Terms to Know:

Completely Cheesed - Bored to the extreme.
Eagle Day - Payday; also known as "the day the eagle shits." A reference to the American eagle that appears on some coins.
Prophylactic - Early military term for a condom.

I have chosen to keep Hermione's 'Mudblood' scar from Bellatrix that was given in the HP Movie, as a cursed scar, forever remaining on her arm. I am aware this is not canon in the books :)

Warning: Explicit Sexual Scenes

January 20th,1945 - USSR

Hermione did not speak with Howard again for some weeks.

New Year came and went with Steve, Peggy, and the Commandos laughing and smoking cigarettes with the budding new day. It was a trenchant contrast to the year before where the two scientists had spent the passing of the New Year together with several bottles of smuggled wine and slow records.

She remembered how Howard had tried to lighten the mood of Hermione's melancholy with Steve away at a Hydra base that New Year's day by finding an unbroken string of Christmas lights early in the morning and hanging them up around her personal office. He'd taken a photograph of the moment she had looked up and marveled at the lights around her work stations, and then had cracked several jokes about her being his 'best girl'. The twinkling over her desks and the infectious laugh spread across Howard's face had lifted some of the heavy negativity drowning Hermione at the time, but it left a bittersweet taste on the memory looking back now.

He did not venture out to see her, get her input on equations he was currently working through, or stop by just to chat and catch up like he used to. They would see each other at meals, or across the camp at random intervals now, silently catching the other's gaze before looking away a moment later. It always filled Hermione's gut with a clump of leaded tension where it would remain for the rest of the evening. As the days continued to pass, it only exhausted her.

She had gained a fiance but lost a dear friend.

"You nearly finished?" Peggy asked, announcing her arrival as she stooped into Hermione's small workshop tent. The morning was cold and the agent's appearance brought a small gust of the icy outside to her, however, Hermione was still quite warm. Not only had she placed warming charms around the tent, but Steve had left her not five minutes before.

They had filed their new engagement status the night before last, officially announcing to their Company and to their respective chains of command on their relationship, but this morning, Steve had asked Hermione another groundbreaking question.

"Almost," Hermione answered Peggy. "I've got the rune sequence figured out, just not the medium I want to stitch them in with."

Peggy stopped at her side, taking in the designs that Hermione had spread over her desk laid in hazardous piles. "You'll figure it out. The men bring you their uniforms?"

Hermione nodded to a pile of clothes on a chair at the end of her desk. "All except Bucky."

"He needs the new protective runes as well," Peggy frowned.

Hermione didn't disagree. "He says the dog tags are keeping him safe enough as it is."

"Those aren't specifically designed to stop a direct attack from The Staff."

That was also true. "I told him that, and you know what he said back? He said that we also don't know if it won't work as we've never tried it before."

Peggy huffed and crossed her arms behind her back. "That man, I swear."

"I think he feels guilty," Hermione divulged.

"Guilty?"

"For already having a protective charm for so long while the others didn't."

There was a stiff silence between them for a moment. "And that's why he's not accepting another?"

"It would make sense, wouldn't it?"

Peggy released a sharp, short breath, but didn't answer. "Well, you can't force it if he doesn't want it. What about the intel we found on Zola?" she asked with a dismissive turn of her head.

Intelligence had come in on a possible location of the Hydra scientist. He was planning to move from one Hydra base to another at the start of next month, initiated by the chaos that Steve and the Howling Commands were causing on the Hydra facility infiltrations, and Phillips wanted a mission mapped for an interception. If they got Armin Zola, they might be able to squeeze the location of Hydra Headquarters out of him, finally getting the opening they needed to find the Red Skull and the opportunity to destroy all the Hydra energy weapons and The Staff.

"The British Special Air Service is planning to execute 'Operation Cold Comfort' on February 17th," Hermione reported. "It will be a parachute drop raid near Verona, Italy with the objective of blocking the main rail lines through the Brenner Pass by a landslide." The Brenner Pass was a mountain pass through the Alps which formed the border between Italy and Austria and was the escape route that Zola would probably use. "Johann most likely already knows this, and will try to move Zola before this time."

"So we've got about a two-week window that Zola could be en route," Peggy summarized with a nod.

"Exactly. We'll need more information from surveillance flights for a more decisive date."

Peggy nodded, content with her updates. "And in the meantime?"

