These are the Hands of Fate - Steve Rogers x OC

Fifteen: I Can See the End as it Begins

January 8, 2023

Thirty-two was off to a banner start and Maggie had only been awake for just over half an hour. Rather than waking up with the rising sun or being jolted from her REM cycle by an obnoxiously loud alarm on her nightstand, Steve's head between her legs had gently roused her from her slumber. He'd murmured a low 'happy birthday' against her pelvic bone before trailing hot, open mouth kisses down and recapturing her already swollen clit between lips; his tongue dragging over her with unhurried licks that pulled her apart piece by piece.

Three leg-shaking, heart-stopping orgasms later, as she lay face down in the bed with her face pressed into the pillows, thoroughly spent, he'd playfully smacked her ass and told her to shower while he 'took care of some things.'

It wasn't much later that Maggie, her hair still slightly wet as it dampened the back of her robe where it brushed against her shoulder blades, finally heard Steve come back into their room. Opening the door, the residual steam from the shower rolled out, the hot humid air spilling into their bedroom from around her. Leaning against the door's frame, she watched him easily carry a tray of pancakes and fruit and coffee, "And what's all this?"

"I had breakfast in bed, but you didn't." The wink he gave her made her already pink skin darken; he certainly had. It wasn't even nine and she'd been thoroughly fucked. She had a sneaking suspicion that he enjoyed morning sex even more than she did. There was no doubt that their spirits were much higher on the days that they woke just a little earlier to have some time to their selves. Yet, he still had the audacity to call her insatiable.

The three orgasms that he'd gifted her that morning may have said the same about him.

Placing the tray gently on the newly made bed, Steve grabbed the belt of her robe and pulled her close, a surprisingly cool hand coming to cup her face as the other wrapped around her waist. As his thumb rubbed the angry, red skin of her cheek, he fretted, "You're going to burn yourself taking showers that hot."

"Mm, you're just saying that because you took a seventy-year ice bath and you're still not used to normal temperatures." Giggling, she stood on her toes and threaded her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her level to meet her in a slow, languid kiss of toothpaste and coffee. She squealed against his lips as he lifted her easily, giving a gentle smack to her ass as he carried her back to the haven of their bed. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she raised an eyebrow, pulling back from his kiss with a wet sound, "Is there something going on with you and my ass this morning?"

"Nope, just appreciating all of you." Steve shrugged; his grin was roguish, nonetheless.

With one last squeeze to her perky bottom, covered only by the thin, knit cotton of her robe, Maggie unwound her legs from him as he placed her back on the bed. Scooting in beside her, she tucked herself into his side as he pulled the tray closer, pressing his lips to her head. The heady scent of vanilla and flowers from her shower had mixed with the scent her soft skin and was like a drug, so distracting and intoxicating. He wanted to press his lips over every square inch of her.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart."

"Thank you, baby." The hand resting on his thigh gave a soft squeeze as she took a sip of the coffee that's shade was just on the right side of beige. Eating together, in this quiet bubble of a lazy Sunday morning, they managed to discuss everything and nothing through bites of sliced peaches and apples and pancakes with maple syrup. Since they'd begun dating, she'd taken pity on the hero and Steve's kitchen skills had now improved far beyond his old specials of burnt toast and boiled green beans thanks to her intervention.

Reaching over to his nightstand, she didn't miss the half-smile as Steve glanced at their old photobooth pictures that lay beside the aged, bronze compass that he always kept on his person. Rifling through the organized drawer, he easily retrieved the familiar piece of paper that she'd come to look forward to each year.