fateandfortune | The Sweet Gestures Meme

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The Sweet Gestures Meme

the sweet gestures meme

Everyone loves sweet gestures—little things that remind someone that you love them, that you think of them, that you care for their general, and other things. A gesture could be made towards a friend, a family member, or some other loved one. Maybe towards a total stranger you think deserves something to make them smile.

prompts

1. LOVE NOTES ❤ Everyone loves love notes, and they don’t even have to be romantic. It could be simple as ‘have a good day at work’ or even something funny to brighten someone’s day.

2. BREAKFAST IN BED ❤ Especially on a Sunday morning or after a long, late shift at work, breakfast in bed with their favorite foods is surely the way to start the day off right.

3. PHONE CALL ❤ Who doesn’t like a phone call from someone they love, for no reason? A nice conversation can be all someone needs to have a better day or make a good day be a great one.

4. SWEET TREAT ❤ Late at night when you’re both tired from work or just general day-to-day things, something sweet from the local bakery can be just the thing you need.

5. MASSAGE ❤ While a wonderful idea, swapping massages can be a good idea too, or doing it after a nice bubble bath you made for them, or just randomly.

6. RANDOM HUG ❤ Even if they are not having a bad day, how could a hug not bring a smile to someone’s face?

7. SMALL GIFT ❤ It could be a piece of jewelry that caught your eye and reminded you of them, a stuffed animal you won at the carnival… just something small and sweet that you are sure they are going to love no matter how cheap or expensive it is.

8. FLOWERS ❤ From a florist or from a random patch of green, the surprise of flowers for someone you know and/or love is always welcomed! Look into their meanings to make the bouquet, big or small, become extra special.

9. RENT A MOVIE ❤ Sure, you might not like the genre of the movie, but if the other person does, then that is all that matters.

10. SLOW DANCE ❤ Middle of the living room, randomly while on a date, or maybe that is the whole purpose of the date. Slow dances are so underrated.

11. SURPRISE GETAWAY ❤ Yes, that is just what you guys need: a vacation from things, even if it’s just for a day or two and is not half way across the world. From a family vacation to a romantic spur of the moment, everyone loves going to a new place.

12. SURPRISE KISS ❤ Who doesn’t like a surprise kiss? A soft one on the cheek, a kiss being the thing to wake you up in the morning, or a big one right when you walk through the door.

13. HOLD HANDS ❤ There is nothing like holding hands. It’s a simple and intimate gesture, and if you do it the right way, it could have a whole different meaning.

14. COOK DINNER ❤ Come on, give it a go. Who cares if you’re not the best cook in the world or possibly the worst? It’s the thought that counts.

15. WILD CARD ❤ Was there something missed? Did you have another scene in mind? Want to roll again?

POSTED BY luuupin @ allmymemes

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Steve was peripherally aware of Rogue wandering around the kitchen (he was always aware of his surroundings, now, but part of his attention seemed hyperfocused on her, and probably always would be, a little), so he didn't startle when she wrapped her arms around him, just slowed the motion of his knife, setting it down as he said in a mild, teasingly-scolding tone, "You're gonna distract me." He pulled one of her hands away from his stomach, tilting his head down to kiss her palm, before placing it back on his chest, over his heart, and smoothing his hand along her arm before reaching for the knife again.

Moving from the tomato to the lettuce, he deftly cut the stalk off and began peeling leaves away from the heart, stacking them neatly off to the side. "I thought you might like the kitchen," he teased, smiling in pleasure, and glad she couldn't see it. "I'd tell you you could use it any time you like..." he grimaced. "But uh... I don't really have very many cooking instruments, or utensils, really, for the kinda stuff you probably wanna do. If it needs more than frying in a pan or cooking on a griddle..." He shrugged lightly, careful to not disrupt her hold on him. "I mostly eat from one of the stores down the street. It's nice having so many options now - and there were plenty Before, too, so that's saying something."

Rogue giggled silently at his scolding, knowing he'd feel the slight shaking of her laughter against his back. There was something thrilling about him touching her when she couldn't see it, and she closed her eyes to properly focus on the sensation of his lips against her palm, and then the beating of his heart under her hand. It was pure bliss in an entirely different way than what they'd experienced together in the bedroom, and she wouldn't give up either for anything in the world.

