Warnings- Spanking, very very very very mild possible dub/con I'm not really sure but I'll throw that out there just in case. If you have read and liked my other stories, you'll be fine.
A/N- Ok, buckle up, buttercups. This has a healthy dose of angst, some fluff, and things start to heat up a bit. I can't wait to see your reactions.
Three days. Three more days of hands on foreheads, spoonfuls of soup, and pleads of "one more sip of water." Days of wet washcloths on heated skin as he bathed her body in hopes that feeling clean would bring her some measure of comfort. Watching her sleep fitfully, sweating through the sheets then shivering as chills would sweep through her body. Her temperature rising and falling but never abating. Steve had only felt this helpless once before, like hell would he let her slip out of his hands like he did.
Tomorrow, he thought, if her fever doesn't break…I'll take her in tomorrow. He tried to convince himself the reason he was reluctant to take her in was that she wouldn't want to wake up in a hospital bed surrounded by machines and not because he wanted to hold her one more night.
Gathering her close to him, she whimpered as she nuzzled into his neck. The rhythm of her shallow breathing lulling him into an uneasy rest.
Sunlight started to peek through the blinds on the window. Steve glanced at the clock. It was well after the time he normally awoke. He had slipped in and out of sleep, waking at every movement, every sound his girl made.
She had rolled away from his embrace sometime during the early hours of the morning. Reaching across the bed, Steve placed his hand on her cheek. A sigh escaped his lips as they stretched into his first smile in days. The blistering heat that had radiated from her was tempered at last.
Slowly, lifting himself off the bed, he tried his best not to disturb her. The last thing she needed was to wake up in bed next to her professor.
Opening your eyes, first one then the other, the realization that you were not in your dorm or even at your mother's slowly hit you. Sitting gingerly, you curled your knees towards you, wrapping your arms around them and leaned your forehead down, tired from such a minor change in position. Dreams of strong arms surfaced in your mind. Turning your head, you saw the bed was empty of any other occupant. You should have known it was just a dream.
The door to the bathroom swung open. You lifted your head to see Professor Rogers stepping out in the sweatpants you loved. His face sported a heavy line of scruff. His hands rubbed a towel against his wet hair vigorously, every muscle in his body flexing with each movement. You were either still dreaming or dead. The smile he gave you confirmed death.
"Professor Rogers, how long have I been sick?" you asked, your voice scratchy.
He sat down on the bed near your feet. "It's Wednesday and I think it's about time you called me Steve. How are you feeling, sweetheart?"
Your stomach flipped. You were definitely dead or hallucinating. "Tired, a bit hungry, and I'd really like to be clean."
"I can help you with all of that." He pulled back the covers and stood with his hands outstretched towards you waiting for you to take them.
Reluctantly, you let him help you, guilt at the burden you'd placed on him roiling inside you. He walked you to the bathroom and turned the shower on for you. His hands went for the hem of the shirt you wore, realizing for the first time it did not belong to you. "I've got it. Thanks," you assured him.
He smiled, "Nothing I haven't seen before." He started for the door. "I ordered you some fruity soaps and stuff, the razor in there is yours if you feel like using it. Don't feel like you have to. There's a new toothbrush by the sink. I want you back in bed when you're done." He closed the door behind him.
Shaking your head, you realized you were in Professor Roger's house, no, Steve's house, sleeping in his bed, showering in his shower, and you even had your own toiletries. At what point had you moved in?
The scalding water felt so good against your skin. Smelling the soap he had purchased, you rubbed it against your body. You froze midway through your task. Wait, you thought, what did he mean nothing he hadn't seen before? No, you realized he must have meant in general. Of course, he had seen naked women. You weren't anything special in a man who had lived lifetimes.
Minutes or maybe hours later you emerged from the shower, clean and smooth. It felt like you had scrubbed and rinsed years of layers down the drain.
Wrapped in a fluffy towel, you entered the bedroom, pausing momentarily as you noticed you weren't alone. Steve finished turning down the bed and gathered an armful of dirty sheets. Another t-shirt and some cotton shorts in your size that you had never seen before waited for you on the bed. Had he ordered you clothes too?
