Alright, lovelies, this is the next installment. Do enjoy.
August woke snuggled deep into the covers next to a dwindling fire, the cold frosting against her nose and cheeks. With a groan, she pulled the blanket up over the lower half of her face, eyes squinting in the darkness. The snow around the house was slowly melting and she could see a sliver of sunlight peeking through the very top of the windows. Turning onto her back, August rubbed at her temple, thinking that they needed to make an attempt to dig out soon. Supplies were running low, dry food and tea all that was left in the cupboards.
Next to her, she both heard and felt Steve stir. He'd tucked her in the previous night without so much as a good night kiss. To say that August was confused would be an understatement. After their conversation, he had looked determined, thoughtful. But he hadn't touched her further, engaging in small talk and refilling her tea. Of course, she hadn't made any attempts to pick up where they left off in the living room floor. It occurred to her that she might be sending mixed signals.
With a little turn of her head, August caught the ends of Steve's hair sticking up over the hem of the blanket. The blonde glinted a little bit despite the darkness. She smiled to no one in particular, settling down on her side to take in the quiet moment. There were very precious few in her life, though her work over the last year had been surprisingly adept at providing them far more often than in the past. She had to fight the urge to sigh wistfully—August just didn't sigh wistfully.
After a moment, Steve stirred, the bundle of blankets shifting with the movement. August debated on whether or not she would pretend to still be asleep when he finally poked his head out of the mass of covers. In the end, she settled for something in between, allowing her eyelids to droop a little and her body to relax into the mattress.
Hair a mess, Steve stretched next to her, his arms rising up towards the ceiling. He glanced to the side, catching August's curious gaze.
"Morning," he said, voice scratching against his throat.
August nodded, pulling her fists up beneath her chin and tucking her ankles up near her thighs.
Steve blinked until his vision looked clear, his eyes scanning the room quickly in what she assumed was an assessment for potential danger. Then, apparently feeling that they were safe, he reached over and slipped his hand beneath the blankets and around her hips. In a concerted motion, he had her hauled up so that the foot and a half between them was next to nothing. August dipped her head down and hid her smile in the fabric of his t shirt.
"Sleep well?" he asked lightly.
August shrugged, "About as good as any night."
She felt him nod and they lapsed into silence. August had nothing to say to fill the gap in conversation and Steve seemed content to simply let them lie there in the dim light. Eventually, August relaxed enough that she slipped back into sleep, waking much later to an empty bed. The shower was running and she could smell the very last bit of coffee left in the tin brewing. Rising, August pulled one of the blankets around her shoulders and hustled over to fill a cup, hugging the warm mug to her chest as she tip toed back to the fire.
Setting the mug aside for a moment, August reached out and grabbed a fire poker, stoking the fire a bit until the embers flared. Carefully, she added a bit of kindling, letting it burn some before adding a log. Her coffee was cool enough to drink by the time the task was finished and she huddled beneath the circle of covers while she sipped at it. The caffeine hit her immediately, waking her from the fog of morning. August knew that she would need energy to help Steve dig a path out of the house, the cold more than a little daunting.
The shower stopped and August folded her legs beneath her while she waited for Steve to emerge. She sipped at the still hot, weak coffee, wishing that she'd put a little more sugar in it and staring into the slowly growing fire. The door to the bedroom opened and August spared him a glance as he emerged. Damp and hair still dripping, Steve reminded her yet again why he was such a hot commodity for the television circuit. She dropped her gaze to the mug, listening as he made his own coffee and ambled over. Sitting next to her, Steve lifted the mounds of blankets, letting in the cool air. August hissed and sent him a glare, digging deeper into her hovel.
"We should try to dig out today," Steve murmured, settling so that his thigh pressed against her hip.
August nodded, "I was thinking the same thing. I don't much like the thought of eating beans and old coffee grounds for dinner tonight."
He chuckled and the sound echoed in her ribs. She fought the urge to shift away, knowing that if she was going to prove to him that she was ready to be intimate, she would have to allow for intimate gestures.
Steve rolled his shoulder, "Do you think you could…"
August lifted a brow, indicating that he needed to continue.
"Work your magic, like before?"
She smiled, holding the mug to her chest and enjoying the warmth as it seeped from the ceramic into her skin.
