It took nearly the rest of the night to get matters cleared up at the Cosmopolitan lounge. Ingrid had to be bodily restrained from assaulting members of the Ingersoll Group; Thor picked her up and sat her on one massive shoulder until she'd calmed down. Chef Rene brought up the dinner and ended up feeding not only everyone in the party, but also several S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and some of Manhattan's Finest, who enjoyed the rib roast, seared corn salad and slightly dented rolls.
The best moment had been the cake, of course. The massive confection had been rolled out onto the sidewalk, red, white and blue frosting smeared; the decor on the top was a ball and chains in licorice and the message 'Good luck Steve: you'll need it!' The cake was enormous, clearly large enough to hold someone inside, but the bosomy girl in the checkered apron who was serving up slices merely shrugged and grinned. "I hadn't gotten into it before things went screwy down there, so I guess I'm pretty lucky."
Tony mournfully took a slice. "Yeah, I guess so—you're too pretty to be a cake-casualty."
Steve thanked everyone, accepted Tony's offer of a ride home for Binh, Joe and himself, and within an hour was making his way up the back stairs of Time Was, having first made sure Joe was comfortable for the night. It was tricky, trying to juggle four wrapped slices of cake, but Steve managed, and when he stepped into the apartment, he gave a sigh of relief.
Home. No matter what the day had been like, this little haven of peace was a thousand times better than any sterile room in Stark Tower and that was the truth. Steve set the plates on the kitchen counter and looked around for Lauren, moving to the door of the bedroom to peek in.
She was there on the bed, propped up against the pillows, reading Pie, a Global History when he stepped in, and Steve noted she was wearing the white eyelet nightie. He swallowed, since very naughty things happened whenever this particular nightie made an appearance, if only fleetingly.
"Hey, you're home," Lauren purred, putting a bookmark between the pages and setting the heavy tome aside. "How did it go?"
"Nobody died," Steve assured her, "although the Ingersoll Group is now banned for life from the Cosmopolitan, and their senior executive accountant is going to need a restraining order against the Cosmopolitan's events coordinator. Tony says your peach crumble is still better than the cake we had, and I'm a little worried that Joe might have a crush on Loki."
Lauren blinked. "Uhhhh . . ."
Steve began undressing, neatly tossing his shirt, undershirt and socks into the wicker hamper by the bathroom door. "Loki showed up at the party, disguised—transformed—as a woman. He, uh, . . . danced. Joe seemed to like it."
"There is so much wrong with that. I can't even begin to decipher how wrong that is," Lauren giggled. She slithered over, the nightie pulling low across her chest, exposing the rounded bounce of her breasts. "I take it you weren't impressed?"
"Eh," Steve shrugged. "He's a brunette."
This brought another round of giggles, and Lauren pounced on Steve, taking him down to the mattress, the two of them joggling a bit. "What about the girl in the cake?"
Steve blinked. "She didn't get a chance to do anything—well, she did bring the cake out to the sidewalk so everyone could have some, but how did you know about her anyway?"
"Steve, Steve, Steve," Lauren shook her head knowingly. "There's ALWAYS a girl jumping out of a cake at a bachelor party, especially if Tony Stark's catering it."
He blushed but said nothing; Lauren giggled at his expression and moved to straddle him, bringing her hands up to cup her breasts through the white eyelet. Steve stared, mesmerized.
"I suppose I could jump out of a nightie for you," she offered, trying to look innocent.
Steve reluctantly pulled his gaze from the smooth curves of her cleavage and gave her his best Boy Scout sincerity. "I think it's only fair to warn you that if you do that, I might stray from the path of appropriate behavior, Miss Scott."
"In what way?" Lauren wanted to know as she wriggled ever so slightly against his hips.
"Impure thoughts for starters," Steve admitted as unbuttoned the first little pearl shank on the scoop neckline. "Your temptations here figure prominently in the back of my mind."
"Then we should bring them to the forefront," Lauren decided, and began to help him with the other buttons. She peeled the two halves of the nightgown away, and Steve's big hands slid up to cup her breasts as he fought a smirk.
"And to think I wasted an entire evening eating bacon puffs and playing darts when I could have been practicing for our honeymoon."
"Practice makes perfect," Lauren sighed happily, and turned her attention to his belt.
Steve felt the need to re-acquaint himself with nearly every inch of her exposed skin, and his kisses mapped out her entire chest and stomach. By the time he brushed a cheek against her damp inner thigh-"pie over cake any time"-Lauren was trembling, her fingers threading through his hair.
This was how he loved her best; when she lay under him, open and inviting, her eyes dark with desire and trust. Steve took his time bringing her to climax with gentle licks and kisses, savoring the heady perfume of her mound, the tang of her cleft. When Lauren held her arms out and pulled him into her, Steve groaned, driving himself deep.
Loved.
This was how it felt to be loved, deeply and intimately. Lauren was his, he was hers, and everything between them—the jokes, the kisses and quiet conversations in the dark of the night—all of this made life good. Made her . . . home. Steve let the lightning heat of joyful lust drive his orgasm forward, and when he finally relaxed, he rolled over to his side of the bed, pulling Lauren with him, settling into sleep with her tucked at his side.
"Lauren ala mode," he murmured drowsily. "Love you, Kitten."
She giggled and snuggled closer. "Love you too . . . Mr. Dessert."
Steve snickered and fell asleep, nose in her bangs.
end