"We do have a lot of choices when it comes to eating out," she acknowledged, listening to the light almost crinkly tearing sound of the lettuce leaves being separated. "But you can't eat out all the time, sugar, and sandwiches are only gonna get us so far. So I'll just have to bring up a few things to make sure I can prepare you a proper meal." She lifted her head enough to press a kiss to his shoulder blade, but didn't move beyond that - she rather enjoyed being wrapped around him, as he should know by now.

"You don't have to do that," Steve murmured, but it was clear that the idea pleased him. "It would probably be a lot cheaper than getting all that stuff to-go, though," he acknowledged. Yes, he may have money now, enough to buy what he wanted and not have to worry about running out, but it was still a constant thing on his mind, and probably would be for a while.

Moving on to the bread, Steve untied the bag and pulled a handful of slices out. "Do they still say something's the greatest thing since sliced bread?" he questioned aloud, getting the condiment jars and starting to apply butter to a few slices, before getting the mustard. "I remember when they first started slicing bread before selling it, everyone thought it was amazing. And then suddenly all these modern conveniences and new inventions were being called 'the greatest thing since sliced bread.'"

He found himself more at ease with asking her questions like this, especially since they were alone, not surrounded by people. He hadn't realized just how much being physically intimate with someone would change things, but at least right now, he wasn't embarrassed asking her about something he didn't know. "They tried banning it during the war, too," he continued. "Said something about the wrapping had to be thicker for sliced bread than unsliced, to keep it fresh, and it was a drain on needed resources. They even told bakeries with their own slicing machines that they had to stop using them. Only lasted a few months, though, finally the higher-ups came out and said 'actually, it doesn't save as much resources as we expected, and there's plenty of paper ready for it already, so yeah, go ahead and start selling it again.'"

The only thing that would have stopped her from cooking for Steve would have been if he really didn't like the idea, but the fact that it so clearly pleased him had her already planning out the things she could make. Good southern-style fried chicken, Cajun jambalaya, and all sorts of casseroles... Hearty home cooking to help take care of that appetite of his.

She listened to him talk and marveled yet again at the fact that he really had lived so long ago, long enough to have seen such monumental changes to the everyday lives of Americans. "It's still strikes me as strange sometimes when I think about all that you got to see and experience back then, and yet you're here now with me," she commented, loosening her arms a little so she could slip around to his side, still wrapped around him and with her hand over his heart, but able to look up at that handsome face now.

"I have some memories from back then, but most of them are from Erik during the war in Europe," she admitted, pressing another kiss to his upper arm, lightly and quickly so as not to bother what he was working on. "They do still say that, though, about sliced bread. It's more common in the older generations, but it still comes up in everyday conversation, even when people don't known the significance of it."

Steve glanced over at her, eyebrows raised a little when she talked about it being strange to her how old he really was ─ although she was much more polite about it, and he knew she didn't mean it like that, anyway. He smiled some, feeling strangely at peace with the whole thing for once, finally. "It's a lot to take in," he said, putting it very mildly; obviously he was still having issues with it at times, and he was the one living it. He couldn't imagine someone else trying to really understand what he was going through.

The older generation. Steve gave an amused half-smile to that. He wondered idly what other things had made it through the generations, that weren't even pop culture anymore, but just a part of every day life and speech. There were so many things he didn't recognize or understand, he hadn't really stopped to notice the things he really did. (Except for Tony's Wizard of Oz reference on the helicarrier.)

Quiet for a bit, just enjoying the moment, Steve started assembling one sandwich, then another. On the third one, he started hesitantly, "Do─ would you─ who was he?" he finally settled on. "Erik. He's... one of your─people?" He did not want to call them voices in her head, partly because that made her sound crazy, and he knew she wasn't; but also because, to her, they weren't just voices, but whole personas, whole people, with their own thoughts and ideas. They just happened to be connected to her mental party-line, that was all.

He also didn't want her to feel like she had to tell him anything more than she felt comfortable with, but he was starting to understand that Rogue wouldn't mention something, if she didn't mind talking about it, at least a little bit. Asking who Erik was gave her the chance to decide how little or much she felt like divulging.

Rogue didn't see it as Steve being old, exactly. He reminded her of Cable, who had lived in different times and places and referenced things that none of them could understand or properly imagine. She supposed she must seem that way to Steve, having lived through a war that would never occur in his universe. Their lives were certainly anything but simple.

