You still can't believe your ears, several hours after that harrowing - albeit heartwarming - admission on his part. You're not sure why he has chosen to want you, or even if he did choose. You know you hadn't prepared to fall for such an immaculate man, and now that he has admitted his attraction to you, you're less sure than ever of what will befall the pair of you with the air far from cleared.

The two of you sit in silence as you are on the road again. The car seems so much smaller, so constricting that you feel your throat close from the anxiety of it all. Your heart hasn't stopped pounding and your hands haven't ceased shaking since he ended your night-long conversation with his heartbreaking words, and you're not sure that they ever will.

Steve glances over at you, you notice out of the corner of your eye, but he says nothing as his eyes continue to be on the road. You're driving right now, thank God, so it's difficult for him to see your shaky hands, but you can guarantee that your white-knuckled, two handed grip on the steering wheel is telling.

I can't breathe... you think to yourself as you crack your window slightly to let in a bit of the air rushing by. You're only driving at a speed of 35 miles per hour, the unfortunate speed limit that has been countrywide since the war began, though the government hasn't yet seen fit to release that hold yet. Still, the heat outdoors with a fresh, dry breeze is enough to give your rigidity some release.

Then Steve breaks said tension.

Your hazel eyes remain locked on the road ahead, and you feel it. His warm, broad hand stretches across one of yours where it is locked on the wheel. Your eyes flicker over to see him looking at you with sympathetic warmth, and your heart melts. The moment his skin touches yours, your white-knuckled grip softens and he tucks his fingers through yours, threading them together as if there was no other option, as if this was where his fingers were meant to be. You feel your brows slant from the affectionate gesture you have allowed, and your hand falls with his to the space between the material of your skirt and that of his trousers.

You can hardly believe it has taken the pair of you this long to get to this point, but here you are. Your eyes notice that his fingers hold yours in a steadfast manner as if to tell you that he is there for you, that he will always be here with you, and your body finally begins to relax.

Your fingers have been limp inside of his for a few moments, but now you tighten your grip around them, pressing your skin back into his as you feel his palm shift on the back of your hand as if to be even nearer to you.

The pair of you remains this way, hands locked together lovingly until the next stop.

::::
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Silence once again rules the day between the pair of you, and neither of you speaks a word as you head to your respective rooms. It is not too late in the evening yet, but the fact that neither of you slept last night and remained awake throughout the whole of this day means that both of you are far more exhausted than your empty stillness is saying to each other.

Steve walks you to your door and you don't know what to do, but give him a soft smile of gratitude for the chivalry before closing the door behind you and dropping your bag onto your bed.

"Wait..." you mutter aloud though you only have yourself for an audience. You find that you are missing his presence, and you quickly cross the room to your door, driven by some otherworldly force pulling you back into his magnetism.

Your heart once again pounds, this time in your ears, as you pass over patterned carpet, aware that your hands are shaking slightly and your eyes are welling with inexplicable tears, droplets that will never fall - they are merely an extention of the emotional turmoil you're feeling without him by your side. Or, better yet, touching your very skin.

Your knuckles, no longer white as they had been earlier that day, rap decidedly against the wood of his door. You are forced to wait a few painstaking moments before knocking again, this time just before he opens the door and your tremulous hand retracts to your side.

His glacial blues look at you with a gentle kind of surprise at the sight of you, and you hitch your gaze to his, unwavering regardless of how your knees suddenly match the wobbliness of your hands.

You remove your gaze from his and march past him into his room, grabbing his suitcase where it lay on his bed like yours in the next room. Leaving the room past him, you hear him close the door behind him and follow you into your room, shutting the door as you resolutely place his bag onto the adjacent bed.

Your gaze meets his once more, and this time there is an understanding, a familiarity with what you mean, even without the words to solidify it. He has correctly interpreted that you are a woman of few words, and feel especially against the wasting of words, as shown in the gesture of bringing his belongings into your room to share a space. You cannot be without him near you, not one more night, and he has perceived your meaning and seems to agree as well as he begins to move towards you.

The carpet beneath your heels now feels a bit heavy, like burying your bare feet in the wet sand of an incoming tide. The earth is shifting now, and it's bringing the pair of you together in the most hypnotic, entrancing pull.

The coolness of his admiration meets the warm invitation of yours as he reaches for your face, touching your cheek with the most tender care. It's as if you're made of glass, and he doesn't want to break you as he cups the outside of your cheek and draws his forehead down to meet yours.

For a few moments, or perhaps it was hours, the pair of you stand so close, you practically on your tiptoes to meet his forehead with yours, fingers painted with fire red pressing into the material on his shoulders. Your other hand grips the back of his neck, feeling the short hairs from his haircut, though they feel soft to the touch, as does his skin. Free of blemish.

Breaths are one, hearts beat in sync. Wordlessly, his hands grab your smaller hand and pull it to the center of his chest, pressing into the shirt there until your palm is flat against the muscles masked underneath. You feel all at once that his heart is racing, and you pull back to meet his smile with your own.

You mimic his movement, taking your free hand and taking hold of one of his as you fold his hand in between your breasts, causing him to intake a sharp breath. You flatten his hand as he had done for you, so that he may feel your own rapidity. His eyes widen, almost surprised, and you let loose a soft laugh as he, too, smiles brightly at the realization.

Taking your face within one of his hands again, he draws you back into him, this time, pressing his lips to yours in the firmest, most tender of lip-presses. You melt under the weight of his kiss, pushing your lips against his in response, suddenly wondering if you're doing this right. Is this the way Peggy once kissed him?

You shake Peggy from your thoughts. Not here. Not now. Not with your mouths meshed together in the most dreamy kiss you've ever experienced.