"You ordered me toiletries and clothes but forgot underwear?" you muttered as you lifted the items hoping to find some panties hidden under them.
"Who said I forgot?" he teased.
Your eyes widened as you watched him leave. Nothing made sense. Was he flirting with you? Of course not, but why was he being so nice? He was probably just happy you would be well enough to leave soon.
Dressing quickly, you thought briefly about climbing back in bed until the smell of breakfast wafting through the air sent your stomach into a fit of twisting growls.
Scraping the bottom of the pan, fluffing up scrambled eggs, Steve turned at the sound of bare feet padding across the floor. Frowning, he watched her sit at the table. "I thought I told you to get back in bed after your shower?"
"I've been there for, what, three days? I don't want to be in bed anymore."
He pushed a few slices of bread into the toaster and scraped the eggs onto two plates. "Now, young lady."
Her arms crossed in front of her chest. "No."
He drew himself up to his full height and glared down at her, his hand twitching as thoughts of appropriate discipline for such disobedience flashed in his mind.
"Please, Steve," she pleaded. Her eyes searched his as her lip curved in the slightest pout.
His stomach erupted into a fluttered frenzy and the sound of his name on her lips melted the tension he had just been holding in his body. He knew right then and there he could never really deny her anything she wanted. "You may lay on the couch. I want the blanket covering you."
She smiled at him and retreated to the living room. Damn. It was the first time a woman had been able to bend him to her will. Others had tried and failed. He never backed down once he had given an order. Never. He expected complete submission. Why wasn't he carrying her back to his room over his shoulder this instant?
He buttered the toast and added some fresh fruit to their plates before carrying them to the living room. He didn't usually eat anywhere but the kitchen. However, he decided that for now, he could bend a few rules since he was going to feed her breakfast in bed anyhow. He groaned at his rationalizations. He needed to regain control and fast before she figured out the power she actually had over him.
After breakfast, she napped on the couch while he wrote in his notepad. The domesticity of the scene felt so different and yet so familiar. He searched back to when he had last felt this way. It was another time, in a small apartment, long before wars and serums. He shouldn't feel this way. He had never expected it to go this far. It never had before. Never expected to feel like he was finally home.
Soft touches grazed your cheek. Turning your face into the caress, you opened your eyes to see Steve staring down at you.
"Sit up, time to eat." He tucked a napkin into your shirt as you shifted up to sitting. Handing you a bowl and a spoon, he took a seat next to you on the couch and began to eat as well.
The soup was warm and even better than you had thought in your fevered memories. "This is really good. Where did you learn to cook?"
He took the time to take another mouthful before answering. "My mother taught me. I was sick a lot as a child. She was constantly making soup."
Reflecting on what you had read about Sarah Rogers, you said, "She took really good care of you. You're very lucky."
"She did. And I was. We were all each other had after my father passed away. She always fussed over me." He paused and looked away. "She did the best she could."
You chased a carrot around the bowl with your spoon. "It must be nice to know she loved you. Not every parent does. I can't remember the last time anyone really took care of me. My mom would open a can of soup or ravioli on her way out the door and tell me to heat it up if I got hungry by the time I was seven. My dad only wrote checks my mom cashed and spent on herself."
His brow creased between his eyes. "Actually, I hated it. It reminded me of weak I was. How sick I was. How much I couldn't do for myself. I should have been more appreciative. I only wish I had gotten a chance to take care of her later on." He cleared his throat, glancing sideways at you then turned his attention back to his meal.
"I'm sorry you didn't get that chance. But thank you for taking care of me."
The rest of your meal was silent. It was weird but comforting to hear him speak to you as if you were his equal rather than his employee or his student. It was nice to be near him without the stress of school or work or Yvonne hanging over you. Just you and him. But you knew it wouldn't last. You'd be going back to the dorms soon. Then work and school would start again. And eventually, he would finish his book and you would graduate.
Placing the bowl on the coffee table in front of you, you pulled the light blanket over your shoulder and snuggled into the throw pillow leaning against the arm of the couch. Even though you'd been asleep the last few days the thought of the future wore you down as it always did. Sleep was easier than facing reality.
The sun had set and Steve knew he should carry her to bed. He argued with himself over where he should put her. He couldn't sleep with her now and the knowledge that he may never hold her like that again frustrated him.
