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[Steve circles back to it, and Clint--Clint circles around it, taking it in from other angles. Secrets are the currency of spies. He's got ones that would topple governments, crumble companies, destroy people. It's a very, very, very short list of people he tries hard not to keep secrets from.

So, sure. Fun little secret for one time. Maybe more, but he won't get his hopes up. Tempered expectations and all. What's far, far more interesting is the way Steve takes the time to stare at him with a hot, if brief, intensity. If he was in a chair with a back, Clint would slouch back, drape himself, show himself off. As it is, he simply stares right back with a bob of his brows.

Steve's a handsome fuck. There's no way he can't know that. Big chest, corn chip torso, arms that could probably pick him up and toss him around one-handed without breaking a sweat, and shit if that isn't a thought that gets his blood pumping. And his face. Funny, it's always the same face, but it changes depending on what kind of mask Steve wants to wear. The solid, chiseled leader. The cheeky, handsome soldier. The cute aw-shucks good-ol-boy. He can't be the only one on the team that's looked at Steve at some point and thought damn.]

See something you like?

[It might be subtle as far as Steve's concerned, but subtle is the playground of spies and assassins like Clint. He won't call out Steve's attempt, not yet, but it's noted. What he does do is bring the drink back to his lips and take a slow, slow sip. If he licks his lips after, surely that's just a subconscious gesture and absolutely not at all deliberate.

He won't be at all upset if Steve decides they're done talking. It won't keep Clint from talking, though, at the moment.]

We don't have to chat about whips and chains and what excites us, but I'm wondering if you've got any preferences. Things you wanna do. Things you don't. If you wanna fuck or be fucked, or see what happens. You were in the army, [added with a little twirling motion with his beer in Steve's direction,] so I'm under no illusions about whether you've done this before.

Edited (I called it a bottle for the sake of sluttiness and then realized you called it a can, also other small edits) 2023-05-14 01:20 (UTC)

[ There are times to be embarrassed, and then, there are times to just... not. Now is one of those times, though Steve can still feel the heat slowly creeping up the back of his neck the longer they sit there and stare at one another. It doesn't quite reach his face, though the burn in his ears might have been a little too obvious if he gave Clint enough time to see it. As it is, he tilts his head and swallows another mouthful of his beer as if mimicking the motion and detracting from the fact he wants to get another look at his mouth. Maybe his tongue.

Flirting is easy with confidence. He just has to plan his attempts accordingly. ]

I won't ask if you believe that's what everyone in the army does in their downtime, [ he jokes, skirting around the question as he slowly moves away from his spot at the counter. ] But I know enough to get by.

[ His comment is casual, as if he's speaking about an everyday, mundane activity and not sex. His voice, too, is even and a bit on the firmer side, stepping in close to Clint so that he almost hovers next to him without being overbearing. It's not his objective to be intimidating, reaching out to take Clint's drink before he decides to use it against him the same way he had before. There's always so much talking, and though Steve would prefer to have all the information, there are some things he'd just rather act upon. ]

I think we should just go with it and see what happens. [ A pause, and his eyes fall to the other man's mouth again. ] Unless you really prefer doing things a certain way.

[ It could have been a question. In fact, Steve might have meant it as a question, but he only allows enough room for Clint to answer between the way he watches him and how he takes hold of his wrist to feel the warmth of his skin. Casual, nearly gentle. It's an invitation, hardly subtle now. ]

[Steve's not so bad at this. Direct enough to know that he wants, flexible enough to just see where this shit goes without needing a plan. Clint can absolutely work with that. Food later; fuck now.

He slides easily from his perch to his feet, free hand also doing some sliding up Steve's arm. Steve's got a couple inches on him, but it isn't any kind of intimidating towering. It's just Steve. Easy to be around when he lets himself be. Which isn't always all that often. There's an intensity dancing there in each touch and in that very particular gaze that definitely sets a fire going--or burns it hotter, really. (It's not going to take long for Steve to find out he's not wearing anything under his sweatpants, that's for sure.)]

You know, I've got pretty good eyes. And what I see is that you might want my mouth on you. [He flashes a sharp grin.] Anywhere you want it, you let me know.

[For the moment, he knows where he wants his mouth. His hand slides over shoulder, curls casually at Steve's neck, pulls to guide him in for a kiss. There's nothing shy or demure on his part about it, instead hungry and eager and determined to get to work.]