It was actually a little surprising when Steve asked about Erik. She hadn't thought he would want to know about the people in her head, with the way he'd first reacted to the knowledge of their very existence, and so she hadn't planned on mentioning them much. The comment about Erik had just slipped out, like a few others had along the way, and now it was nice to know that he didn't seem to exactly mind it - she didn't want to have to filter everything she said when it was so natural to talk about the people who meant the most to her.

"He is," she confirmed, her tone fond but perhaps a little distant. It was difficult to know where to start with Erik. "Erik Lehnsherr. He called himself Magneto, because he could manipulate magnetic fields. He was one of the most powerful of our kind, and he was best friends with my mentor, Charles Xavier." Taking a deep breath, she stepped away from Steve then, her hands lingering on him for as long as possible before she leaned against the counter.

"Erik's Jewish family was relocated from Germany to Poland during the war," she explained quietly, her unfocused gaze resting on Steve's chest while she spoke. "He spent years in Auschwitz being tortured and studied, forced to use his abilities even though he was just a child. His mutation first manifested when he was separated from his mother at the gates, and they killed her in front of him to get him to show them what he was capable of. He never really trusted humans after that, and it seemed like they were always proving him right."

It hadn't been his intent to bring anything up that would draw her away from him; he should have realized though, if Erik knew about things from his own time, that would mean he would have been around during the war. It turned out he'd been in the thick of it, like Steve, not just living in worry and poverty as a civilian, but one of the many who had been interred in camps.

Steve's lips thinned in anger, remembering coming across one such camp, during one of their operations. It had been the most gruesome, dehumanizing place he'd ever seen, the prisoners barely treated with the dignity shown to animals before the slaughterhouse, and the things they'd done to them... He'd gotten sick at the sight of it (and the smell)... And then they'd killed all the guards, released the prisoners, and razed the whole area to the ground. Bucky had been a totally different person that day, he remembered, going quiet and still, anger simmering under a cool, distant and calculating façade. Most of the guards got shot through the head, which personally Steve had thought was too good for them, but hadn't spoken aloud. He'd had to stop the others from taking the few remaining guards and throwing them into the furnace already lit for the─ the bodies, while they were still alive. He'd refused, saying they were better than that, better than the enemy, and he wouldn't let them stoop to that level, no matter what they personally felt these men deserved.

Continuing to listen, Steve was thankful he'd finished with the heavy knife, or he might have cut straight through the chopping board. It was an effort to keep his hands gentle enough to finish assembling the sandwiches, and when he was done, he braced his hands on the edge of the counter, hanging his head slightly. "Yeah. I can see how he'd think that. Can't say I blame him, either."

Steve believed, whole-heartedly, in the kindness of humanity. But he wasn't fool enough, or blinded by his ideals so much, that he wasn't aware of what human beings were capable of. He'd seen racism before desegregation ─ just because a man was free, didn't mean he wasn't treated as lesser, dangerous, or sometimes downright evil. America itself had built internment camps for Asians during the War, and while it hadn't been as bad as Germany and Austria, he couldn't imagine it had been all that humane, either, with the fear-mongering that had happened toward the end of the war. He kept hearing now about gay rights, and it was the same thing all over again. He didn't pretend to understand what the mutants, and this Erik in particular, had gone through, but he could understand becoming disillusioned with humanity as a whole, if that's how they constantly treated you.

Even a loyal dog, if beaten and mistreated enough, will eventually strike back.

He took a deep breath before saying, "I refuse to believe that all of humanity is like that, though. There's always good in the world, if you know where to look." He'd told himself that all through the War, and had to keep reminding himself of it now.

Once Rogue started to actually listen to Erik and try to understand him, she hadn't been able to blame him for his actions either. So many people only saw the villain out to conquer humanity, but very few ever looked beneath that surface to see the suffering he'd endured or the crimes against mutants that had led to such extreme measures. Erik hadn't started out wanting to fight, and he would have been happy to settle down and have the life and family he deserved, but there had never been a time or place safe enough to try. Eventually, he'd lost all hope for humanity, and it had taken the end of the entire world to get him and Charles working together again instead of against each other.

Watching Steve's reaction to her words, the heaviness that seemed to pull him down, she felt a little ashamed for having said so much about Erik during the war. Steve had been in Europe at the time, might have even seen some of the campus, and that wasn't something anyone liked having to think about. But he'd wanted to know about Erik, and that was a major factor of who Erik was, and it was certainly a large part of who she was now.

"I'm trying to believe that, too," she told him softly, wishing she could say that she did believe it. Unfortunately, that faith wavered on a regular basis, particularly when she remembered her own ordeals, but she was trying and did truly want to believe it. That had to count for something, right?