Staring at her, his heart ached at the thought of her small and little, having to take care of herself. Alone without comfort. She should have someone there for her, to make sure she was safe and healthy. Someone who would do what was right for her. Protect her. And he wanted it to be him.
Finally, he decided he would sleep in the guest room and let her sleep in his room since she was familiar with the layout and where everything was in there. And if his sheets still smelled like her after she left then that was just a happy coincidence.
"Happy Thanksgiving," Steve said as you entered the kitchen the next morning. He looked more like a lumbar jack than a pilgrim in his red plaid shirt and jeans.
"It's Thanksgiving?" You rubbed the sleep from your eyes. You had woken up feeling more yourself than you had in weeks. Your aches and pains gone after a good night's sleep.
"Go rest on the couch." He poured you some coffee and passed you a mug. "The parade should be starting soon."
"I just woke up. I could help you in here." You looked around the kitchen taking notice of the meal preparations already underway.
"No need. Everything came cooked except the turkey. I just have to heat the rest up." He rolled his sleeves up his forearm.
"You ordered an entire Thanksgiving meal?" Why would he do that? Had he canceled plans to stay here and nurse you? "If you have other places to be, I can go back to school."
He turned on the spot. "You are staying here. I didn't cancel anything. I usually go to New York, but I wanted to stay here to work on my book. Tony ordered the meal for me, knowing I wouldn't celebrate if he didn't…or maybe Pepper did. Either way. I am thankful to have someone to share it with."
Heat spread across your face. "I'm thankful I'm not eating pb and j."
"Good. That's settled. Go drink your coffee on the couch."
"I'd be more thankful if I didn't have to sit anymore." You batted your eyes, grinning as you saw him falter.
"You are recuperating. You have reviews and finals coming up. You really want to miss out on a chance to rest?"
Glaring, you hated that he was right. You didn't want to sit and rest anymore. You wanted to do something, anything that might make you feel like less of a burden. But if you relapsed, you would be a bigger one. Not to mention rescheduling all those exams, if the professor's even let you, would be such a monumental hassle.
Sinking into your favorite corner of the couch, you turned your attention to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on the television until it was time to eat. The small feast was surprisingly intimate. He let you sit at the table this time which was set for two, candles glowing in the center of an impressive spread. The food was delicious. Turkey moist and golden brown. Potatoes creamy and swimming in gravy. Sweet potatoes adorned with little marshmallows. After days of soup, you ate until your belly distended in discomfort.
You tried to remember the last time you had an All-American Thanksgiving. It must have been years ago when your grandparents were still alive. Once your grandma was no longer around to cook the meal, your mother resorted to ordering Chinese takeout. The aromas coming from the table and songs from the screen should have evoked some sort of nostalgia but they didn't. Every year after this, you knew they would and you would long for the one holiday you spent with Steve. No one should be this close to happiness without a hope of ever sustaining it.
The meal over and dishes were done. It was time to watch football. She seemed more relaxed, maybe it was just the tryptophan. But she bantered with him about movies and music. She asked him about what he missed most about the '40s. Most people only asked what he likes best about the present assuming he should be grateful to be here.
Her smile was freely given, less shy and reserved as they talked. Her laughter at his enthusiasm for the game infectious. He was finally getting a glimpse of the woman behind the stress and anxiety. The woman that was more than just an employee and student.
Just as a pass was heading to the end zone, the picture on the screen changed to a scene of a man and woman wearing coats and scarves, sipping hot cocoa along the street of a small town.
"Noooo!" he yelled, his arms flying above his head. "What happened?" The giggling next to him clued him in. Clutched in her hands was the remote, her eyes bright with mischief. "Give it here." He reached out his hand motioning with his fingers.
"No. Football is boring." She snuggled the remote to her chest. "Hallmark is starting their Christmas movies."
"Give me the remote, little girl." She was going to have to learn that she was not in control.
"No." The corners of her mouth quirked before she schooled her face once more.
That little brat was enjoying this. She was teasing him. Two could play that game.