In the meantime, Hermione had a list of things to accomplish. "The Commando's uniforms need to be finalized before I ship out in two days to the Eastern Front." Hermione's previous plans with Colonel Phillips to go as an auxiliary nurse with the encroaching Soviet Army into Germany's eastern flank was still an approved and necessary mission. Auschwitz was in line for liberation, and the SSR knew of at least one special powered individual hidden at that site who needed extraction and relocation.

Peggy blinked. "I hadn't realized that the mission was so soon."

Hermione knew how she felt. "Everything's moving fast now, isn't it?"

Peggy had moved to the other side of Hermione's desk during their conversation, rifling through the documents available, but stopped and raised her gaze to Hermione at her statement. Peggy's wide hazel eyes, normally so steady and calm, were intensely set on Hermione. "Yes, it does feel like that sometimes. Be careful," her friend warned. "I feel as if… things are coming to a head soon, and I don't -," she sighed, "well, I don't want to bury another friend." The end of her nose flared, her jaw clenched, and Hermione could tell that she was holding back the edges of what would have been tears.

Hermione knew that she must have been thinking of her older brother, a soldier that had died shortly before Peggy had joined the SSR. He had been her closest friend throughout their childhoods, and even into adulthood. His death had been the reason that Peggy had joined the SSR.

Hermione walked around the desk and enveloped her in her arms. They hugged fiercely, digging into the woolen service jackets of the other as if they would never have the chance to do so again, and perhaps, they were right. Hermione did not have the luxury of knowing if she would come back, or if Peggy would still be here if she returned. She did not want to have to bury Peggy either. The thought of doing so shriveled something in Hermione's chest and made her tighten her grip on the taller woman.

"I will be careful, only if you do so as well."

Peggy released her slowly, but only moved an arm's length away. "I am not the one continuously on the front line."

This was true, but Hermione knew that if Peggy could, she would. Her talents were just better used at this time to organize and lead, not physically fight. The only reason Hermione was leaving at this point was because of her magic. Her ability to recognize, help, and then physically extract or detain another specially enabled person.

"Don't worry," Hermione said instead. "I'll be back before next Eagle Day, and you'll be 'completely cheesed' while I'm gone." She grinned and winked, taking on an American accent to lighten the mood.

"Ugh," Peggy rolled her eyes and laughed. "The slang American's use - it's just awful."

They laughed together, enjoying the moment. From outside, they heard the familiar voice of Steve yelling something in French to a Commando. Hermione's automatic smile lifted her cheeks.

Hermione could feel Peggy watching her as the happiness lit her eyes and spread across her face. She fought to hide a grin. "I heard something interesting today," Peggy started, her voice low and sly.

"Oh?" Hermione asked with caution, unnerved by the attitude in her smile.

"That you're sharing quarters with Captain Rogers now," Peggy revealed.

Hermione blushed. "Gossiping hens you are, the lot of you," she answered, neither denying nor confirming.

Peggy lifted a perfectly sculpted brow. "News along the grapevine travels fast. Everyone knows you're engaged now, and therefore, wouldn't blink if you decided to move your living quarters within Steve's." Meaning, that because marriage had been offered and accepted in wartime society, especially within their military camp, it would be socially acceptable for Steve and Hermione to live together instead of separate tents. "I'm assuming he offered recently?"

As a matter of fact, he had. Only minutes before Peggy had entered her tent. And Hermione had said yes.

"We decided that it would save supplies if I moved in tonight rather than after I come back from mission on the Eastern Front."

Peggy let out an unladylike snort, and Hermione snapped her gaze over in surprise. "Right, supplies," Peggy smiled devilishly. Hermione's blush continued down her neck. "Have the two of you…"

Hermione looked away and shook her head. "No. It's never ... been the right time."

"Well, how rightly decent of you."

Hermione laughed. "Don't start. You'd have done the same thing. We can't normally afford the complications a relationship would have on our positions."

Peggy's gaze dropped to the desk, and she rubbed the lipstick between her lips before speaking. "You're right, of course, we can't. Smart of you to wait. At least for your career."

Hermione didn't need a pat on the back to not have sex. They really hadn't had the opportunity yet. Not like how she wanted and suspected Steve did as well. "Well, I've had a grand mentor to help me navigate so far," she smiled easily instead.

Peggy smiled back and then breathed in deeply. "I am happy for you, you know, truly. Out of all the men I could have chosen for you, Steve is-"

"He's a good man," Hermione answered, nodding. The caring voice of Abraham Erskine seemed to echo in her mind. The German scientist had been as close to a father as she could have gotten since the disappearance of her own from her youth, and occasionally Hermione remembered back to the short years that had he helped to influence so much of her life here.

