bubblegum b****
You’ve had too much sugar and Steve’s been gone for almost 2 months on a mission in the assback of Bolivia – that’s enough to explain the giggly demeanour with which you greet him.
Your lips taste like jelly beans and lollipops and artificial strawberry – Natasha winces apologetically as you barrel towards him, legs winding around his waist and arms wrapped around his neck before he can actually comprehend that you’re on him. Still, he’s quick to hold you up and hold you close, his baby.
"She was a little down the past few days,” she explains, smiling. “I got her some candy to cheer her up.”
Some candy. Even you don’t agree with that, snorting against his skin.
Natasha wanders off after patting his arm and welcoming him back, leaving him with his arms and heart full. It felt good to have you in his arms again. He wasn’t one for being dramatic – usually – but the last few days had been terrible. It was the home stretch, of course, the last few days before he saw you again, but they were the worst. He’d practically been burning a hole into the ground with all the impatient pacing he was doing.
So he revels in the weight of you in his arms – so much so, in fact, that he doesn’t bother putting you down again. He carries you all the way to his room, through the elevator and through the common area, plops you down on his bed while he goes to shower. He’d fully been planning to get dinner and cuddle until you both fell asleep, except…
He’s rinsing the shampoo from his hair when you slip in, already undressed, smile giddy and bright. You step on into the shower and immediately slot yourself against the back of him.
“I missed you,” you whine against his shoulder. “Pay attention to me.”
And that’s another thing about the candy. Get too much of it in you and you’re as far gone as a drunk person. The filter between your brain and your mouth clocks out early. Anything you’d be too embarrassed to say normally is said as easily as your ABCs.
“I was gonna, sweetheart,” Steve says, laughing gently. “I thought you’d appreciate it if I washed up first, though.”
“Your bedroom’s lonely without you.”
“Bolivia is lonely without you too.”
You hum and the sound reverberates through his skin, sending shivers down his spine even in the humidity of the shower. One of the hands on his chest relocates to his abdomen – and then lower, just above his–
“I wanna fuck, Stevie.”
He inhales shakily, licking his lips. You’ll have him half hard within the minute if you keep on doing what you’re doing; kissing his sore shoulder and scraping your acrylics over his chest. Even the press of you against his back, all wet and warm and still smelling vaguely of your perfume, makes him swallow.
2 months. Two whole fucking months.
“You gotta ask nicely for that, sweetheart.”
You giggle quietly, like you still can’t believe that he’s here, that you’re holding him. Truth be told, he can’t believe it either. Some part of him thinks he might wake up to that dreary, cracked ceiling and threadbare mattress.
“Please. There.”
Good as he’s gonna get, ain’t it?
You’re still beaming when he turns and picks you up and pins you up against the wall, immediately setting to work on bruising those lips of his. With one hand curled into his blond locks and the other grasping his hand on your waist, you’re perfectly content. Until you’re not, and you begin shifting and wriggling impatiently.
“C'mon.”
“Y'know,” he begins setting you back down, “If I hadn’t been gone for two months…”
He wouldn’t even think to let you get your own way so easily. But it has been two months and he can’t deny that you’re fucking adorable, bowing your head to the crook of his neck, tittering in delight when he places a hand on your back and attempts to bend you over.
But you absolutely refuse.
“Bend over, I’m not kidding.” But he’s laughing himself, fueled by your own candy-induced exhilaration.
You grasp his hand tightly, looking over your shoulder and blinking through the steady downpour of water. “But I wanna see you, Stevie. I like seeing your face.”
His heart swells and soars. Sweet as the candy you’ve eaten, even if you won’t admit it to anyone. “Okay, sweetheart. Another time, huh?"
(Truth is, you could’ve given him any excuse and he would’ve listened. It’s your pleasure as much as it is his, right?)
So he hauls you up again, legs ‘round his waist and hands hanging loosely from his shoulders. He affectionately nudges away the wet hair from your face with the tip of his nose, pecking your cheekbone.
"Don’t think I’ll be able to go slow,” he warns you, almost purring low in his throat as he gets the first feel of you against him; velvet warm and sweetly sticky. “’s been too long."
"I don’t want you to.” And then, smile glinting mischievously: “Don’t hold back, baby, yeah?"
Simultaneous groans fill the humid air when he first enters you. It burns pleasantly, makes you claw at his back and smush your face against his shoulder and just shiver as he takes you.
You missed this: the feeling of his muscle underneath your hands, the scratchiness of his beard on your neck, the feeling of being stuffed. Even the warmth he exhibits makes your stomach turn pleasantly–
His hand grasps your whole jaw and turns you to him.
"You like seeing me?” He grunts. “You keep your eyes on me, then, darling.”
Yes. You missed this tremendously.