[ If anyone had told him he would have been doing this with his night, he isn't so sure he'd have believed them. Not at first, anyway. But there's the pressure of Clint's hand on his arm and then his neck, and it's followed by the heat of his mouth pressed to his, a kiss that causes Steve to stumble for a moment before his body catches up with his brain.

He drags him closer almost immediately, steadily soaking up the contact even as he leans forward to participate. There's the taste of beer and Chinese both, but it isn't really about that the longer they stay twined together. It's about this peculiar connection, and even if it only lasts the night, Steve knows it won't be something to forget. Which has his fingers pushing beneath Clint's shirt, exploring the expanse of his back as he turns his head just slightly to mouth a path along the edge of Clint's jaw. To give himself a moment to breathe, to think. ]

Just so you know, [ he sighs it, almost as if he's unwinding. ] It's been a while.

[ Not that it actually matters or is an excuse. It's just a fact, something Steve is sharing with Clint before returning to the warmth of his mouth and kissing him even harder than before. And if he happens to back Clint a few steps into the edge of the counter as he does, he doesn't acknowledge it so much as use it to briefly pin him there. ]

[If anyone could manage to be both hot and adorable at the same time, yeah, it'd be Steve. The way he's caught off guard, and the way he takes command to make up for it, the way he has to take a moment of time to himself, but only a moment. It's a quiet admittance and an assertive pinning.

Oh yeah. This is gonna be a fun night.

Steve's hands find their way along bare skin, occasionally pocked with old scars, while pressed together. Clint makes a brief pleased noise, surprised at how eager and gung-ho his leader-friend is being about this. Absolutely no complaints. Hopes he keeps getting surprised all night long, in fact. His hand stays where it's at at Steve's neck, fingers just brushing into short hair; the other hand settles along an arm, enjoying the feel and flex of muscle while being held close and explored.

The break from the kiss is enough to catch a breath and settle into the dizzying reality that this is happening. And Steve's a quick learner, because Clint's just a moment away from saying something smartassed about just how long a while might be for someone like that when the kissing starts again with renewed vigor.

And when Steve's body leans into his, he finds no shame in relenting and sliding each easy step back until the counter presses at him.

He hums, enjoys the sensation, and then drags his mouth away, hands momentarily on that expansive chest.] One sec-

[And in an easy move, he sits his ass up on the counter, legs wide and easing their way around Steve's hips.] It's like riding a bike. You seem like you remember how to do this so far.

[Clint doesn't have to remember how. He's had plenty of practice in his life. The way he shucks his shirt easily and leans back on his hands to give a better view seem to indicate as much.]

I'll remind you of the steps if you need a refresher.

[ Stepping forward into the space between Clint's legs, Steve's hands immediately settle at his hips. There's an almost desperate desire to rub his palms over his chest and shoulders, feel the heat of his skin under his fingers, but he holds onto that discipline for as long as he's able, instead taking the invitation to look him over before dropping his hold to the tops of Clint's thighs. ]

I didn't say I didn't remember. Just that it's been a while.

[ Which could mean countless things if he over-examines it, but he doesn't.

Instead, he grips him a little tighter and drags him to the edge of the counter, leaning into him to seal their mouths together again.

It's almost nice to not have to worry too much about whether or not Clint can handle whatever happens between them. In the beginning, his own strength had been something even he hadn't been used to, but over the years, he's adapted. He knows when to draw back, what lines he needs to make for himself, but it's thrilling to not overthink anything right now, letting everything sink into the weight of another person. And between kisses, between tackling the learning curve of exactly what Clint likes, he realizes he's incredibly overdressed. Worse than that, he's not in anything that could easily be stripped out of; jeans are a lot more difficult to take off when you're hard.

But he'll get to that later, purposely pushing his fingers along his thighs and slipping them beneath the waistband of Clint's sweats. What little surprise he has in finding that there's nothing else to get under is quickly swallowed in the soft sound Steve makes as he squeezes into part of his hip and the beginning curve of his ass. Almost like approval. ]

[It's never been a concern, the super strength. Hell, it's played into fantasies a couple of times. There's admittedly a certain amount of cockiness involved, imagining he can take whatever's dished out, though that might also be an expectation to temper.

But he trusts Steve to know what he's doing. Even if it's been a while. And for all that Clint likes to push his own limits, he trusts that if something gets said, they can slow down or stop or change direction if need be.