But she wanted him to understand why she'd told him what she had about Erik. There were certainly a number of other things she could have mentioned, his life was anything but dull. "Erik saved my life," she explained, reaching over to set a hand lightly on top of one of his on the edge of the counter. "While I was in that lab, more than anyone else, he helped me cope with what was happening. Reminded me that if I gave up fighting, I was letting them win, and I was stronger than that." Every day he had reminded her in between their endless conversations and mental games of chess. Remy and Logan had always echoed his words, but he had been the most forceful and effective.

She had absolutely no reason to feel ashamed for reminding him of the past ─ it was something he never wanted to forget, because it was the reason he fought. It was the very reason he'd become Captain America, to save people who were being oppressed; to stand up against the evil, the bullies, and just the apathetic of the world, and say Enough. We are better than this. Her own story, and now Erik's, just made him want to fight harder, so that no one else had to go through what they had. What any of them had.

At the touch of her hand, Steve turned his own over, gripping her fingers gently. He turned to his head to watch as she explained how he'd helped her, how he'd kept her from giving up. When she finished, Steve pulled her hand up to kiss her knuckles; he pulled it back further, draping her arm over his shoulder, before leaning down to kiss her gently. He ran his hand down her left arm and said, "He was right. You're so much stronger than that." He pulled her left hand up, pressing his lips to the inside of her wrist, reminiscent of what he'd done when she'd first told him what she'd gone through ─ had it only been yesterday? It had been a lifetime ago. He told her now what he'd thought then. "You are victory."

Rogue let Steve move her, willing and wanting to touch him further, to ground herself against the dark memories that threatened to consume her at any time. Despite the topic of conversation, though, she was feeling fine, firm and steady... until he kissed her tattoo. Her control over her emotions stretched taught in those seconds, and then--

You are victory.

In the time it took to snap your fingers, take a breath, blink, her entire emotional state was turned upside down. One moment she was just fine, and the next she was fractured and broken, tears streaming down her face as thick, heavy sobs started to tear themselves out of her throat. She shook her head because he was wrong, he was so wrong, he had no idea what he was saying. She shouldn't be there, she should have died in that lab with all those other people, she didn't deserve to have this second chance at life. She didn't deserve him. Not after what she'd done.

Crying wasn't entirely unexpected, actually; Steve regretted that he'd made her cry, but he'd never regret letting her know how he felt. He pulled her other arm around his shoulder, before wrapping his arms around her in an all-encompassing embrace. He wanted to tell her he loved her, he wanted to say all the words she needed to hear, over and over again, even if she didn't believe him, she needed to hear them, so maybe, eventually, they would sink in.

Steve just kept quiet, though. Sometimes, you had to wait, let the storm pass, before it was time for words. He bent his head, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, rocking slightly from side to side, giving her time to run herself out of tears, for the moment.

It didn't matter to him what she'd done, what she'd been forced to do, either by circumstances, or by men in the name of science ─ Steve would never believe that she would hurt someone if she had any other choice. There was a time for peace, and a time to fight. And the fighting was never pretty. What little he understood about his own... mythology, showed him punching Hitler, and the more credible sources talked about how his weapon had always been a shield, something that protected and defended.

They never once mentioned his service pistol, glossed over the fact that, as a guerilla team, the Howling Commandos couldn't take prisoners, and Steve had been their leader, giving the orders. He'd killed countless men, and it sat heavy with him at times; but he had the strength of his conviction to help alleviate his guilt. It had been war, and he could never see any other choice, any better choice than the ones he'd made.

Saying any of that wouldn't help, though, and quite possibly would make it worse. So Steve continued to just hold Rogue.

After quite a few, long minutes, his sensitive hearing picked up some quiet popping noises, and he realized he was hearing street firecrackers going off. That meant soon, the City would be setting off their own.

Loathe as he was to bring it up, Steve kissed her hair, just behind her ear, and murmured, "Do you still want to go watch the fireworks?" Whatever she wanted, he knew he wasn't going to be letting her go.

Rogue felt as if she might never stop crying. Three months she'd been in this world, and while the first few days had been rocky, she'd mostly pushed it all aside and tried not to deal with the pressing guilt and grief that clawed at her dreams. She'd thrown herself into work and volunteering, pretending at being okay, but she wasn't. Not at all.

