( the slow way steve draws his hand over her thigh and up over the defined muscle of her stomach, tantalizing and leaving a path of delicious heat in its wake, is enough to make sara squirm beneath him, a needy sound escaping her lips as she realizes the stark difference between the goosebumps that prick at her exposed skin and the insistent heat between her thighs. this is a far cry from sara's usual calculated precision when it comes to matters like these, but the delicacies provided have turned everything on its head, senses and sensations heightened, the need to touch and be touched dire.
sara may not have superstrength, but she does have enough force of will that a button on the front of steve's shirt may find its thread torn by sara's insistency as she grabs at his shirt, said button rolling to the floor. she sure as hell wants his shirt off, too, wants to press her skin against his skin until she can't stand it anymore (and spoilers: that'll never happen), let his whole body warm her as much as his simple touch has.
but steve's lips press against the crook of sara's neck and she's done for, any and all train of thought completely lost, and she's putty in his hands, gasping as the warmth of his mouth, the wet fleck of tongue against her skin a new sensation entirely. to say that she's overwhelmed by the feeling that floods through her is an understatement in and of itself, especially when such blatant words are elicited by steve rogers, a rough edge to his whisper that puts a crack into the picture perfect illusion of the well-mannered former soldier with an unending fountain of politeness.
sara doesn't think she's ever wanted something more. ) Do it, ( sara says, insistent, eyes still closed as she tries to gather herself, tries to formulate a vaguely coherent string of words, words hasty when they fall out of her mouth. ) I want you to. Don't ask. Just do it.
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sara may not have superstrength, but she does have enough force of will that a button on the front of steve's shirt may find its thread torn by sara's insistency as she grabs at his shirt, said button rolling to the floor. she sure as hell wants his shirt off, too, wants to press her skin against his skin until she can't stand it anymore (and spoilers: that'll never happen), let his whole body warm her as much as his simple touch has.
but steve's lips press against the crook of sara's neck and she's done for, any and all train of thought completely lost, and she's putty in his hands, gasping as the warmth of his mouth, the wet fleck of tongue against her skin a new sensation entirely. to say that she's overwhelmed by the feeling that floods through her is an understatement in and of itself, especially when such blatant words are elicited by steve rogers, a rough edge to his whisper that puts a crack into the picture perfect illusion of the well-mannered former soldier with an unending fountain of politeness.
sara doesn't think she's ever wanted something more. ) Do it, ( sara says, insistent, eyes still closed as she tries to gather herself, tries to formulate a vaguely coherent string of words, words hasty when they fall out of her mouth. ) I want you to. Don't ask. Just do it.