"I could, a little," she began. "Magic like that, like I did before, is… difficult. Makes ya tired real quick."
He gave her a sidelong glance, "Is it dangerous?"
"Can be," August replied. "If I do a lot of major spells all in a row I can get, you know, drained and the like."
"Oh," he intoned, mug rising to his lips.
She leaned a little on his shoulder, giving him a shove, "I know my limits, Cap. Don't worry."
"I'm not worried," was the retort.
Scoffing, August sneered, "I can smell your worry."
Steve simply shrugged in return and a silence fell between them for a second time. August, wired on the caffeine, set the mug to the side and stood.
"Let me get cleaned up and we'll make an attempt at escapin', alright?"
He let her go, saying nothing. August showered and dressed as warmly as she could, layering several sweatshirts and long johns atop one another until she felt bundled up enough to face the snow. She pulled on a pair of threadbare gloves and a knitted hat. When she entered the living room once again, Steve was dressed in similar layers, his leather jacket stretched tightly over the fabric.
"Ready?" She asked with what she hoped was a friendly smile.
Steve's gaze hardened with determination, "Yeah."
The kitchen door opened easily to a wall of snow that was just starting to melt. August touched it gingerly, noting that it was packed down with its own weight. Steve handed her a large spatula from the kitchen, a bucket in his other hand. They took turns, digging at the snow, dumping the contents into the bathtub to melt. After a quarter of an hour had passed, they had dug out a hold big enough to be climbed through. Steve hoisted August upwards and she scrambled into the light, his hands slipping from her hips to her ass.
She might have made a quip about copping a feel, but she was distracted by the fact that there was little recognizable about the layout of the land. In a hundred foot circle, nothing survived. No trees were left standing. No rocks or other landmarks could be found. If August hadn't sent out the protection spell, the house wouldn't even still be standing. Her gaze widened to include the surrounding area, unable to find the source of the avalanche. Examining the mountainside, she discovered that the mass of darkness was nowhere to be seen, the feeling of doom having dissipated. August thought that her enemy might have decided that she'd died in the attack, but it made no sense that she wouldn't be checked on, wouldn't be confirmed as a carcass rotting in the aftermath.
A soft call from below brought her back to the present and August worked with Steve to dig a larger hole through the ice, reaching down to help him to the surface. He turned in a circle, hands on his hips as he took everything in. She caught a sadness in his expression.
"My bike," he said softly.
August's eyebrows lifted in realization, her hand already at his shoulder to offer a little bit of comfort, "I'm sorry, Steve."
He glanced at her, "It's nothing. I'll get another."
She shook her head, "You liked that one. I could tell."
Shrugging, Steve ran a hand through his hair and turned his attention to the front door.
"Think we can get in and out of that pretty easily?"
August nodded, "Yeah, I think so."
"Good," Steve replied shortly, already moving towards the path to town. "Let's get some food."
Watching him stride away, August caught the slight downward turn of his shoulders and knew that he was bottling up his frustration. Typical man—denying it until the problem formed an ulcer in his belly. She squinted at his back, stepping forward carefully, silently. Leaning down, she gathered a bit of snow in her gloves hands, packing it lightly. Then, with a little turn of her elbow, she lobbed it at the back of his head, a grin forming on her mouth when the blow hit home.
He turned in a sharp motion, eyes wide with surprise. August smirked at him, leaning down to gather more snow. Catching on, Steve move quickly, firing off the first round within seconds. She ducked, the icy ball glancing off her cheek. They took turns trading snowballs, moving steadily down the path towards town until August was running full tilt along the path, Steve hurling them at her with precise hits.
As expected, he tackled her to the ground, rolling them so that she landed a little more softly than she otherwise would. August laughed loudly, her screams intensifying as snow was shoved mercilessly into the space between her hair and her coat. With a girlish squeal, she pushed her fingers into her skin, scraping it away even as she kicked at Steve playfully. Unabashed, he waited for her to right herself, both lying on their backs in the middle of the pathway.
"You should do that more often," he commented after a moment.
"What?" August asked, breathless.
"Laugh." He seemed to shrug a little, the motion muted by the heavy layers, "You should laugh more often."
A little offended, she countered, "I laugh."
His expression was sardonic, "Not like that, you don't."
