Steve piloted the borrowed lightflier out of the city, his new bride at his side. The Wakandan royal family had gifted them the use of one of their personal retreats for the duration of their honeymoon. As they headed towards the bluff, he marvelled at the wild beauty of Wakanda. How had he, the kid from Brooklyn ended up here? His world had grown so much larger than he ever thought it would. His whole life had grown. He'd never expected he'd find room in his life for another love, and yet it had arrived all the same, and it was more wonderful than he ever could have planned. He reminded himself to keep his eyes on where they were headed, and to keep to a minimum the loving glances towards Rachael, currently seated beside him, watching the scenery go by. He could hear her humming a little tune in her happiness, and his heart gave a little flip at the reminder that he was the one who could inspire such happiness.

They arrived at their destination, and he touched down the vehicle in the little landing pad outside the small low building tucked in to the side of a cliff. The architecture was typically Wakandan, and blended smoothly into the surrounding environment, looking almost as if it had grown there, in the style they preferred. He nipped around the vehicle, and opened the door for Rachael before she could get it open herself, lending her a hand as she exited.

She beamed him a smile of thanks before gesturing towards the main entrance. "There it is. Do you have the key?"

"T'Challa said it would open for us."

She nodded, and he could see her mind whirling, trying to figure out how they had managed to program the entrance to open only to approved individuals. He had long given up trying to figure out the mechanisms behind the technological wonders all around him, focusing instead on applying them appropriately to the problems at hand. But he loved her inquisitive mind; that she couldn't see something new without trying to puzzle it out, and understand it fully. They were going to make a great team.

She reached the door, pushed it open, and paused briefly to peer at the frame. He took the opportunity to scoop her up, lifting her in his arms to carry her across the threshold. She embraced his neck affectionately, and he stepped through the arch, closing the door behind them with his heel. Alone at last, he set her feet down gently on the floor. She turned her back to him, eyes darting brightly around the apartment, taking in the layout of the open-plan room, marking the entrance to the bedroom.

"This is lovely. I think it will suit quite well. Queen Ramonda really was very thoughtful to set this up."

His own assessment of the room had been made in the first seconds when he entered, a carryover from years of thinking tactically. So, the change of surroundings did nothing to distract him from his goal. Rachael had walked over to get a closer look at the details of the painted mural on the opposite wall, and he followed her, resting his hand on the wall above her head, shielding her from any further distraction.

"Oh," she let out, turning to face him, momentarily surprised at his closeness. But she quickly relaxed again, leaning her back on the wall, looking up at his face above hers.

He was aching for her. It was a need that seemed to be more than physical: his soul longed for her. After his many long years of celibacy, he thought he had a handle, so to speak, on his physical needs. But she had unmade him. Since that first day, when she had taken his virginity from him, nothing else, and no one else, would do. They had seemed almost supernaturally in sync. Every small movement or suggestion she made filled some inner desire he hadn't been aware of. And now she was his. They had the rest of their lives to get to know each other and explore each other.

He revelled in her closeness, her scent, as her breath mingled with his within the circle of his arms. Her hands reached out and clutched at him, fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt, desperate to pull him closer. He stretched his neck down to gently bring his forehead to hers, lips hovering scant millimeters from her skin, noses occasionally brushing against each other. He was taking his time, losing himself in the moment. Each quivering breath she took skimmed against his skin like butterfly wings. He reached forward to delicately trace the edge of her hairline, fingertips slipping behind her ear to sweep her hair out of her face. As his fingers followed down the length of her jawline, just barely brushing the skin, he could feel her trembling. It snapped him out of his reverie.

"Are you alright? It may be our wedding night, but we don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"Just shut up and kiss me already."

Right. So it's good trembling; not trepidation, but anticipation of my touch. He crushed his lips against hers in his enthusiasm to oblige her.

Her lips parted, slightly, giving his tongue access to the soft inner flesh of her mouth. Her tongue twisted around his, luring him in deeper as if she could drink him down in her eagerness. Her arm wrapped around his neck, ruffling the short hairs at his nape, twisting into the longer hair at his crown, pressing him closer to her with an insatiable desire that awoke a deep need within him. A need to take her in the way she was begging for. His own hands slipped lower, running them along her flanks, sliding up her thigh, and under her dress, lifting her knee to wrap her leg around his hip, feeling the soft flesh of her inner thigh slip against his trousers. He pressed into her, aching for more contact, hips pinning hers to the wall, chest compressing her soft bosom, mouths clashing with frantic emotion. But it wasn't enough. Still clothed, there was too much of a barrier between them. He wanted to feel her skin on his. When he could bear to, he pulled himself away from her, allowing room for some independent movement between them again. He almost lost his resolve at the look of fiery passion she gave him as he pulled away, but as he pulled off his shirt, she relented, following his lead and slipping her dress up and off her head. He turned beside her to lean his back against the wall, lending a bit of stability as he took of his shoes, and a moment to catch his breath a little.

He didn't have much more than a moment though, as his bride sunk down onto her knees before him, reaching to unbuckle his belt. It was strange to see her in such a subservient position: on her knees, unbuckling his pants. It left him feeling a heady mix of dirty and gratified. But, as she looked up at him, flashing a mischievous grin, it was clear that she was in charge here. He outweighed her by about 50 pounds of muscle, and yet, as she pushed back on his hips, pinning him to the wall, he was helpless to resist.