Not that he's planning on slowing down now that they've gotten started. There's a hint of a laugh starting by the time Steve leans in for more hungry kissing, rumbling in his chest. His ankles hook lightly right around Steve's ass, enjoying the pressure of a body against his. And he can't let his partner be doing all the exploring. Because Steve is overdressed, and he has to get his hands on some more skin immediately, using much less caution than he'd been shown in the way he pulls Steve's shirt up by greedy handfuls, feeling up all along that broad back before adding a scratch of nails to the mix.

Which is right about when Steve makes a discovery, makes a sound that absolutely goes shooting directly through him, squeezes him just so. If that's not approval, he doesn't know what is. He'll take it, greedily, nibbling at Steve's lip, nipping then along a finely chiseled jawline, all the way to an earlobe.]

Like what you see and like what you feel. Careful, Cap; you'll give me an ego.

Guess I wouldn't want that.

[ It's mumbled out a little breathlessly, trying to find his focus on one thing and then immediately getting pulled towards something else. At first, it was Clint's hands on his back, on bare skin. Every touch would be easy and smooth, no hint of scars that would otherwise tell a completely different story about his life; yet another thing to thank the serum for. Then, it's his nails and the sound he drags out of him. Maybe it's best not to think about anything and just go with it, letting his fingers get in another good squeeze before he tips back to put some space between them.

Just an inch. Just enough to get a grip on his tee and drag it over his head so he can abandon it on the floor.

And his hands are right back where he'd had them, gently knocking his forehead against Clint's before turning his face just enough to kiss him again. Pacing would probably be a good idea, but there's just something about the eagerness between the both of them that's telling Steve it doesn't actually matter. His own stamina might be too much by then, making a heated effort to work Clint out of his pants so that his bare ass is now in contact with the counter, and Steve only lets his eyes drop down briefly, getting the slightest glimpse before he drags him close. Gets a hard hold on his thighs and pulls him into his arms as if Clint weighs next to nothing. ]

But I think I should get a better look somewhere else. [ A breath, and he kisses him again. ] Just to be sure.

[ There's no need to specify what, not when the closest flat surface happens to be the sofa, and that's exactly where Steve carries him. ]

[Pacing can go fuck itself, quite like in the way they should fuck each other, frankly.

The way things are looking like they're going, his ass will probably hate him for that sentiment in the morning. But they're both ready and willing to have a good time, and Clint is going to ride that as far as it'll take them. He's seen Steve in tops that leave very little to the imagination. Hell, they've all seen each other in various states of dress and undress, whether stripped down at the gym or in medical or--well, everyone's gotten an eyeful of Bruce enough that that's mostly stopped being awkward. The context makes the difference, though. That Steve's stripped shirtless here, for him, in his kitchen, with the intent of touching, being touched, being on very personal display.

He'll get plenty of time to properly appreciate later, he's sure, because Steve doesn't give him much time before there's more kissing, and then much more importantly, there are hands pulling at fabric. He's never seen Steve like this before. Figures few people have. There's always such tight control, not no-nonsense but keeping just enough distance to only ever be friendly. It can't be easy to be a man out of time, but this is much better, this looseness, this casual intimacy, this--getting him out of his fucking pants paired with being gentlemanly enough not to look too hard right away. Clint can't help but bark out a fuller laugh, unhooking his legs briefly to help tug them all the way off to join the other bits of fabric they're losing.

Terribly appealing, this. Firm hands and solid arms picking him up like a bag of real sexy groceries. The return teasing. He slings his arms loosely over Steve's shoulders, idly scratching along skin that will never keep any damage. It might be nice to see, though. Some nice red lines before they inevitably disappear in record time. It isn't a long carry, and when he kisses back, it's deep and savoring, with only a hint of teeth this time.

When he feels all too familiar couch fabric under him, the hint of teeth becomes a sharp bite.] You passed a couple perfectly good walls, you know. [A tease. It's, you know, another perfectly viable option.]

[ If anything, even when he isn't so concerned about control, Steve tries to keep things steady. Much in the way his hands want to do the same things Clint's do to him but don't. Much like the hardness he can feel against his stomach where his own is confined to the discomfort of his jeans. (That's also lack of foresight on his part, not having considered that this would immediately jump to sex.) But Steve makes up for it in other ways: in the almost gentle way he drops Clint onto the couch and in the surprisingly soft kiss he gives him in return for the teeth digging into his lip.

