Steve Harrington Smut Imagines

'words of honeyed sweetness fell from your lips'

A/N: Sorry it's a short chapter. I'm slowly starting to feel inspired to write a bit more. Writing smut is an interesting craft. After a while, it can get repetitive and boring. Sometimes, it is nice to focus on other forms of intimacy. I'm interested to see what I write for this book in the future...

Thank you for your patience and for returning time and time again to support my work. It is greatly appreciated.

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It was in that golden sunshine, the kind that inspired poets and artists, while draped in white linen sheets, which barely covered any of your extremities but made you look like an ethereal deity no less, that words of honeyed sweetness fell from your lips, to form a question born from nothing but the most divine of loves.

With eyes widened by surprise, he turned his head to look at you and saw himself reflected back in your own gaze. So lost he became in those irises, that held so much adoration and vulnerability in that crucial moment. You had ripped out your heart and handed it to him on a gilded platter, ready to face whatever consequences came from his answer. You knew it could potentially end with a bloodbath, one where your heart would be beyond repair and yet, you trusted him completely. In those few moments, he held so much power and yet, he would always choose to be kind and tender when it came to you.

He drank in the sight of your relaxed form, so lost in his contemplation but you did not rush him. Those four words had been so easy for you to utter but they held a brevity that needed a moments pause, no matter how much you desperately wanted to hear his reply.

The outside traffic that sounded from beyond the open window, fell mute in rapt attention with bated breath, waiting diligently for him to break the growing silence, that built between you, as he mulled over those four simple words.

Despite the warmth of the rays, his fingertips were cool against your burning skin, that became flushed, and goose bumped beneath his delicate touch, as wandering hands made their exploration across the expanse of your bared skin.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, so softly it could have been mistaken for the turning of a book page.

Returning your question with one of his was always to be expected, but his doubting of your decision did not fail to sadden you. He was your moon and stars. No, he was the sun, and your world was centric around him. Yet, despite your constant words of reassurance, he still struggled to view himself as worthy of your affections.

Taking his hand in your own, you momentarily paused his ministrations, as you brought the fingertips to your lips and gently kissed each digit, before holding it close to your chest. "Forever and always, my love."

The ghost of a smile haunted his beautiful lips. In the dying light, you wanted to kiss him. To leave those lips bruised and begging for more. Oh, how you could waste hours just simple worshiping those lips, that could easily make your legs tremble and weak.

Ignoring your distracting lust, you waited for him to answer your question. You would miss a thousand sunsets if he needed time to think things through. There were so many things you would do for this man. Love had turned you into a hopeless fool and you would gladly assume the role of the jester, if it meant he was cared for.

When he pulled away from your touch, you viewed him quizzically, but he was swift to cup your face between his hands. You instinctively flinched at his cool touched, which earned you a mumbled apology. You leant further into his touch, to reassure him that everything was okay.

What had he done in a past life to be blessed? He thought, knowing that you were still waiting on tenterhooks for his decision on matters. He wanted the word to roll effortlessly off his tongue. To take flight and dissipate into the surrounding atmosphere. Instead, it remained trapped in his throat. Suffocating him slowly, as his vocal cords became paralysed with the fear of endless doubts. He knew you loved him, though often he did not understand why.

It had not always been this way, with him so anxious about his relationship with you. The three years of constant threat to life and experiencing the most trying of times in recent history, his nerves had frayed at the edges. Neither of you were the same two people you had been before the pandemic, but you had grown in different ways and adapted to your new selves as well as could be expected. At times, it had definitely taken a toll on your relationship, but you had tried to make it work, not wanting to lose one another over a situation that was beyond either of your control. The virus had taken so much from you both, it could not have your relationship too.

He tried not to place you on a pedestal of perfection. You were human and therefore, naturally flawed. At least you strived to be a good person. To tread carefully upon the already tainted ground of the Earth. To cause as little harm to others as you could manage, though some days tested your patience. Some days were a struggle to be kind but still, you did your best. That was what he adored about you, and he wished he could hold himself in the same regard but alas, he could not.

"My love." you called out to him, knowing his mind had drifted away from the present and into the recess of his thoughts. Too far from you for your liking and his.

How could he not give in to that beautiful voice of yours? That called to him and refocused his wandering thoughts time and time again. That staved off the endless spiral of worries that constantly threatened to plague his mind.

It could work, he tried to reassure himself. You had already supported each other through so much and he was making progress in therapy, right? Things did not have to end as badly as his mind tried to convince him. It did not have to end in tears and resentment. He could continue to try to be as good as you and maybe one day, he could believe the words you whispered to him so readily, that spoke only of gratification and validation for his presence in your life. One day he could be a good man.

"Yes." it's a single syllable, shaky and unsure but then he clears his throat and frowns. His irises momentarily lost from your line of sight. No, he needs to do this properly, you deserve better. Tears gather in his eyes and yours, but they symbolise only happiness, rather than sorrow. A grin overtakes his facial features. "Yes, I'll marry you."