steve/darcy, snowed in
Darcy stared out the window of the cabin at the grey sky. The snow was still falling, thick, wet flakes that stuck to the warm glass, foggy from her breath, and slid down slowly, before plopping onto their fallen brethren on the sill. She reached up, and with her finger, drew a heart in the condensation, smiling softly at the squeak of her skin on the glass.
Steve came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her middle. His hands were big enough that they could still span her increasing belly, and he rubbed it gently as she leaned back into his solidity and warmth. "We're stuck here for the time being, huh?" he asked, his breath warm against her ear.
"Mm-hmm," she hummed rubbing her cheek against him like a cat. "At least until morning, maybe longer."
"Can I keep you warm tonight, Mrs. Rogers?" he whispered, one hand sliding down to cup her through her yoga pants.
She arched into him as his fingers traced her through the thin fabric. "Oh, yes," she said.