He wasn't exactly consciously aware of it in so many words, but Steve wanted Rogue to at least be wearing his shirt while they did this. First, because it was his, and he wanted to see that indication that she was his, she'd chosen him; it was that possessive feeling he still wasn't entirely comfortable with, but it was heightening the experience at the moment.
The other reason he wanted the shirt still on, was to create new, real memories of her wearing it, to wash away the nightmare images. Steve had heard soldiers talking, about how after a close brush with death, sex was fantastic, a way to celebrate the fact that you were still around, able to feel pleasure. That was sort of what was happening now with him; he wanted to feel Rogue pressed against him, surrounding him, giving her pleasure and knowing that they both were still there, in the moment, and weren't going anywhere.
As for the rest of their clothes... Well, there was really no excuse for that, was there?
Listening to her moans, feeling Rogue wrap around him and moving against him, calling his name, spurred Steve on; he put his free hand back on her hip, curving to cup her ass and match their rhythm, which was fast and hard and urgent. Very urgent. "I got you," he panted, pressing his face against her neck and shoulder, wrapping his lips around the tendon there and giving the area a series of bruising kisses. The memory of her strapped to that table, vacant eyes watching him impassively, flashed through his mind, unbidden and completely unwanted, and he thrust harder in response, trying to drive the image out of his head, only barely able to keep his strength in check.
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The other reason he wanted the shirt still on, was to create new, real memories of her wearing it, to wash away the nightmare images. Steve had heard soldiers talking, about how after a close brush with death, sex was fantastic, a way to celebrate the fact that you were still around, able to feel pleasure. That was sort of what was happening now with him; he wanted to feel Rogue pressed against him, surrounding him, giving her pleasure and knowing that they both were still there, in the moment, and weren't going anywhere.
As for the rest of their clothes... Well, there was really no excuse for that, was there?
Listening to her moans, feeling Rogue wrap around him and moving against him, calling his name, spurred Steve on; he put his free hand back on her hip, curving to cup her ass and match their rhythm, which was fast and hard and urgent. Very urgent. "I got you," he panted, pressing his face against her neck and shoulder, wrapping his lips around the tendon there and giving the area a series of bruising kisses. The memory of her strapped to that table, vacant eyes watching him impassively, flashed through his mind, unbidden and completely unwanted, and he thrust harder in response, trying to drive the image out of his head, only barely able to keep his strength in check.