"He would've been happy for you as well," Peggy agreed, knowing exactly who they were both speaking of. "Howard will get there too eventually."

Hermione bit her lip, sad again at the mention of his name. "I suppose you're right," she answered compromisingly. "Time will tell though, won't it?"

"Don't let his disappointment bother you," Peggy frowned. Her eyebrows were furrowed with her hands laid softly atop the desk. "He will move on, probably by burying himself in the arms of another woman, and by then, you will both be right as rain."

Hermione didn't think it would be that easy. In this instance, Howard was not just another womanizer, he had confessed that he loved her. It was completely different. "I hope so."

"It will be," her friend promised, determined. She stepped back and straightened. "Now, I should probably let you get back to it. I've a train interception to plan for, and you've got uniforms to stitch."

Hermione came forwards and wrapped her arms around her friend once more. "Thank you," she whispered. For her friendship, her guidance, her wisdom, and intuition. Hermione could never hope to repay it.

Peggy returned the hug with one of her own, and when they parted, it was with the knowledge that they would see each other again soon and in good health.

By the time Hermione had decided to get to bed, it was late into the night.

The uniforms that Hermione had been working on all day were nearly complete. She only had Frenchy's left to do and decided that if she was going to be magically stitching metal runes into the insides of the Howling Commandos uniforms, she would be doing so with a clear head and unwavering focus. By midnight, this was not Hermione's mental status. So she packed her things, put documents away, and locked the garments up for the night before making her way to Steve's - to their tent.

When she came close to the Captain's quarters, she noticed that he was still awake. An oil lamp's shine was visible under the edges of the slightly opened tent. Hermione hesitantly pulled back the opening flap and stepped into the warmth of their room. She noticed Steve first, sitting upright in bed, leaning back against the wooden frame that Senator Brandt had sent him in hopes of remaining in his good graces, with a pencil in his hands and his drawing book on his lap.

He was shirtless, and the golden reflection of the singular lamp smoothed over the expanse of Steve's shoulders and chest like water. It flickered with the flame beside him and created deep shadows on the dips of his collarbones, the length of his neck, and the ridges of his chest. He was beautiful, and altogether too sensual for just walking in the front door.

Hermione swallowed and looked up.

The cornflower of his gaze trapped her. He was motionless in his stare back, and Hermione stilled too. It was as if they were frozen in the knowledge that the other was seeing them for the first time. This was new ground now, the starting point in uncharted lands between the two of them.

"Evening," she managed from her suddenly parched throat.

"It's late," he said back deeply. Not quite an admonishment, and lightly laced with a question.

She let the flap of the tent close behind her and she flicked a finger, ordering the ties of the opening knotted closed. Steve's sharp eyes followed the loose magical command and Hermione stepped further into the tent, stopping at the end of his bed. "I was finishing up the uniforms," she explained. "I want to make sure I've the time to test them before I leave. On a bit of a time crunch."

The corner of his lips turned upward, and he set his drawing aside on the metal trunk beside the bed. "I don't have a hand in magic, but if you want, I could help?" he offered.

That sweet man, she thought to herself and grinned easily. "No, it's alright I've got it, but thank you." Her eyes dipped down to his shirtless chest again and flickered away to the rest of the room. There was an unsaid acknowledgment now, as the silence of the space between them grew. Someone would have to take the first step.

"Is the room alright?" Steve asked like he had read her mind. Hermione's two trunks of personal belongings were at the other end of the tent, and her small work desk had been brought in as well. A box of knickknacks that she had collected sat on top of that, the total amount of her personal things. She had never intentionally lived with another male before, not romantically anyway, and it made for a strange feeling.

"I like it," Hermione admitted. "I like that ... it seems to fit, doesn't it?" Her things with his. The meshing of their lives.

"I'm glad you said yes," Steve agreed.

Hermione steeled her nerves, for Merlin's sake she had been in Gryffindor had she not? And turned to look at her fiance. He seemed nervous now, hands tense above the covers with a faint blush on his cheeks, but his expression was intent, almost hungry as he watched her. A spark of heat thrilled through Hermione. "I'm going to undress now," she whispered quietly.

She could see the exhale of his breath on his shoulders and the way his gaze dipped down over her service uniform. It was followed by an electric awareness that sang between them and left her feeling breathless.

Hermione unbuckled the belted cinch around her waist. The material fell to her thighs, and she could feel the attentive heat from Steve's stare as it dangled. She focused on the brass buttons next, and slowly undid the front of her jacket. Her fingers were nimble and leisurely, caressing the material down.