With a little huff, August pushed to standing, dusting off her pants and jacket. Steve mirrored her action and they were soon making their way down the last hill into town. August resisted the urge to continue their snowball fight, knowing that they had to focus on getting to the grocery store and making their way back to the house before the sun started to go down. The days were short and the clouds were only dimming that already diminutive light. As an afterthought, August made a sharp turn to the right and headed down the side street to the bookstore, knowing that she had to explain why she'd been absent the last few days.
Mr. Jones sat at the front desk, paper shielding his face, when August walked in, the little bell pinging above her head.
"I got snowed in," she called out, not deigning to give an introduction for the man following her.
The paper flicked downwards along the half-fold, Mr. Jones' eyes cool, but not accusing. He spared Steve an assessing glance before returning his attention to August.
"There wasn't any snow."
August smiled, "Small avalanche. Buried us up to the roof."
His pause was long enough that August knew he was debating her sincerity.
She sighed, waving at Steve, "Tell him."
Steve leveled a confident look at her boss, "It's true. A small avalanche just hit the house. We were just able to dig out this morning."
Mr. Jones folded the paper methodically and August could tell that he was buying time to gather his thoughts about August showing up having missed a shift with a strange man. He dropped the paper to the desk and pressed a palm atop it.
"Alright. I'll give you two more days to set things to right. You'll pick up your regular hours on Wednesday."
August was, quite frankly, surprised. She fully expected that he would demand that she pick up her shifts immediately to make up for the time she had been absent. To give her extra time when she was already behind was nearly unthinkable. August bowed her head a little respectfully, unable to vocalize her gratitude. Mr. Jones took it in stride, his eyes already moving away from her to pin Steve to his spot near the door.
"I am Mr. Jones," he said, holding out his hand, "And you are?"
"Steve Rogers," the Cap said immediately, taking the man's hand. "I'm helping August remodel the house."
August's brows rose and she hid the motion behind the fall of her hair. She turned her head to the side a little as she schooled her expression.
"Used to do a bit of that, myself," Mr. Jones replied, hands resting at his hips.
"Really?" Steve inquired and August couldn't tell if he was just humoring the man or if he were sincerely interested.
She left them for a moment to talk, acquiring a warm cup of coffee to heat her hands and body so that she could face the elements once more. When she returned, Mr. Jones was showing Steve something in a large hardbound book at the front desk. Steve was nodding, pointing things out and asking questions. August had an odd feeling that, if she left them alone long enough, her presence would go completely unnoticed. She didn't know if that was a good or bad feeling.
"We've got to get to the store," she butted in, rather rudely. "Need supplies an' all."
Mr. Jones looked up from his task and August was silenced almost immediately. She felt very much like an unruly child interrupting the business of grown adults. He said nothing, though, leaning away from the book and closing it. She dropped her gaze to the floor, clearing her throat.
Steve smiled amiably, "We really should be going."
Mr. Jones nodded, "I'll see you in two days." Then, "You got a phone up there?"
"A satellite phone," Steve said before August could reply.
Reaching down, Mr. Jones grabbed a pen and wrote quickly on a post it, "Anything goes wrong, you give me a call."
August blinked at him, "Thank you."
Mr. Jones gave no answer, shoving the post it at Steve as if it were on fire. Her friend folded the little note once down the length and slipped it into his jeans pocket. Then, he was glancing at August, asking her without words if she was ready to go.
"Yeah, so," August murmured, sending Mr. Jones a nod. "I'll see you Wednesday."
Mr. Jones grunted a little, "I'll have a new order ready for cataloguing."
"Book club?"
He nodded.
"I can't wait," she said as she passed through the door, Steve at her back.
In the cold, August burrowed deeper into her jacket and hustled towards the grocery store. Once inside, she stomped her feet to get the excess snow off her shoes and headed for the carts. They filled up on dry goods, cans, juice, bread, and chocolate. Steve sent her a baleful look when she grabbed the Oreos, but August wasn't going to pay him any mind. She dumped the package into the cart and sauntered away with a little hop in her step.