He pauses, looking down at him and not quite settling himself atop of him just yet. ]

I'd feel bad if I ended up putting you through one of them, [ he says, almost so serious that it's nearly impossible to tell he's joking at first. ] This seemed like a safer bet.

[ His smile reflects the tease then, allowing himself a moment to take in the muscle and lines of Clint's body. There have been plenty of times they'd seen each other in similar naked states, though mostly in a professional setting, and really, a lot of the gear they tend to wear doesn't leave much to the imagination. But this is something else, something a lot more visceral. He doubts their team bonding exercises could have ever anticipated something like this. Which is fine, fingers stroking lightly over Clint's chest—almost as if committing it to memory.

Then, he's on his feet in a very careful dance to get out of the rest of his clothes. Steve doesn't purposely take it slow, but if he happens to take the time to shuck out of his pants and then do the same with his briefs, it really might be by accident. He's not shy about it either, being naked; as Clint had pointed out before, he'd been in the army. Whatever sense of modesty a person had simply disappeared after a while, and even before that, with the number of exams he'd gone through, it's just not something he thinks about anymore.

He does think about the way he crawls over Clint once he's undressed though, meeting his eyes with a smile. ]

How do you want me? [ Yet another one of many things they hadn't actually discussed. ]

I guess putting me through the couch would be easier on my back.

[Though if he entertains the visual of at least putting a him-shaped dent in a wall in the future, that's entirely Steve's fault.

That Steve is very gentle with him as though in response to the (light) scratches and bites Clint's been giving is enough to make him outright whine. It feels deliberate. He's trying not to be intense, like he'd warned about, just wants this to be a fun and casual thing, but fuck if he wouldn't mind Steve get a little more handsy at least. Hold him down tight enough to bruise, leave teeth marks on his thighs, claw him up like an animal (and then bring out the gentleness later with ointments and lotions and whatever). Tries not to just jump him and get right to it, a coiled spring waiting to unfurl. Lays himself open and mostly still, on display with not a hint of shame, and lets himself be touched so lightly with only a little shiver of anticipation.

And thankfully the rest of the clothes come off without having to complain about it. It's true, most of their usual work outfits are tight and form-fitting as hell. Clint knows his ass looks fantastic, for instance, and there's good foundation for Natasha gracing a lot of magazines (and public fantasies) whenever she's seen out and about in uniform. There's barely anything that's a surprise about Steve, save for the reveal of what had been starting to make a nice bulge in those jeans. And yet it still strikes him, the new light to see him in, the absolutely wild context.

And then the smile, the smoldering look. And the almost innocent-sounding question. To be fair to Clint: he did ask, beforehand. Fuck or get fucked, do's and don'ts.] You put me here; I figured you had something in mind. [Not a rebuke, not even remotely. Just entertained. Being open and easy and going with the flow is great right up until points like this, and he props himself up on an elbow and lets himself look at Steve. Runs a hand lightly through his hair if only for the sake of mussing it up, nails light but present along his scalp. Trailing down his neck, along a shoulder.] 's it a little unfair if I say any way you'll give me?

[Because it's not a lie, really. And given he's not sure if this'll ever happen again, there's part of him that wants this in as many ways as they can manage. He thinks about the gentleness, the steady and exacting way Steve carried himself. What's fair, he figures, is to at least take two seconds to make something very clear.]

I'm not afraid of you hurting me, Steve. You don't have to treat me gentle for my sake. It's okay if you do, just--you don't have to. [It's also entirely possible that he's just a romantic that just prefers it that way. But there was probably trial and error before that.] Okay?

I have a few things in mind, [ he corrects softly, like he doesn't want Clint to think he'd done this for the sake of changing scenery. But before he can continue, he's caught up in the pressure of fingers in his hair and that light presence of nails over his skin. ] I'm –

[ He swallows around what might have been a momentary protest, eyes closing with Clint's words. He knows he doesn't have to be gentle, is the thing. In their line of work, nothing ever really falls into such a neat category, but sometimes, it's almost nice to envision that it would. Then again, this isn't about work or saving the world. This is just about them and whatever time they might spend together doing this, and holding back completely isn't going to get them anywhere. Or very far. Steve can tell from the hints in their kisses that it might be the opposite of what Clint actually likes.