Steve's eyes darkened, focused, and steady.

When the four buttons were released, Hermione shrugged off her service jacket and laid it across the trunk closest to Steve by the bed. They were an arm's length away now, and Hermione could almost imagine the heat expelling from Steve's skin. The warmth of his dry hands over her.

She was left in her white long-sleeved shirt tucked into her skirt and tie. She loosened the front knot at her neck, slowly arching her head backward.

His eyes followed the motions at the hollow of her throat, and his fists clenched atop the blankets.

Hermione noticed the strain and made to move slower, encouraging. "Would you like to help?" she asked, her invitation husky and low.

Steve swallowed, eyes meeting hers and halting, as if asking for further permission, before turning his feet from his bed and onto the floor. He stood, the blankets falling away, and Hermione's voice was caught in her next choked breath. Of course, she had seen him shirtless when he had come out of the pod after his experiment in Brooklyn, but she had never seen quite so much of him before as he was now, standing in his tan regulated underclothes.

He stood before her, nearly prowling in their darkened space, and tightly wound as if one hard movement would sweep her to him and against the bed. She could see the soldier - the predator in his veins, what she had helped to create.

Heat unfurled in the center of her, radiating out to her chest and the tips of her fingers. There was power in every line of his body. From the ripples of his stomach, to the bulky tension of his thighs and the lean flex of his forearms, every part of him screamed more. More power, more danger, more fear - and the concentrated focus of it all was on Hermione. Ready.

She wanted him to reach out, to take. To grab her around the middle and pull her to him, tight, and to hold her.

Instead, he carefully reached out. Controlled in the brush of his pointer finger down the front of her shirt, soft enough to graze the cotton, but not to feel the skin beneath. Hermione could taste the impression of his touch, the friction of the material on the edges of her skin. At the bottom of her ribs, before her shirt tucked into her skit, Steve then splayed his hand across her middle. The tips of his fingers dug into her skin. It was hot, just how she'd imagined, and it curled around her waist, claiming. It sent shivers down her spine.

Hermione shuddered, the tingling sensation reaching down and around her thighs. She pulled her tie over her head and dropped it to the ground. Whatever nervous feelings she'd had lingering vanished.

Steve took the encouragement that it was, and pulled her to him, palms at the small of her back and side of her neck. He flushed her against him, bare chest to cotton shirt, and tipped her face up. She could see the dark need behind his half-closed eyes, the arousal burning through his gaze into her. The thick want.

Getting to her toes, she gave herself to him. Arms enclosed around his shoulders and Hermione brought him down, claiming his mouth with her own. She kissed him hard, taking his heat and his need and forcing her own through unto him.

His hands came up to cup her face, soft at the first brush of lips, but then gripping and hard as he dove forward into her mouth. He grasped and pulled at her neck, stroked and squeezed down to her collar bone, leaving a burning trail down her skin. It turned slick and desperate within seconds. Their mouths opened to each other, and Hermione could taste the slide of his tongue. The force of his desire in hard licks and the fierce press of his lips. Hermione tilted her head back and pressing her breasts up against his chest. Steve groaned and it vibrated down the length of her body.

"Mercy," he said, digging his fingers into the flesh of her curves. Hermione could feel the hard length of him pressed against her stomach, and she shifted up onto her toes so that she rubbed just so across his trousers. The answering hitching of his breath and the tight drag of his fingers over her hips had her clit throbbing and an answering breathless sigh escaping her lips.

It was the hottest thing she'd ever experienced. And by Merlin, she wanted more. So much more.

He grinned down at her, lips already bruised and shiny, his eyes blown wide with arousal. Just the sight of him made her breast ache, her skin feel too tight and over-warm. His eyes dipped to the fastenings of her shirt, and he frowned adorably. "Too many damn buttons," he grouched.

"Do I need to provide marching orders, soldier?" Hermione grinned, running her fingers over his cheekbones.

He leaned into her touch, watching her with eyes deep and trusting. His lips twitched with humor. "On the field, yes ma'am. But here?" Without warning, Steve slid his hands possessively under her ass and hoisted her up. Hermione opened her legs thoughtlessly and wrapped them around Steve's waist, catching her into his arms as the skirt of her uniform bunched up around her thighs. They landed eye-to-eye, grinning and panting at each other. Steve's arms didn't even shake at the extra weight, and Hermione was flushed with another wet heat.

"Taking control, Captain?" Hermione asked, breathless.