She whipped his belt out with a flourish, and flung it across the room, reaching next to unbutton his fly, then slipping her hands down his hips, sliding off both pants and underwear in one smooth motion. And there he was before her, naked and exposed. He watched as she chewed her lip a moment, before taking him in her palm and, turning her face up towards his to watch his response, before drawing him into her mouth.

For a while, he lost track of time; completely given over to pleasure. He felt like he was coming undone at the seams. He loved her so much, and yet he still felt his heart expand. This part of him had remained private for so long, and she hadn't balked at taking him on, at accepting all of him, body and soul. As she slipped him past her teeth, he marvelled at how much he trusted her. She had him at her mercy, and he relaxed into her touch, completely vulnerable.

He looked down, holding eye contact with her. Watching her, he noticed that her hand had slipped between her legs. He decided he wouldn't make her wait any longer. He wouldn't have been able to hold out much more anyway. He knew that a couple more wonderful surprises and he'd end up finishing the night early. And he still had plans for her, yet. He was pretty sure he could go more than one round, but he didn't want to chance it. Not tonight. Propelled by that thought, he caught hold of her hands, and pulled her to her feet. Scooping her up in his arms, he carried her across the room, entering the bedroom, and to the bed. He lay her down gingerly across it, then leaned back to survey the sight.

She propped herself up on her elbows, chewing her lower lip seductively, her hip swaying enticingly as she scooted back on the bed to make room for him, drawing him in. He followed her lead, covering her body with his, kneeling on the bed between her knees, their bodies slotting together like they were made for this. He planted his forearms on either side of her head, and craned his neck down to meet her in a kiss.

He broke off the kiss and looking into her face, asked softly "Are you ready?"

"Oh, yes," she replied with a laughing huff.

He pushed forward, with gentle, careful nudges, watching her face as he sunk into her, her eyes opening wide and then relaxing into soft focus, her mouth opened in a soft "Ah..." as he filled her completely for the first time in two months.

They stared into each other's eyes, panting softly. And then she moved her arms up between them to lightly rest her palms on his pecs, and gave a nod of her head in mute request for him to continue.

And so he did: his rhythmic motions eliciting satisfied gasps from his bride, until her soft cries merged into long moans, and she arched, throwing her head back, exposing her neck to him. He couldn't resist peppering that long throat with kisses. He sped up again in his excitement, and her long moans broke into short gasps.

"Haah. Too, too much. Wait."

He froze, suddenly terrified that he had hurt her. He rolled off her body and to the side.

"It's just too much, too fast," she instantly reassured him. She proved her point by promptly climbing on top of him. He watched her, rising and falling above him. Her figure composed of a series of soft S-curves: the twist of her waist, the swell of her hips, the sweep of her hair as she tipped her head to the left. Backlit against the doorway of the other room, she was limned in light, like a Mucha print. Then, she opened her eyes, and looked at him, through him, to his core. And in the moment she was transformed back, from the artistic ideal of female form, back into the woman he loved. His Rachael. And he couldn't believe that she trusted him this much, wanted this intimacy. The thought spurred him forward, striving to pour all of himself into her. In response she folded around him, pressing her torso down onto his, wrapping her arms around his chest to hold him even closer. To get better range of motion, he rolled them over again pressing her back into the sheets. As he picked up speed again, there were no "wait"s this time, only barely articulate "yes"es as she gave herself over to the waves of pleasure.

Then something changed and she relaxed in his arms. He began to relax his pace in response, but she reacted right away, gripping his biceps desperately. He heard her pant "Don't stop," in a breathy voice, "I'm so close." And it took all his self-control not to finish right then. But he schooled himself, and kept the same rolling rhythm, until she let out a shuddering gasp, her eyes fluttering unfocused. He started to reposition, but she drew him in, whispering a husky pleading "Deeper," into the tender spot behind his ear. And he obliged. Her moan of gratification as he fulfilled her request wrenched his climax from him at last. He wrapped his arms around her to anchor himself, to ground himself to her. He could hardly remember where he ended and she began. He would have thought that this was as perfect as love could be, if he had been capable of thought at all. Instead, what he felt was the world go white with the intensity of physical joy, the fulfillment of love long-awaited and the deep sense that all was right in his world.

Dimly aware of their weight disparity, and anxious not to crush her in his impending collapse, he drew her close and rolled together onto their sides. Then he relaxed, letting out a huge sigh that encompassed all the last of his heightened emotions: exhaustion and joy and relief and happiness all mingled up together. His eyes focused again, meeting the gaze of his wife, her face inches from his, watching his face as intensely as he was watching hers. Her face was flushed, her hair tousled. She'd never seemed more beautiful. Her hand reached up to trail through his hair, and his skin rippled in pleasure at the comfortable intimacy of it.

"I need a shower… we need a shower," she corrected herself.

Steve climbed out of bed, then turned and scooped her up in his arms before setting her feet on the floor and leading the way to the bathroom.

The spacious room was furnished with a rather large rainfall shower, with more than enough room for two.

They cleaned up in companionable silence before towelling dry and crawling back into bed. Steve sprawled out on his back and Rachael tucked into her now customary spot by his side, resting her head on his shoulder and tucking in close to his ribs. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this cosy and loved.

"I don't ever want to be anywhere but here," he said.

"Likewise, soldier. This is where we belong. Together."

"I love you."

"I love you," and she turned her head, resting it on his chest.

He breathed in the scent of her hair as he basked in happiness and the pleasing fatigue of having spent his all, and drifted into sleep.