It's an interesting note. Something to think about later when he's not hard and naked against someone else. ]

I know. [ Quiet, at first, and then, he's looking at Clint again. ] I know. I'm not even sure it's entirely about that. Just that it's been a while – like I said. [ Can he even shrug in a position like this? Well, he's going to try and also shake his head at the same time. He's not exactly setting the mood with that sort of talk. ] I wanna do this right and make it good for both of us.

[ Which isn't the catch to his hesitation, but it's closer to the truth, even if the evidence of how much both of them are already enjoying it is kind of obvious. Steve does offer Clint a cheeky sort of smile then, shifting his position to partially straddle him before resting his palm against his chest. At first, it's almost too light, a ghost of those teasing touches he'd given him just minutes ago. But it doesn't last, pushing him harder into the cushions with a much firmer hold as his hand slides up towards his neck and his mouth descends along the edge of his sternum and then his belly.

He's really not opposed to more conversation, dragging his teeth in a testing nip over skin. Once, twice. Continuing with more bite each time. He just has one current goal in mind, and that's to know exactly what he tastes like. ]

[It's sweet, really. And that's not a bad thing. Sure, Clint might like it a little rougher, but if Steve wanted to do this all soft and tender, it'd still be a plenty good time. Maybe it's just this, then, the way it'll be done. Easing into it. Easing into each other. Because they're both sure as hell learning a lot about one another in very short order.]

You tell me what's good, I'll tell you what's good. [It doesn't even have to be in words. Steve's made a few nice sounds that he wouldn't mind hearing again, more, louder, lewder. Clint offers only cursory resistance to the hand on his chest, sliding back against the cushions easy. There's something rising to the tip of his tongue about how doing it right involves doing, to keep teasing, but then Steve increases the pressure and presses him steady and hard, and the air starts to go out of him. Not pushed out by any force, just reveling in the sensation. Swallows thick at the movement of that hand slides up like a casual threat to choke, and Steve moves downward to kiss--no, fuck, to bite, apparently. In a careful, testing way. Somehow that's hotter, that he's feeling out the boundaries and looking for that sweet spot.

One hand of his is on Steve's forearm. Not stopping, just present. The other rests itself back into his hair, too short to get any kind of real grip, but that won't keep him from trying. Sucks in a quick breath at one of the more intense bites.] Like that. That's good. [By way of example. A breathy laugh escapes him.] You gonna eat me up? That what you had in mind?

To start, [ he agrees, his voice a fraction deeper than it normally is.

But that might have to do with the fact he continues to edge his way along Clint's body, letting his mouth trail over the places his fingers don't. He's responsive, and frankly, there's always been something about that sort of reaction that Steve has liked. It's encouraging, maybe, and once Steve is settled in a decent place between his legs, he only tips his head enough to nudge the hand in his hair before continuing his exploration.

He doesn't go right for his cock, instead moving along his inner thigh as he slips a hand under his knee to adjust his position. It's all sort of gentle, almost guiding him, but then, he's dragging his teeth across tender skin, following with the wet glide of his tongue. He even sucks at that spot between hip and thigh until it's an angry red, and before there can be any complaints, he does it to the other side in the exact same place. Like a reminder he'd been there, that he'd experienced Clint this way. ]

Still good? [ And how rhetorical it actually is because he doesn't wait for an answer, pressing his cheek against the length of him until his lips graze the head. Then, fingers braced on Clint's stomach, Steve hums quietly as he swallows him down without hesitation or any care that he could choke. ]

To start, [echoed with amusement and a little bit of awe.] Just remember not all of us have super stamina here. [He doesn't actually know if Steve's enhancements translate to a longer time in bed, but he'll find out and soak up every fucking second of it for as long as he can hold out. (And then some.)]

Shit, it doesn't feel like it's been a while for you. [That's the praise he's getting, Clint just barely squirming under the attention. If there were nerves at the start of all this for Steve, there sure aren't now, at least not that he can tell from the way he licks, bites, sucks his way along skin like he's a god damn expert. He moves easily however Steve wants him, as bent or wide or over shoulders or anywhere that lets the captain get his mouth wherever he'd like.

It's the pair of marks sucked until they're enough to last that get him a little more vocal, a brief whine, somewhere tucked into that good spot between pain and pleasure. Makes the hand lightly gripped at the back of Steve's head tense, a little dig of nail. Steve's always been a quick study. Of course it'd translate to everything else, including other people.