"Steve," he responded, turning and taking a step toward the bed. "And yes. Here, you're mine."

Being named like a possession had never appealed to Hermione to any sexual partner before, but hearing the assertion come from Steve's mouth lit a fire deep through her veins that she hadn't even known was there. She was suddenly aching, desperate for him to take, to prove it.

Steve, however, was nothing if not a man of his word. Releasing his hold, he laid her down atop the stiff mattress and climbed on after, sitting between her outstretched legs. Her shoes and nylons were still on, but her skirt was crumpled and collected just over her undergarments, hiding the full image of her sex. The blankets beneath her were rough, slightly itchy, the springs hard across her back. But the bed was infinitely better than a cot, or worse the ground. Hermione let herself relax, and enjoy the attention. She hmmmmed in pleasure as he settled over her, half on his knees, taking her all in.

She shifted her head to the right, letting the column of her neck arch as she plucked out the metal pins from her curls. She knew what she must look like. Shirt rucked up under her breasts as the cotton pulled tight against her skin, accentuating the full roundness of her chest.

Steve's hands came to the top of her shirt, deft and swift as he made work of the first few buttons. "You're killin' me doll," he breathed heavily.

Hermione couldn't help but grin. She removed her hairpins, throwing them to the floor and shaking out the length of her curls over their pillows. She looked up at him beneath her eyelashes to find that Steve's underclothes had fallen farther down his hips. Merlin. Christ, he was better than any Greek sculpture she'd ever seen or studied. He was what the Gods wished they looked like, skin gleaming with sweat, his briefs distended and damp from the thick outline of his cock. An untouched, open invitation, just for her.

As Steve made short work at the top of her shirt, Hermione's lips parted, and she wanted. She wanted to touch him, to feel, to see, what kind of noises he would make. How he would breathe, stutter, or choke. She wanted to know the words he would say and how often she could get him to repeat them or fall into useless babble. For science, of course. A series of hypotheses she would have to conduct experiments on again and again and again. Starting now.

His cock begged her to reach out and cup him. So Hermione did.

Steve huffed, like the breath had been knocked from his chest, and his hips tilted into her hand. It was a tad awkward stretch for her, but that was okay. All she had to do was grab a thigh and hold on, as her hand stroked him through his desperate bucking. He was just as thick, just as wonderful, as he looked from across the room, and her mouth watered as he shuddered and groaned. His bicep flexed above her, the only sign she received before his hand yanked the opened edge of her shirt down, and the stitches of her buttons split free. Her shirt was torn open in a second, and when she pulled back, Steve made a wordless sound of protest that turned her knees to mush.

She could fix the stitches with a simple spell, that wasn't the issue. It was the fact that he had torn her shirt from her body. It excited her more than she thought possible, and she bucked her hips into his, absolutely declaring her pleasure.

Steve threw back his head in a guttural moan. It shouldn't have been a sight that would forever sear itself into her eyes, but the view, the sounds elicited, resonated through her whole body and she can't help but feel faint from arousal. It was a truly unholy sight of debauchery for Hermione, the lines of his neck thick, a feast for the eyes like it was the last meal she'd ever eat. A forbidden fruit that she had no issue savagely tasting as she stared into God's eyes with no regret.

She would fix her uniform at a later date. Much later.

"Steven," she panted, arching again, "I need you." Now. Yesterday. Shirts and skirts be forgotten. Hermione rolled her hips because she had to, it wasn't even her choice at this point, and could hear as Steve's breath stuttered. His hips jerked, the tightness around her clit is so hard it was nearly a burn. Her breath, a whine in her own ears.

Steve pushed his head back down and slanted his mouth across hers. It was wild, wet, and uncoordinated. His hips thrust against hers, again and again, a savage back and forth motion that - Merlin, oh sweet fuck, just a little more pressure and she would be seeing stars.

Steve must have known this too, or was close himself, because he stopped. By sheer force of will, Hermione didn't buck right back into his sweet friction and reached for the hand that was pinning her hips to the mattress, against him, instead. His palm was large enough that it wrapped around her hip and held her waist. He shook from the strain of holding himself still, and Hemione let out a labored breath.

"Prophylactic," he shuddered. A condom. They needed a condom.

She had no idea where one was kept in Steve's tent, and instead, pulled her wand out from her arm holster. Steve gave her a funny look, but Hermione pointed the end at her stomach and muttered the contraceptive charm. It was a pale glow that shot out the end of her wand, and when Hermione went to put her wand on the trunk next to the bed with her jacket, Steve raised an eyebrow. "Was that-?"