Steve reached across the couch before she could register what was about to happen. Grasping her wrists in one large hand, he pulled her over his lap in one fluid movement. Her forearms rested against the edge of the sofa, her knees propping her body from laying directly on him.
She tried to rise, but he kept her bent over him easily. "I'm sorry, Steve." A nervous giggle punctuated her sentence.
A dark chuckle rumbled in his throat. "Not yet. But you will be, Princess."
His free hand came down against the curve of her ass with a loud smack. His cock hardened as a gasping moan filled the space between them. Her muscles tensed as his hand traveled up her inner thigh, ghosting along the hem of her light blue cotton shorts. He felt her lean back into his hand, seeking his touch.
She shrieked as he flipped her in his arms, cradling her against his chest. Their noses almost touching.
"There is one thing you should know about me by now, sweetheart," he whispered.
Her teeth caught the bottom of her lip. Her eyes flicked momentarily to his lips.
He grasped the remote still clutched in her hands, ripping it from her grasp as he twirled her back to her corner where she landed in a disoriented sprawl. She tried to right herself but not before he glimpsed a darkening spot on the fabric between her legs giving away the arousal that gathered there.
"I'll do whatever it takes to get what I want."
Sleep had been impossible last night. Your thoughts kept drifting back to Steve's fingers on your thighs. You could have sworn as he held you against him, looking down at you, close enough to kiss that you could feel the length of hardness pressing into your back. Your body ached for more, but there was no relief to be found. As much as the idea of touching yourself in his bed aroused you, you couldn't bring yourself to do it.
You rose early, despite the frustrations, you felt good for the first time in a week. Determined not to let him keep you inactive any longer, you set about your routine like it was any workday. Coffee was brewing, pens were filled, and you were at your desk typing before he was done with his workout.
"Just what do you think you're doing?" he asked. Sweat actively dripped down his bare chest.
"I'm sitting. Still. Very still as I type. Which takes almost no physical exertion at all."
His arms crossed and it seemed like he was battling himself over whether or not he would allow it. Finally, he said, "Fine," and walked away.
Staring at his figure as he left, your thighs clenched. It had been so long since you'd had any relief. You knew you wanted more. Needed more.
Steve hadn't expected her up so early. He should have known she would try to push her boundaries. Normally, this behavior would infuriate him. He'd had women in the past ignore his attempts to regulate their lives. But they did it to make him angry to prove that he wasn't really in charge. He hadn't felt any spite or malice coming from her. She probably was just bored. She had had to work so hard for so long. Staying still was probably just as hard for her as it was for him in the long run.
Still, he would have to make sure she had a quiet day. He would allow her to work as long as that was all she did.
Typing had ceased and you read your work, moving your lips silently, searching for any typos. Would a typo be a bad thing? you pondered. It should have been a bad thing. You shouldn't crave the end result, but you did.
Stealing a glance at Steve sitting at his desk in a beige sweater and jeans, you knew he was doing his best to ignore you. He had brought you a blanket and hot tea. Made you lunch of leftovers and coaxed you into eating more than you felt you should. But other than that, he had been quiet.
You doubt he would point out any typos even if they were glaring at this point just to keep you in your constant state of convalescence. Hitting print, you waited for the pages to finish stacking on the paper tray.
Your foot started tapping as your mind fought to focus on the next chapter something you hadn't done in weeks. His head shot up and his blue eyes glowered in your direction. Staring directly at him, you brought your fingers to your mouth and proceeded to bite at your manicured nails. His nostrils flared and jaw clenched but he dipped his head back down.
Your hands dropped to your lap, fisting the hem of your shirt. The printer next to you stopped. A sly grin crept across your face. Tapping the papers into a neat stack, you laid them on your desk. Dipping the tip of your finger into the now cold tea, you ran it along the bottom edge of the mug. You set the mug on top of the freshly printed chapter, rubbing it to insure a good smear. He couldn't ignore you forever.
Crossing the few feet of distance between your desks, you placed the batch of papers on his desk waiting for him to see them. For him to finally see you.
Hand on his desk, you bent over pressing your forearms along the wood and waited. His eyes focused on the papers first, his back straightening, rigid and tense. As he sat back in his chair, his eyes darkened, his pupils dilating at the sight of you before him.