By the time Steve spoke, most of the sobs had subsided, though her breaths still shuddered through her chest and tears blurred her vision. She closed her eyes at the beautiful, sweet kiss and hated herself for the answer she gave him: a small shake of her head. If they went up to watch the fireworks now, she would be miserable the entire time, and that in turn would affect him and ruin the experience. She'd rather they miss out on the fireworks all together than risk tarnishing all future such festivities for him. He deserved better than that.

Just standing there like that in the kitchen wasn't exactly the best option for them either, though. She wasn't feeling very stable, either physically or emotionally, after her outburst, so she asked in a shaking, cracked whisper, "C-can we s-sit, ple-ease?"

Steve nodded, more to himself, but also in answer to her question; he hadn't been sure she'd want to push the whole incident aside, try to put on a brave face, or if she was still working through too much to even consider it, but he'd had to ask. He honestly didn't care at that moment ─ there would be other fireworks, and even if there weren't, he'd rather see her happy again, any day. "Okay. That's fine," he soothed gently.

Feeling her trembling as much as hearing it in her voice, Steve didn't even bother to ask first, just bent slightly and scooped her up in a bridal carry (easy, since she already had her arms around his neck). Remembering at the last second that he'd originally started making sandwiches for her as well as himself, he just pushed the knife off the cutting board and grabbed the whole thing with the hand he had wrapped around her legs. His arm still braced under her legs, Steve turned and made his way over to the couch. He bent at the knees so not to displace Rogue, set the cutting board on the coffee table (beside the ashtray he'd forgotten to put out of sight, damn), then just sat down on the couch, keeping her in his arms, now nestled like a child after a nightmare.

He'd give her a few more minutes, then suggest she eat something. He knew how tears could take it out of you, both emotionally and physically, and she'd already been hungry before this had even started. She didn't look sickly-thin, but Steve came from a time before 'heroin-chic' had ever been a thing, and─not that he'd ever tell Rogue this─personally he preferred women with a little more curve than was fashionable nowadays. He thought she was beautiful, and always would, but he certainly wouldn't complain if she managed to gain a few pounds. (Again, never something he would actually tell her─he may not know much about women, but he hadn't been born yesterday, either.)

She hadn't expected him to pick her up, but she should have, since it was entirely his style. He was taking care of her, protecting her the only way he could, and if that wasn't Steve Rogers, then she'd been completely wrong about him. Protecting people was what he did, and he didn't need a shield to do it.

Keeping her arms tight around his neck, she only distantly noticed that he did something behind her, picked up something and took it with them to the couch. It wasn't until she was safely in his arms on his lap that she began to really relax, letting her muscles loosen so maybe she could stop shaking quite so much. After a short while of just sitting there, breathing and holding on to him, she said very softly, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to lose it like that." Her throat ached from all the crying she'd just done, and there was a distinctive croak to her whisper.

Rogue certainly wasn't wrong about him. He wanted to do anything, everything, he could for her. He wanted to help fix the problem, but he knew this wasn't the sort of thing you threw your fists or even your shield at (it would be much simpler if that was all he had to do); all he could do was be there for her, try to comfort her, and let her know that no matter how she felt, what she thought of herself, he thought she was perfect.

Steve continued to just hold her, the hand around her back reaching up past her shoulder to soothe over her hair, holding her head gently against his shoulder. He listened as her breathing slowed and evened out, and clearly heard her whisper, and the rasp to her voice. "Darling," he murmured, "it's no problem. I think... it was probably long overdue." He knew, if you kept a lid on emotions as volatile as that, they built until they exploded, usually when you least wanted them to. Rogue, as he was learning, was someone who seemed to try to control her emotions all the time ─ while he didn't know what she did when she was alone, she didn't seem the type of person to let things out to relieve all that internal pressure. He'd probably been wreaking havoc on her emotions, and all he ever wanted to do was make her happy. Witness him trying to do something kind and complimentary, like give her flowers, and her reaction. Not to mention this latest fiasco.

Still. He wasn't going to stop, just because it made her cry. "'Tears are holy water,'" he said, soft and gentle and distant, remembering his own mother speaking those same words, as she soothed him after his crying bouts, or sometimes even her own, if he chanced upon her before she could clean herself up. His voice took on the sweet sing-song lilt of her Irish brogue as he quoted her. "'Pure and cleansing, they wash away our hurt and anger and fear; all the toxins in our soul, to leave us fresh to greet the new day.'"