"All set," Hermione nodded.

He paused, taking it in, before grinning widely. He pushed the torn edges of her shirt off her shoulder. "I love magic," he declared, helping her out of her sleeves, before tossing the whole shirt away.

Hermione couldn't disagree. "It's absolutely convenient in times like this, I'll have to agr-"

"What-" Steve interrupted her with a choked noise. Cold, short, and hard. It cut an abrupt end to the delicious heat they had been sharing. "What is that?" he asked, and Hermione's eyes dropped to her wand arm that was protectively held in his hands.

She froze. It had been so long since she'd had to show any part of her arms, she hadn't thought of the Bellatrix's cursed scar on her skin. The word 'Mudblood' carved brutally into her skin. The lines forever tinted red, like it was a newly healing wound, across her flesh. She'd always kept either her clothes, gloves, or a glamour over the image. Peggy was the only other person in all the world that had seen this part of her bloody history. And now Steve.

"It's-" Hermione started, and swallowed. It had happened ages ago, but the memory was always fresh. The helplessness, the fear, and desperation were not things that had ever truly gone away. It was her motivation after the war ended, and a physical constant reminder to do better, to learn more as time passed. She hadn't thought of it in years honestly, not since she'd come here.

"Who did this to you?" Steve demanded. His hands are wrapped wholly around her forearm and below her elbow, crouched on his knees leaning into her space. His eyes - Hermione has never seen such anger radiated from them before. Such violence over his features and promised in the lines of his face.

Her own eyes widened, and she didn't understand. Not really. He looked beyond rage, beyond thought barring vengeance. And it scared her.

"Bellatrix," she confessed to him, bringing a soft hand over his. "But she's gone. She's been dead for nearly fifteen years."

She could see as his thoughts sputtered to a stop, and his gaze lifted. "She was... she was a witch, wasn't she? From your world before," he recalled.

Hermione nodded. "She was killed in the final battle."

His eyebrows furrowed. "Then why-" His fingertips stroked the edges of the scar, soft as a butterfly. Obviously not wanting to hurt her. A rush of love filled Hermione.

"I was tortured with a cursed blade," She explained quietly. "They don't ever fully heal - not by mundane or magical means. It will always look like that, forever."

He swallowed, and Hermione could almost see him holding back - asking for the details as a Captain would. She was immediately grateful for the forethought, as no one wanted to relive those moments, especially half dressed as they were and in the tone of the night that she wanted to keep. "Does it hurt?" he questioned instead.

Hermione shook her head. "Sometimes it twinges - if it becomes suddenly cold outside, or something of the like. But it's just a scar."

He grimaced, and Hermione knew she'd messed up, because then he looked hurt, crushed. "It's not just a scar," he argued lowly. "I remember what you told me about your War. I hate what this means," he said, brushing the letters softly.

"It was a long time ago," she insisted. It still hurt to look at the hate carved into her skin. Enterally branded. But she didn't want to focus on that old pain. Not tonight, when they were starting to learn more than they ever had before of each other. Maybe not ever again. That was her old life, filled with old pain.

This. This was what she wanted, with Steve. This moment.

Hermione gently slipped her arm from his hold, softly placing her hands on either side of his face. "Look at me," she whispered, and he did. "I was a child when this happened," she explained, "and it defined who I was, and the choices I made for most of my adult life. But I am not that person anymore." His hands held hers over his face, and one slid down to cup her scarred member. It felt like forgiveness, the other side of compassion, and something Hermione didn't know that she needed from the man she would share the rest of her life with.

"This is a part of my past, a painful part I can admit, but only one bit of it now. I feel as if the rest has been taken up by different wonderful things - moments that I've had since I arrived here, and it's only just that to me now- a scar."

Steve's eyebrows had furrowed again, but acceptance was clearing over his face. His eyes tracked down the side of her arm, taking in the cruel words one last time, before he sighed and came back to her gaze. "I'm sorry," he conceded.

"Don't be," she answered immediately. "I'm not." She'd had years to outgrow the hate inflicted on her from others. Moments of true joy in between. She wouldn't take it back for all the world. Not when they had all led her this, to him.

His hands fell to her bare waist, resting lightly over her ribs, and he laughed shortly. "I bet I ruined the moment, didn't I?" He seemed bashful and frustrated all at once.

Hermione was still very aware of their half-dressed state. "It's nothing that we can't fix," she murmured encouragingly. She didn't really know how to be seductive, she'd never been in a situation where it was completely necessary, but Steve nodded back anyway.