At the check out, Steve slid the Shield company card through the card reader without so much as blinking and then they were hoisting bags onto their arms. August swung them a little as they headed for the highway and up the path to the mountain. The way up was decidedly less fun than the way down, the weight of their groceries slowing their pace. By the time the snow covered roof of the house began to appear, August was ashamed to say that she was beginning to run out of energy. She hustled the last hundred feet, shoving the bags down the little slide of snow and following them feet first. A little finagling had the door open and August fell inside, landing hard on her knees.
"Shit, don't do what I just did," she called back, pulling the bags out of the way so Steve could get inside.
"Wasn't planning on it," he replied wryly.
And then he was sliding in, graceful as a muscle bound dancer. August immediately wanted to punch him, even as he took the initiative to put the groceries in their proper place. For her part, she worked on getting the fire going and warming her hands over the flames. Out of the corner of her eye, August watched Steve put the groceries away, her body slowly reaching a comfortable temperature. She pulled off her gloves and flexed her frigid fingers. The digits were red and looked a little blistered, the nails white with the constricted blood flow.
"Are you hungry?" Steve asked, shrugging out of his jacket.
August pivoted on the balls of her feet, rising from her crouched position. "Ah, I could eat."
He tossed his jacket aside and rolled up the sleeves of his sweat shirt, reaching over to turn one of the knobs on the ancient stove. August pulled her heavy sweatshirt off, tugging at the waistband of her jeans so that the worn material rested more comfortably over her thighs.
"What are you thinking of cooking?" She asked, her eyes following the movements of his body as he grabbed a large pan from the cupboard. She watched him cut up an onion, a red pepper, and grab a few eggs from the fridge.
"Omelets," August guessed. "Breakfast for dinner."
Steve smiled, "Breakfast is what I'm good at."
Returning his smile, August folded her arms across her chest and leaned a hip against the counter, "We used to do that at school when I was a kid. Once a month we would run to the cafeteria for mushy eggs and hash browns. Still ain't had nothin' like it." August cleared her throat as she realized her drawl had deepened with the fond memories.
He nodded, "Our school food was… hardly food."
"Yeah," August agreed, eyes dropping to the floor, "But I still remember that I liked it."
The eggs cracked between his fingers, frying in the pan as he added milk and tossed them with a spatula.
"Guess the taste buds aren't so developed in kids," he offered by way of explanation.
She shrugged, watching him add little bits of onion and peppers, "Guess so."
When she reached down to grab at a little piece of cut up bacon, he swatted at her with the spatula, catching the inside of her wrist. She hissed, hip checking him and, with quick reflexes, snapped a little cube up and popped it into her mouth. With a victorious grin, August danced around his returning swat with the spatula, tip toeing to the couch while she waited for him to finish plating the food.
Plate held in each hand, Steve dropped down next to her on the couch, handing August her serving. She took it gingerly, cradling the hot plate to her chest as she forked a bite into her mouth. To her surprise, the eggs were cooked just right, the flavors mixing together in a way that no one overpowered the rest. August made a little noise of contentment, focusing on cutting up little bite sized bits and getting more of the fluffy little morsels into her mouth.
Steve slowed, eyes watching her carefully, fork hanging in mid air. August paused, lifting her brows.
"What?"
He took more than a long moment to answer, plate and fork lowering to his lap. August felt her body tense as she waited for his reply, the omelet cooling on the tine of her fork. She swallowed down the bite at the back of her tongue, breath stalling a little in her lungs. He was looking at her with an expression she couldn't quite place, intensely focused and anticipatory.
"You enjoy food," he finally said.
August smiled a little, "Doesn't everyone."
Shaking his head, he set his plate aside, "No. Not like that. You're eating like it's your last meal."
She tilted her head to the side, her smile fading, "You know, I had a lot of meals that I thought were my last. I didn't eat them like this."
Steve blinked at her, brows creasing ever so slightly as he thought. She tapped her fork on the plate, spearing the last bit of eggs and pulling the tine through her lips. With the plate empty, August, too, set it aside and looked at her companion. She reached out and patted his hand, thinking that he probably thought she might need comfort.
"Let's talk about something else," she offered, giving him the out.
He gave a curt nod, "You ever go to a baseball game?"
She laughed lowly, "Yeah. Once."
Keen eyes caught her wincing expression, "Not a good memory."
With a wry turn of her mouth, August said, "I got hit by a foul ball."