Never blinking, you maintained eye contact. Holding your breath, you waited to see what his reaction would be. Would he simply tell you to print it again? Or would he take the time to correct your mistakes?
Steve stared at the papers she set on the desk. A wet ring of tea soaking through the top pages. He had thought working would be a good thing. Give her mind something to do while her body rested. It would give them both something to focus on and help them revert to their old routine and relationship before classes resumed. But she had to push him. He did his best to let it all go. To ignore her attempts to rile him. Raising his eyes to see her ready and waiting for him was too much.
He stood and circled around her. Her shorts rode high enough to give him a peek of her backside. "Pull your shorts down."
"Wh-what?" Her weight shifted on her feet.
"You really want me to repeat myself?"
"No…sir." Her voice quavered but her hands reached back and pulled the shorts down to her knees.
How many nights had he dreamed of seeing her this way? Of taking her this way?
"You've been very bad today. I want you to tell me exactly what you've done that's been bad." He was painful hard watching her squirm, exposed to him.
Her breathing was uneven. Her fingers flexing against the desk. "I tapped my foot-"
"And what else?" He stepped closer to her, edging her feet apart a little further with his foot.
"I bit my nails." Her voice by now was breathy.
Steve leaned over her body and whispered, "And?"
"And I got tea on your chapter on purpose."
"On purpose? And just why would you do that?" He knew why. He wanted her to say it. To admit that she wanted this. That she wanted him.
"I-I-was bored." It sounded more like a question than a statement.
"You may have been bored, but that's not why you've been trying to provoke me all day. Do you know what happens to bad girls who lie?"
"What?"
"Nothing." He started to walk away.
"No! I wanted…I wanted you to, um..." She took a deep breath. "I wanted you to s-spank me." Her voice was barely audible. Her body shaking.
He turned and smiled. Triumphant over their battle of wills. "Now was that so hard?"
"Yes," she mumbled.
Steve raised his hand, bring it down in one smooth swing. Her body rocked over the edge of the desk. His palm continued it barrage never striking the same place twice until she moaned with every spank, her knees buckling slightly.
His cock strained against his pants. Unbuttoning his fly, he pulled the zipper down and freed himself from the constraints. Standing behind her, he started to stroke himself listening to her panting as she tried to catch her breath. His pace quickened, imagining how it would feel to be buried deep inside her. He grunted as his fingers worked his shaft in long strokes until his hips jerked and he came in short spurts across her back.
Tucking himself back in his pants, he pulled up her shorts and sat back down at his desk. His forehead had a light mist of sweat beading on it. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "You should go shower," he managed to say.
She stood, her eyes dazed and dreamy. Nodding, she stepped away from the room.
What had he done? He had never lost control before. Never.
What he had done was disgusting and unforgivable. He had taken this too far. She never asked for that. His career and her future were in jeopardy and for what? So he could play house with a woman who would now see him for the deviant he was. Why had he ruined everything?
Bubbles lathered over your skin; you scrubbed your back the best you could. But nothing could wash away the tender throb of your flesh. It was decadent. Every care, every worry gone. All that was left was that wonderful feeling of lightness that you craved as much as the pain.
The ending surprised you. You would be lying if you said you didn't like it. Knowing he had responded that way to you. Knowing that he may want you too. Had he taken you right then you would have died of happiness.
Leaving the bathroom, you stopped at the threshold and stared at the bed. The t-shirt and shorts you had come to expect were nowhere to be found. Instead, the clothes you had arrived in days ago laid on the bed. Washed and folded next to your purse and car keys.
Dressing quickly, you went to find Steve in the office. He was working per usual.
"Steve?" you questioned timidly.
"Professor Rogers," he corrected. "I think it's time for you to go back to school. We both have classes to get ready for. We should take the weekend to prepare."
Ignoring the stinging in your eyes the heralded tears, you asked, "You want me to leave?"
He wouldn't look at you. "I think that would be for the best."
Taking your keys and the remainder of your dignity, you left. How could one of the world's greatest heroes be such a coward?
A/N- Soooo, how are we feeling, gang? If you liked it and want more, let me know. Or if you want to curse me that's cool too. I'm really looking forward to seeing y'all's reactions to this one. lol.