More confidently now, Steve palmed the felt of her skirt, massaging her upper thigh. "Maybe we should start with this first."

Hermione completely agreed. She brought her legs to one side and lifted her hips as Steve lowered the material down her skin, softly navigating it over her panties, garter belt, and nylons. He dropped the skirt off the edge of the bed, and Hermione unclasped the garter belt at her back.

Steve, looking nearly reverent, helped her to slowly unclasp the nylons from their attachments. His eyes were wide as he pulled the thin fabric down the tops of her thighs, the curve of her calves, and then off her feet. Hermione could hardly breathe in his intensity. Shivers ran down her body as the items were lost to the floor, and Hermione was left in her panties and brassier.

Steve stared. He looked at the curve of her breasts and edges of her high-ridden undies like he could find the answers of the world between them. He slid a hand up her stomach, pulling at the silk against her skin, and Hermione arched into his touch. Her breaths became faster, and she began to feel lightheaded. Wanting, and at the edge of taking it for herself.

"So beautiful," he mumbled, and Hermione wasn't sure if he meant to say it out loud.

Wearing a display of intense concentration, Steve rubbed his thumbs across her covered nipples, softly, like an experiment. Hermione let out a shuddery breath and Steve grinned, looking achingly smug. Hermione decided to encourage his efforts by reaching back and unclasping her bra. His eyes widened. She let the shoulder straps drag against her skin, savoring the long moment, before pulling it off to drop with the rest on the floor.

Steve didn't hesitate and moved forward to cup her. To her surprise and gratitude, he didn't spend the next few moments squeezing and uncomfortably groping as a few other of her past partners had. She was nicely sized, she knew. Not full-figured like Peggy, but average, settling into a more rounded proportion the older she got from her Hogwarts years.

Instead, Steve sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled her up and over his legs to straddle his lap. She kneeled on the bed and looked down at him, his face close to her bare chest. She wanted to say something, to comment on his bolder actions, but the words were washed away from her mind when she met his eyes.

They were focused ... intense. She stayed silent and he leaned in to kiss her. Down the side of her neck. Across her collar bones. They traded tender kisses back and forth, nearly like a developing conversation, and ended with Steve's fingers across her nipples, massaging her breast.

She rocked forwards into his lap at the new sensation. "I love you," she gasped, settling herself firmly atop Steve's clothed erection.

Steve's lips were parted, his face upturned and blissful as he answered back. "Not as much as I love you." He ran his hands up and down her back, and his lips twitched upwards in a piercing smile.

Hermione's heart did a sort of funny dance in her chest, and her spirit soared. "That's entirely doubtful," she answered back blandly enough to disengage a conversation with him on the matter. She would not be one of the couples who publically argued on pointless declarations.

Steve seemed to get the message and laughed. His hands fell to the ruffled edge at the top of her panties, and the bottom of his thumbs dug underneath the fabric to her heated skin, testing. "May I?" he asked.

Hermione nodded, untrusting of her brain-to-mouth communication at this point. His fingers hooked farther below her panty line and pulled the soft material down her stomach. His thumbs rested at the indents in her hips, and she could feel the span of his hands again, closing around her. Unwanting to ruin the intensity, but needing to move forward, Hermione stepped backward to the floor. Steve's hands lifted. Before he could voice his confusion, Hermione took the lowered garment and pushed them further down, past her sex, and over her thighs. They dropped to the floor a moment later, and Hermione toed them away. She stood completely naked before him.

Normally, Hermione did not like barring herself to another so blatantly. She had always found it uncomfortable and preferred the anonymity of darkness. However, she found that with Steve, it was once again different. The way he looked at her. It made her feel so completely different, so sexy, that she wanted to stand like this, unclothed and waiting for him. To feel his reaction.

"You next," Hermione whispered, swallowing the need to move forwards and touch him.

Steve didn't have to be told twice and swiftly stood from the bed. Hermione watched as he almost carelessly pulled his boxer briefs down over his legs and onto the floor. Now it was Hermione's turn to stop and stare. If she had believed in religious deities, she would've prayed her thanks. His cock was proportional, uncut, about average length, but Merlin was he thick.

As she stared, Steve moved back onto the bed, leaning back onto his hands. His cock bounced as he settled, and Hermione's inner commentary lost focus for a moment. Gods above, but he was beautiful.

