midnight snack
Sometimes it’s easy to forget that your temper is as explosive as a black market firework, and twice as unpredictable. Around him, you usually toe the line between calm and teasing, making snarky remarks when they’re called for and snuggling up to him like a puppy.
This is not calm or teasing.
You’re jealous, he’ll say it outright because he knows you better than you know yourself sometimes. He flirted with some doctor lady to secure some intelligence; danced with her a while, chuckled at her jokes, asked her about her job. All the while you and Natasha had been listening in his earpiece, having to sit through a whole hour of her purring captain and cozying up to him.
He won’t say he doesn’t understand because his own jealousy is what got you both into this in the first place but there’s a difference. You know this is for a job, know that at the end of the day you’ll slip into his bed and he’ll hold you and you’re his. Steve hadn’t had the luxury when you’d been canoodling the Marchand boy.
Worse, still, you won’t admit it. And he’s getting annoyed; feels himself slip easily into that assured, commanding persona that you yearned for at times.
It’s an hour after dinner and almost everyone’s dispersed into the city somewhere. Except Tony, of course, who’s slumping around his lab upstairs, and Steve, who’s standing opposite you with his arms folded and his face calculating. You’ve been sitting on the kitchen counter with your eyes trained on your phone for almost 30 minutes.
“Get down,” Steve says – orders – chewing on the inside of his cheek in that unimpressed way of his. Your eyes widen for a second because Steve doesn’t tend to order you unless it’s in bed and he’s gotten into his daddy persona and– oh.
“I don’t wanna.”
“_____, get down.”
Your eyes stay focused on your Instagram feed. “You’re not my dad.”
“No, I’m not.” Steve pushes himself away from the counter and stands in front of you, sighing harshly. “But I am your daddy, huh? At least sometimes. And I love you a lot. So get down, so I can show you how much.“
He sees your eyes narrow. Your bottom lip peeks out from below the top in a pout – and he knows that face well. The face of a girl who doesn’t want to do as she’s asked, who doesn’t want to forgive just yet, the face of a girl that will whine to get her way.
That’s okay. He’s got time.
And you know that too – maybe that’s why you breathe out his name so softly when he sets his sights on your neck, hair tickling sensitive skin and lips following suit. Instinctively your hands abandon your phone and curl up to rest in his hair – hesitant, like you want him to know you’re still mad at him, but even so he can hear your heartbeat thudding along as he sucks and nibbles.
He doesn’t know how long you stayed like that, if he’s being honest. With the goal of marking you up in mind, he simply bent his head and went to work. The taste of you is sweet and salty on his tongue, perfume strong and girly in his nose. Just the thought of you, neck bruised and speckled with purple and red, makes him exhale deeply.
When he finally lifts his head he sees the product of his hard work – splotchy red skin that would eventually develop further. Nice surprise for later, huh?
You open your eyes, slumped against the cupboards behind you and breathing laboured. Looks like you enjoyed it as much as he did.
"Ready to talk or not?” He asks, but he already knows your answer. He grasps your thighs with two big hands and spreads your legs to accommodate him, standing between them with an expectant look on his hard face.
You fold your arms and tilt your chin up and away from him.
“Alright then.” He hopes, vaguely, that no-one finds themself wanting a midnight snack suddenly. Because he’s about to have his.
He drops to his knees and pushes up your skirt with no hesitation – doesn’t even bother taking off your panties, just pushes them to the side before he leans in and licks.
And the reaction is instantaneous. Your hips shift lower on the counter, arm slumping beside you and eyes just shutting, your mouth opened in that adorable little o shape that makes him grin to himself. He gathers your juices on his tongue, all tangy and sticky, draws them up and down your labia before focusing on your clit. He pulls back the hood with his thumb, mouth practically watering at the sight of the pink little nub, before he draws it into his mouth and sucks.
You keen immediately, gasping unevenly at the steady suction of his lips around you. He doesn’t have to look up to know you’re scrambling for purchase – but at the broken, whining moan that leaves your lips, he’s taken aback by the sudden heave of possessiveness that turns his stomach.
How could you think that he’d even pick someone else over you? He can’t wrap his brain around it. You’re his anchor to the modern world, his baby, his sweetheart. Everything.
“Look at me. Now.” His breathing is so ragged that he surprises himself momentarily, but he supposes that’s the consequence of eating someone out so ferociously. You do as he’s asked, either way, half-lidded eyes meeting his from above, all dazed and blown out. His thumb takes the place of his tongue so he can properly pull back and watch your face become blissed out. “C'mon, sweet girl. Cum for me. On my fingers, yeah?”
The sweat beaded at your hairline drips down the side of your face and sticks to your ear. One of your shaky hands lifts up to wipe it away, but when you place it back on the counter your hand is seized by his unoccupied one. And maybe that’s what does it for you – or maybe it’s the sweet kiss he places on your knuckles, or the slippery rub of his thumb against your clit.
Whatever it may be, you throw your head back and pant into the air, contracting and clenching around nothing, shuddering as pleasurable shivers wrack your body. Your chest heaves with it, and he watches with his mouth agape – transfixed by the sight of you. He stops rubbing when your hips begin to twitch and your legs begin to tremble, whimpers bordering on desperate.
“Ready to talk now?” He asks gently, kissing your inner thigh.
You wrinkle your nose, lips pursing. It takes you a few minutes to gather your thoughts and straighten yourself up, but he stays beside you patiently and presses his lips to your leg. Just enough to let you know he’s there, but not enough to overwhelm you.
“I was… jealous. And I know I shouldn’t be and I know it’s a… toxic emotion, or whatever, but I didn’t like how she acted around you. Like she thought she had you wrapped around her finger.”
“And…?” He presses, remembering the therapy sessions you’ve been regularly attending. You huff in response, crossing your arms childishly.
“And I’ll work on processing my emotions more efficiently. I promise.”
“Good girl.” Another kiss to the side of your knee and he rises to his feet, fully planning to spend the rest of the day with you when you catch sight of your reflection in the silver toaster opposite you.
“Holy shit,” you mumble, eyes going wide with disbelief, “There’s not enough makeup in the world to cover up these hickeys, what did you do to me?"
He simply beams.