His laugh was loud in the silence of the room, August's face reddening in direct proportion to the number of guffaws. Embarrassed, she pulled one of the pillows from behind her back and swatted at him three times in quick succession, knowing that the hits wouldn't do any damage. He only laughed harder, his hands grasping at his middle. She hit him again, throwing the pillow at him.
Steve caught it, "I'm sorry."
"No you're not," August replied, pouting just a little.
The red of her cheeks were still burning as Steve set the pillow between them, reaching over to pull her into a hug.
"I'm sorry, August. I didn't mean to laugh at your pain."
August sniffed into his shoulder, her hands caught between their bodies. "Totally did. S'ok. I'll laugh at you later."
"I look forward to it," he said, the sound rumbling against her palms.
August allowed herself to smile. She relaxed into the embrace just enough that they were laying along the length of the couch, feet tucked together into the crease where the arm met the body. The sound of the fire crackled from across the distance and she could almost call the moment romantic. Her brows furrowed as she wondered if this had been contrived on Steve's part, an attempt to help himself feel good about sleeping with her. August sighed.
"Relax, August," Steve whispered, hands rested at the small of her back. "Just relax."
She wrinkled her nose, "I am relaxed."
He chuckled, "I can hear you thinking."
"I'm always thinking," August countered, feeling his heart beating against her collarbone.
She could hear the smile in his voice, "You think a lot for a crazy person."
Stunned, August lifted her head and stared at him, "You think I'm crazy."
"August," he intoned, "You were covered in blood and bits of meat the first time I saw you. Everyone thinks you're crazy."
Eyes cast down, August rubbed at the skin behind her ear, "Reckon I made a lasting first impression."
"That you did," he answered, pulling her back down to rest against his chest. "You definitely did."
Later, when August yawned for the fourth time, Steve ushered her into bed, tucking the blankets around her body until she was breathing deeply with contentment. Then, he slid right in alongside her, arm slung over her waist. The last thing she remembered thinking was that this was the first time since before she left her parents that she'd been held as she fell asleep. Her mother used to lay with her, rubbing her back and humming. Now, Steve was nosing at the back of her neck, sighing.
August woke the next morning feeling just a little too warm, her brain struggling to catch up with the fact that she was now draped across Steve chest. Her fingers were gripping his t shirt, her feet curled behind her. The sun slipped into the room, a thin shaft of light slowly tracing the ceiling towards the wall. August fought with herself, debating on whether or not she wanted to move. Moving might wake her bedmate, not moving might give her a cramp. Decisions.
Steve woke slowly, his body curling around her, arms circling her waist protectively. August waited for him to come to consciousness, his breaths deepening. When she could feel him looking down at her, August craned her neck, blinking slowly up at Steve's not at all surprised face.
"Morning," he greeted, voice low and somehow intimate.
August dropped her head back to his chest, "Morning."
"Sleep well?"
She shrugged, "Pretty good."
He hummed, the sound rumbling against August's arms and chest, forcing an unwanted sigh from her lungs. August made no effort to conceal it, spreading her fingers out over his abs, the material of his shirt ruffling. They lay like that until the sun dropped down to the wall and began the descent to the mantle of the fireplace. She was warm. She was content. And, for the first time since before she was put on trial, August could really say that she was completely relaxed, satisfied, and happy.
The feeling hit her rather strangely, her instinct to be repulsed by the comfort and to draw herself back into a little ball of arsenic coated cynicism. But, she was so incredibly tired and being a cynic was slowly wearing her out. Where before she had been tired of fighting the good fight against evil, now August had begun to feel tired of holding up her defenses so high against the tide of people who wanted to break them down. This comfort was somehow easier now than the layer of protection that had swelled against her until she was suffocating. And now she was being melodramatic.
August shook herself physically, pushing to sitting and combing the hair from her face with her fingers. She stretched, feeling Steve sit up next to her, a warm palm resting at the small of her back. August glanced over her shoulder and smiled a little, feeling an uncharacteristic blush rise to her cheeks when he returned her smile with a look that left no question as to the train of his thoughts. He leaned over and placed a kiss on her shoulder before standing and ambling to the bedroom.