Hermione forgot about everything else and surged forwards onto the mattress with him for a blistering kiss. He pulled her in tight and must have been feeling more assured, because he tipped her head in an angle he liked better and his tongue became more forceful against hers. It's hot and wet, and it drove Hermione closer. She buried her hands in his hair, then tugged him upright so that she was back in his lap.

Steve bit back a curse as her hand found purchase around him. He was hot, silky, and as hard as a rock. She gave him two long pumps, enjoying the feel of his buck beneath her hand, and then the kiss that he leaves at the side of her breast. She ached with how empty she felt now, and the feeling is reflected back in his hooded eyes,

"Ready?" she asked because she knows she is, but it's been as long or maybe even longer for Steve at this point, and she wasn't the one working with a whole new body.

He kissed her, pulled back, and then kissed her again. "When you are," he panted.

She leaned back to get a better view, and he kissed his way down her neck. She grinned and reached down to guide him in. Steve's arms encircled her, and Hermione tipped her head back as the first press of his cock was inside of her. Slowly, ever so slowly, she sunk down on him. The filling stretch, gods the breadth of him, was a delicious burn. She could feel the clench of her tension all the way up to her stomach.

Steve's breath hitched, and little moans escaped his lips. His fingers dug into her skin, and he shuddered.

Hermione leaned forward and kissed him, dirty and open-mouthed, but the new angle changes her seat and Steve bucked up instinctively, almost too hard. It was rough and fast, and Hermione has no choice but to whine and clench down, letting out an "Ahh," as he slammed up into her again. She reached forwards to balance over his shoulders, lining them up how she wanted.

"Sorr-" he started, because he must have felt her adjust.

But Hermione rolled her hips into the new angle, and interrupted him. "Don't stop."

"Mother. Mary- fuck," Steve choked.

Before Hermione had time to laugh, he thrust up again, and all of her thoughts were lost to bursts of pleasure. Again, again, she moaned loud and long, Steve panting and cursing under his breath at her chest. He worked up a rhythm, fast and hard, and she bounced in his lap, spread and open and helpless to do anything but just take it.

Hermione threw her head back, lost in a torrent of fever and passion that left her mindless.

In a motion too quick to process, Steve grabbed one of her bent knees and quickly flipped them down around to the bed so that Hermione was laid out beneath him. He slams home again, shallowly, and Hermione is too lost to the pleasure to do more than roll back into him, meeting him hip-to-thrust. It was a little off now, but there wasn't much that her fingers couldn't fix. Her hand moved down his chest, and she could feel his heart thundering. She slid them down to her own stomach, over her clit, and Steve cursed.

His hips stuttered, lost their rhythm for a moment, and then grabbed her hands in a solid one-handed hold, and pushed them against the mattress right above her head. "I'll do it," he heaved, a demand. The predator she had glimpsed from before.

Hermione arched and dug her fingers into his hand, his huge frame shaking over her with exertion. She needed more. "You-" she started.

"Show me," he stopped altogether, straining in his tension, completely sheathed within her. Hermione paused. He lifted his restraint on her hands, and carefully, she took him into hers. She had never done this with a man before. Showed him exactly how she wanted it.

But she followed his order, and showed him how to work her clit. She arched into him, moving him how she wanted, and stars hit the back of her eyes as this thumb circled and pressed with another shallow thrust. She shuddered, and Steve's hips followed, slowly down and back. Around and up. In and out. Their frenzied lovemaking had soothed to something slower and languid, intimate.

"Yes," Hermione whispered, drowning.

His left hand came to pin her to the mattress by her hip, and his right worked against her clit, sweat sliding over their skin. He moved with more power, plunging forwards and back to slam into her, as her hips lifted from the bed. He worked furiously, tweaking and circling, rubbing and taking, as her orgasm built in increments of gasps and rocking hips.

She could feel it coming at the edge of her consciousness, and she panted high in the back of her throat. She held on to his waist and the blankets of the bed, twisting the fabric in her fist. Steve's hips stuttered, coming undone, and he slipped a finger inside of their joining as he thrust once more, adding an extra burn.

It was perfect, exactly what she'd needed, and her orgasm flooded through her in a burning haze. She cried out, thrashing in his grip, for what felt like forever, wave after wave, even after he lost his tempo and pounded into his own finish.

They lied there, dazed and riding high, as the oil lamp flickered beside their bed. They shared a smile, Steve kissing her forehead, her cheeks, the side of her neck, and Hermione falling into helpless giggles as he tucked her up against him.

Hermione sighed, laying her damp forehead against his chest, and smiled.

Thank you for all of your wonderful reviews, and for reading!