in the quiet of your bedroom.

“More,” you whispered, turning your head until the bridge of your nose grazed his. Steve responded with a soft, husky hum, always ready to please.

“Little more?” 

“Mhm.”

He pressed a lingering kiss to your lips, massaging his hand against your pussy with a little more pressure this time, the muscles in his bicep flexing subtly with his ministrations. He echoed your pleasure, groaning quietly into your mouth as you began to pant. Your fingers knotted into his hair, keeping him so, so close, like you couldn’t bear him being even an inch further.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he muttered between dreamy kisses.

It felt like a gentle undoing. Subtle sparks of pleasure that washed over you as opposed to the usual commotion of firework-like bursts. You could almost feel Steve’s heart swell as you unraveled for him, letting you ride out the waves against his palm without overwhelming you. 

Breaking the kiss, you buried your face against his neck, breathing him in deeply while his arms encircled you. Lazy contentment practically radiated from you both as you nestled in the quiet, fuzzy afterglow.

“Good?” he muttered, his voice slightly muffled by your unruly hair.

“Mmm…” you mumbled back, your fingers curling around his shoulder. Steve chuckled, willing to accept that as an answer. No words were needed when he could feel your satisfaction right down to your bones.