Oh Captain!

Just Steve, Please.

"I have a small confession to make," Steve murmured against your neck. You were still straddling his lap and nibbling his ear. He was finding it increasingly harder to focus with you grinding into his crotch. You're going to be the death of me, he thought. The temptation to just throw you on the bed and have his way with you was becoming nearly impossible to resist.

Despite the heated tension in the training room, the mood had softened when you finally made it to Steve's room. You were surprised to find that you really liked soft and tender Steve. His gentle fingers tracing slow patterns into your skin sent shivers up your spine. His warm lips pressing generous kisses to yours were a slow burn in your veins. There was something so soothing about the steady beat of his heart against yours.

"What's that?" Your warm breath blew into his ear while you rocked your hips again. Steve swore. You giggled.

"Language, Captain!" you chastised. He groaned and gripped your hips to still them. Confused, you pulled away to look at him. God, he thought, you look so cute with your head cocked like that.

"I—just Steve, please. I'm just Steve here, right now, with you. Just Steve." He searched your face for some kind of rejection. He just wanted to be a man for you; the man underneath the mask.

The vulnerability on Steve's face made you realise that this, whatever was happening between you and Steve, was more than just a one-time hook up. All those months of pent up frustration were just symptoms for an underlying cause. He had fallen for you. He was letting you in; you were getting to meet the man beneath the serum.

You nodded, "Okay...Steve," you agreed. His answering smile took your breath away.

He was elated. He'd been hiding his feelings for so long; hearing you say you wanted more than just one night with the Captain made his heart soar. Steve never knew something as simple as his own name could sound so beautiful; he craved to hear what it sounded like when you were writhing underneath him.

He kissed you, hard. That slow burning fire in your veins erupted. You matched his passion ounce for ounce and buried your fingers in his short blonde hair. The sharp pleasure of the tugs on his scalp made his body ache with need. Moaning into your mouth, his grip on your hips tightened. You'd wear those finger shaped bruises with blatant pride. His cock pulsated against your throbbing cunt and you gasped, breaking the kiss. Steve grinned wickedly at your sensitivity.

"You like that, pretty girl? You like feeling what you do to me?" The timbre in his voice sent your blood pumping. Who knew Steve Rogers was a talker in bed? He rolled his hips into you, determined to hear you moan again.

"Oh—fuck! Yeah, Stevie!" you whined in approval. He growled in response.

Those sinful lips moved down your neck, leaving heated kisses in their wake. You'd never been too interested in foreplay, but Steven Grant Rogers was singlehandedly changing your mind. He grinded his erection against your sensitive core and it was driving you absolutely insane. Who knew that dry humping could be this fun? His massive hands were surprisingly gentle as they inched under your shirt, etching mindless patterns into your russet brown skin; he was barely touching you and you were a panting mess, writhing in his lap. The teasing had become unbearable; you pushed him away.

"You are wearing far too many clothes," you stated. That smirk you'd come to adore never left his lips.

"What are you go—," Steve didn't have the chance to finish his question before you literally ripped his shirt from his chest. The shock on his face made you giggle bashfully.