The question is pretty clearly rhetorical, but Clint's never been one to shy away from being mouthy.] Good, real good, I might even say great, I--fuck! [He's got just enough leverage to watch, and what a god damn sight it is. And however good it looks, it feels even better, the curse practically punched out of him. No hesitation, not even a teasing warmup, just going for it with that light hum that vibrates right to his core.

For emphasis:] Fuck. [In case the effect of a hot mouth swallowing him whole wasn't perfectly clear.] Yes please, we are so good.

[ As if he has any room to respond to the things that spill out of Clint's mouth, but later? Definitely later.

As he'd pointed out earlier, a while doesn't necessarily mean lack of experience, and once Steve's gotten his aim set on something, everything else just sort of falls into place. There's no time to consider how embarrassing it might be or what he'd look like; from Clint's vocal cues, he'd say he wasn't doing half bad at figuring out what draws even more out of him. Be it the twist of his tongue or the slow pull of his mouth. Maybe even the way his hand gives him a firm squeeze. And it's not as if he doesn't enjoy this either, one hand still balanced against Clint's core to keep him from wiggling and writhing too much as he sets a rhythm that might almost be considered brutal.

There's no reason to be slow, nothing that says he has to take his time. Not with this. Steve thinks it might even get a little more interesting if he manages to pull an orgasm out of Clint first, easing back so he can settle his hands in a better position. At his hips, under his ass. It's enough to get more leverage and set his own pace, groaning quietly as the tension continues to build, and eventually, Steve decides to pull off, fingers returning where his lips had been so he can find his way back up to kiss him.

Maybe he should say something? Or reassure him that he's good about taking it slow? Even if none of this feels like it's slow, sinking into the heat of Clint's mouth to suck at his tongue. Let his teeth scrape over flesh. It's messy and good and a clear precursor to the rest of it.

So, he just knocks his forehead against Clint's, his breath still surprisingly even. ] It's okay. [ He strokes him harder, unrelenting. ] I've got you.

[Absolutely none of this is slow, which is frankly a surprise, but an entirely welcome one. Kind of figured there'd be more flirting, touching, building up, but Steve has apparently set his goal to be 'get Clint off ASAP', and if there's one thing Steve Rogers does very well, it's set a goal and see it through.

So, no complaints. At all.

It's a myriad of sensations, all of which combine to be just shy of overwhelming. 'A while' sure hasn't kept Steve rusty, lips and tongue doing all kinds of wonders, building up the heat down low very quickly. The hand holding him down is just enough to keep him down, to keep him in place, to keep him from bucking. Part of what makes that so hot is the trust. He likes his freedom, but knowing that it's Steve, knowing that it's someone who wouldn't hurt him (much, accidentally), twists something that could be harrowing back around to something delightful.

He's not quiet about it. Even when his higher functions start deciding to go on vacation, he gives bursts of praise between moaning panting groaning gasping, reminds him how good it is, tells him there, just like that, bites out tight curses, hisses out his name. When the hands move to his ass, well, fuck, that's even better, and gives him the opportunity to move. He tries, for Steve's sake, not to buck much, but his back arches, shoulders pushed back into the couch.

The whine in the back of his throat when slick mouth leaves him is quickly swallowed by a punishingly thorough kiss, and the hand that replaces keeps up the same intense pace.

One leg hitches up around Steve's hip, his own hips finally feeling free to try and match pace and still failing. His hands grip tight where they land like he needs something desperately to cling to against the oncoming train, one at the back of his head, the other arm wrapped around broad shoulders and holding fast. Clint's coming undone, and this asshole isn't even breaking a sweat. The audacity. Steve goes harder, making the breath in Clint's chest stutter to a momentary stop, and paradoxically talks to him so soft and gently. Like a fucking trust fall. Let go. It's safe.

As if that was ever in doubt.

He closes the gap for another kiss, moaning into it, and another that becomes more an excuse to bite more than anything, and when he can feel the tension in his body wind up to snap, he goes in for one more. When he does let go of the coiled spring of his body, he curses sharply, once, every inch of him pulled taut against Steve, trembling with little jerks, pleasure washed over him. It leaves him panting heavy against Steve's mouth when the rest of him starts to slacken, his grip, his leg, the needy pit inside him temporarily satisfied.]

You definitely remember a lot of the steps. [Almost slurred out, pleased as absolute punch.]

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