Long overdue. He had no idea. She'd cried a few times in the lab, during the early days when she'd still had hope that her friends would come to save her, but after a few weeks she'd just been... numb. It was easier that way; it gave the more malicious guards and scientists less material to use against her in their taunting and daily harassment. All of them had truly hated mutants and felt righteous in their actions, and she still heard those cruel words and laughter echoing in her dreams. But now, here with Steve, there was someone who would hold her while she cried, who would remind her that she was safe and loved and would be protected, and that relief was exhausting in its strength.

It was good that he wasn't going to stop doing those little things for her, because she did need them. If his goal was to make her happy, then he'd only be able to really do so by helping her get past the trauma of her recent past. In time, he'd be able to accomplish that without even trying, but with a little effort, they'd get there sooner and with fewer emotional scars.

And then he surprised her with those beautiful words in that lovely Irish brogue, the sound of which simply took her breath away. Had that been how his mother spoke? It must have been beautiful to hear everyday. The lilt of the words warmed her inside, chasing away those lingering shadows, and she lifted her head to look at him for a moment before pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was full of pleading and need. She needed to lose herself in his touch, to be reminded of life and love and the possibility of true happiness.

Steve was hoping maybe for a smile, or at least a soft little nuzzle against his shoulder after he'd spoken; he was not expecting the passionate kiss he received. It was deep and fierce, and he thought he knew where it was coming from. All the same, he reached up to cup her cheek, slowing down the urgency, but not the passion.

"Not going anywhere," he murmured, between brushes of lips and tongues, and even a couple nips of teeth. "You're stuck with me." It felt like a code phrase, now; what he said when he knew hearing I love you or I'm never leaving you might be too overwhelming for her.

He shifted, turning her in his arms even as he moved, until Rogue was lying on the couch, his body pressed over hers, sheltering her. Moving from her mouth along her jaw, he pressed sucking kisses down her neck, using just the faintest hint of teeth along her collarbone, trying to draw her out of her head. One arm was still along her side, under her shoulder, but the other started moving up the outside of her leg, under her skirt. He didn't make it overtly intimate, letting her choose how far she wanted to let this go, but also letting her know that he had no problem going however far she wanted. If she wanted out of her own head for a while, he could certainly manage that.

Outside, he heard the faintest boom of thunder, and knew the fireworks display had started in earnest.

Stuck with him. Oh, how glad she was of that. Even after just a few short days, Steve was already the center of her universe. The mere thought of even trying to live without him made it hard to breathe, and she held him tighter because of it.

She could feel him trying to slow the urgency of their actions together, but it was still in her heart, a need to be with him, right then at that very moment. It wasn't something she could explain to him, there weren't any words that would be able to properly describe it. She didn't make it any secret how much she enjoyed each and every one of his touches, though - the way he laid over her on the couch, those kisses that made her heart race faster and faster, the brush of teeth that made her gasp with want. Her hands clutched at the fabric of his shirt, on his chest and shoulders and arms, grabbing fistfuls for a second or two and then releasing them to move her hands along those strong muscles.

But it wasn't enough. Even that hand placed so deliciously on her thigh wasn't enough.

"Steve, please," she pleaded, her voice a breathy mix of desire and eagerness. "I want you inside me. I need you inside me. Now. Please."

She just barely registered that the fireworks had started, and there, at the back of her mind, was a little bit of guilt at his missing them this year. A birthday tradition cast aside because of her. But it was only a little bit.

If Steve hadn't already been hard, Rogue's rushed, urgent words would have done it for him. He groaned, shifting back just enough that he could get his hand between them, leaning up to kiss her hungrily while he quickly undid his slacks. He was very thankful he'd foregone underwear, for just this reason. He hadn't imagined them having sex on the couch for the next round, but he also wasn't entirely surprised, considering they couldn't keep their hands off each other.

Steve pushed his pants down far enough that they wouldn't be in the way, and didn't bother with them after that; he slid his hand up Rogue's thigh again, pushing her skirt up until he found the top edge of her underwear. "Lift your hips for me," he murmured.

That hungry kiss was enthusiastically met and returned, her hands framing his face, moving to his hair, down to his shoulders. She couldn't stop touching him, and certainly couldn't keep her hands off him. She had a brief thought to be grateful for her own prescience to take a few days off from work - they weren't going to be keeping their clothes on for much of the time if the last few hours were any indication.