Taking the moment to collect her thoughts, August rose and made her way to the kitchen and began the morning ritual of cooking breakfast. They had some frozen hash browns in the freezer and she could use some of the leftover ham and eggs to make a casserole. August wasn't as gifted in the kitchen as Claire or Camilla, but years of making do had given her the ability to make something good out of very little. As she was pushing the dish into the preheated oven, August heard Steve leave the bedroom fresh from his shower.
He watched her close the over and set the dish towel to the side before pouring him a cup of coffee. She didn't know how he liked it, but she figured a little milk and sugar wouldn't be turned down. August took a sip from her own mug, wondering why he wasn't drinking.
"Don't like milk?" She asked, brows raised.
Steve's expression wasn't exactly stoic, but August had a hard time reading it. He simply held the mug with one hand, his other hanging loosely at his side. She made a noise of discontent, setting down her mug and reaching for his, her fingers brushing the ceramic before he pulled it away.
"Come on," she called out. "If you don' like it, I can make more."
Shaking his head, Steve reached behind her to place the coffee on the counter, the movement of his body caging her against the cabinets at her hips. August looked up at him expectedly, with not a little challenge in her expression. He caught the little smirk on her mouth and his eyes darkened in a way that had August's heart pounding. Leaning down, Steve kissed her softly.
August would have smiled if her mouth wasn't so busy pressing against his again and again, her tongue darting out a little to trace a path over the inner lower lip. Steve deepened the kiss, hands gripping her hips and pressing her back to the counter. His thumbs circled her hipbones, slipping beneath the waistband of her sweatpants. August, for her part, kept her hands to herself, resting them against his stomach and feeling the muscles move sensuously.
He moved downwards, dropping down the column of her neck until he was tugging at the neckline of her shirt, tongue tracing over the swell of her breast. August hissed in a breath when he bit at the skin softly, scraping his teeth gently. His hands moved to her shoulder blades, holding her still while he worked his way up her neck to resume his ministrations on her mouth. Without hesitation, he explored her, tongue touching confidently.
August ran her hands up the length of his chest, burying them in his hair and holding him close. His skin was still a little damp and she could smell the soap he'd used in the shower. The body pressed against her was warm, solid, real, and was working hard at arousing her greatly. She arched backwards when he grasped her ass, pulling her securely so that he could tilt his hips against her. He groaned softly, the kiss slowing.
Slowly, but with no less confidence then he'd displayed since their encounter started, Steve drew her shirt up and cupped her breasts, thumbs circling around her nipples. August smiled dangerously, her shoulders canting back as she let him look, let him play. Though small, her chest had always been a fascination for the men she'd dated in the early years right after puberty. She reckoned that this was the case for most men, however, but still allowed the brief moment of pleasure.
Steve kissed her again, the intensity bumping up a notch, the movements becoming less precise, sloppier. August held on to his shoulders as he gripped the back of her neck, his free had trailing down her stomach to dip into her underwear. She gave a high pitched noise as he ran two fingers through her folds, gathering moisture and applying just the right kind of pressure. He circled rhythmically, drawing more sighs and low moans from her throat as she fought to remain standing. Her knees wanted to give out and her chest wanted to burst with the need for air and August couldn't force a single coherent thought through the brain that had suddenly turned to mush in her skull.
Without preamble, he fit the two circling fingertips into her, stretching the skin very slightly. August dug her nails into his biceps, stepping her feet out wider to accommodate him. He pressed deeper, curling forward so that with every thrust he sent her just a little higher. They'd stopped kissing, forehead pressed together and breaths mingling. August flexed her hands, eyes closed so tight that she could see little specks of light in the darkness.
The crest of her orgasm was a relief as much as it was inundated with pleasure. She gave a tiny grunt followed by a soft, mewling moan. When she was finally able to open her eyes, she could see the white of Steve's teeth, his smile indulgent. He slid his hand away, arms helping her remain standing. August swallowed and gave a nod, though she had no idea why.
"Okay," she breathed. "Okay."
Steve pressed a kiss to her forehead, saying, "I'm going to go for a run."
August watched him go with a slack jaw, her body still pulsing with the aftershocks. She stood for a long time, until the timer on the oven went off, breaking her thought process. As she pulled the casserole from the oven, August wondered if it were possible to run efficiently with an erection.
Reviews=Love, my darlings.