Lessons in Rule Breaking and Other Reader-Inserts*Steve Rogers*Reader*

Grease and Pearls - Pt. 2/3

Now, he reluctantly handed the potential gift, unsure- what had he been thinking, she was used to a whole different kind of gifts, expensive ones, pearls, dresses, hats-

Her breath hitched, her lips parting in what he could only hope was awe.

Her gaze trailed over the drawing, paying attention to every detail, tender fingers hovering above it, afraid to touch and smear. Her intense inspection made Steve shift uncomfortably.

Or maybe she thought it was too much? Did she find it creepy? They had never talked about him drawing her and he put all the care he was capable of into capturing her face, the top of her sunflower dress-

"Oh my God, Steve," she whispered, barely audible, never tearing her gaze away from the paper. "This is... this is beautiful. Absolutely stunning. When you said you wanted to go to art school at some point-"

He felt a rush of pride, dimmed by the sudden embarrassment at her praise. "I mean, it's not perfect-"

"Do not dare to criticize this piece of art!"

"Uhm-"

Her head finally turned back to him, an amazed smile on her face. "You would really give this to me?"

Screw it, he could do thousands of more and he wouldn't keep a single one of them if it meant she would look at him like this again.

"It's all yours if ya' want," he assured her, causing her smile to literally glow.

Shit, didn't she light up the whole room, the whole apartment. He would keep her there for fucking forever if he could, making her smile, giggle, moan and kept her coming apart all day.

Clearing his throat, cursing himself for the stray thought that set his whole body on fire, he rose to his full height, desperately trying to distract himself with literally anything that wasn't her mouth, the bare skin of her shoulders, the swell of her breasts, or her legs in those stupid delicious stockings.

He needed to cool the fuck off – and he could sing when he realized how dry his mouth became, giving him a great excuse to think about something different than the woman he wanted to pin to the mattress of his bed and fuck like there was no tomorrow.

"Uh, sorry, I didn't even offer you anything," he blurted out, making his way to the kitchenette, pouring himself a glass of water, taking one for her too.

She watched him intently as she set the sketch carefully on the top of the book in the open drawer, teeth sunk in her lower lip.

And Lord have mercy, did Steve want to liberate that lip with his own teeth. And maybe he could – the problem was that once he'd touch her, he might not be able to stop.

Her eyes were still following him as he placed the glass on the nightstand. "Can I get you anyth-"

"Steve, I want to make love with you."

Steve nearly dropped the glass in his hand, breath knocked out of him with one simple sentence.

"What?!" he choked out, his voice coming out strangled and fuck, sue him, his dick felt about the same, because hearing her say the words—the images that flooded his mind were—a lot. Too much.

He looked at her with wide eyes, his mouth once again dry as Sahara desert, and she was still chewing on her red lip and- she breathed in shakily, breasts rising with the inhale, her cheeks burning, eyes casted downwards.

"I want you to make love to me."

Steve gulped, honestly wanting nothing but to do exactly that. Maybe even less lovin' and more fu—later.