Rogue lifted her hips as instructed, pulling her skirt up and completely out of the way for him. Her legs were wrapped around him the second he was close enough again, urging him closer into place, her desperation coming through loud and clear in the way she tugged at him, gently but insistently.

Steve barely had her panties pulled off one leg before both of Rogue's legs were locked around him; his precarious position leaning on one arm meant the movement jarred him, making him grunt as he caught himself before his considerable bulk crushed her.

None of that mattered though, because he could feel the heat of her, even through the urgency that was sweeping over him as well. Remembering the (somewhat embarrassing, but only because it had had to be explained to him in the first place) conversation about being ready, Steve reached down, running his fingers along her slit; she was either still wet from earlier, or wet again, but either way, obviously this wasn't going to be an issue.

Pressing forward, Steve guided his cock inside her, trying to be gentle and give her a little time to adjust, while also moving as quickly as possible until he was seated fully inside her, groins pressed flush together.

She was perhaps a little too eager, making him lose his balance like that, but she really couldn't bring herself to care. He was meeting her intensity and had ceased those silly efforts at slowing things down, so clearly he didn't see it as an issue.

When his fingers touched her, she trembled in anticipation and let out a sound akin to a whimper. Thank goodness he didn't make her wait for him, she wouldn't have been able to survive it. A gasping moan was pulled from her throat as he filled her, giving her that feeling of being whole and complete that she'd never realized she'd been missing.

Rogue pulled Steve to her for a bruising, claiming kiss, meant to convey that he was hers and she was his, and nothing and no one was going to get in the way of that. It hadn't been more than a few seconds of him pressed against her, so considerately giving her time to get used to the size of him, before she started moving her hips, trying to create that sweet friction they'd enjoyed earlier.

It was Steve's turn to whimper, unable to keep up the kiss as Rogue started moving beneath him, the onslaught of sensation narrowing his focus to the way their bodies slid together. The last time had been intense, but it had been slow and full of discovery, for both of them. This was filled with need, fraught with urgency which made it so much more than before.

Steve turned his head, pressing his face against hers in a sort of nuzzle, pressing uncoordinated kisses along her temple and ear, until he reached the soft spot just below her jaw, latching on and sucking a bruising kiss into her skin. His hips began snapping forward, in a quick, shallow rhythm to match Rogue's, grinding against her briefly before pulling back and sinking back into her amazing heat. His hands were restless, roaming over her sides, over her back, hampered slightly by the dress still firmly attached to her upper body, but it just added a little to the thrill of it all, making it feel more illicit and urgent.

Every breath Rogue pulled in was a gasp, released in a moan. Her hands were just as restless as his, clutching at him and urging him closer. The sound of the fireworks was still there in the distance, and had she had any thoughts to spare, she would have been grateful that most of his neighbors were likely out at the moment - she was not at all quiet in her increasing passion and appreciation for the way he was moving within her. And that bruising kiss under her jaw, there was a thrill in that for her too; she'd never had a hickey before.

It was such a turn-on to her for them to still be partially clothed, but with no barriers between their most sensitive parts. Her experience with sex before Steve had always involved carefully placed clothing, silk, or other protective layers, to ensure Remy made it out of their encounter alive. So it was familiar for them to still be somewhat covered now, but maddeningly delicious for it to not be at all necessary.

She tried to move even more beneath Steve, coaxing him to move faster, to make her feel more. If she'd been able to catch her breath, she would have tried to tell him so.

It was always in the back of Steve's mind that he needed to be careful, even in the midst of passion. Rogue was, for all intents and purposes, human, and Steve had super strength. He understood the difference between a pleasant ache, and real pain, but it was so easy for him to misjudge, and tip the scale from the one to the other. He'd broken a couple doorknobs before he'd learned just how much strength he had to use for things (answer: barely any), and once he'd tried turning on a faucet and the handle had stuck, and he'd ended up breaking the whole fixture trying to loosen it. He didn't want to bruise her; not least of which because... well, he didn't want her to be really sore at all, but selfishly, he didn't want her to be sore when they inevitably wanted to do this again.

Trying to give Rogue what she seemed to want, what they both wanted, really, while still maintaining some control, Steve moved one of his hands down to cup her bottom, pulling her hips up slightly and lengthening his strokes before driving back into her. With the change in the angle of her body, Steve lost his spot on her neck, but he just moved down along her throat, nipping and sucking and scraping his teeth lightly along her skin, pausing at her collarbone; it was there, pale and prominent and just wanting for attention.

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