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theycallmebeccawrites · 6 years ago

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One Shot: In the End

With Tumblr holding my original writing blog @beccaheartschrisevans captive (aka flagged as explicit), I have made a secondary writing blog and may end up closing the other all together. In the meantime, I am reposting all of my stories on my new blog.

Title: In the End

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: graphic sex, oral sex, fingering

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

18+ Disclaimer: This work contains sexual material that is for those over the age of 18. By clicking the keep reading link below, you are agreeing that you are over the age of 18 and are not offended by sexual content.

Summary: After a mission goes bad, Steve Rogers is left wondering if there was anything he could have done differently. Especially when you, the woman he has secretly fallen in love with, fights for her life. Has he missed his chance or will it all work out, in the end?

Note: this is my entry for @angryschnauzer and @feelmyroarrrr’s Lust Actually Smutty Writing Challenge. The trope I chose for this challenge is Friends to Lovers.

This story is also available on AO3.

You hadn’t been assigned to the mission, initially, but then new intel had come in at the eleventh hour that had required your expertise. You’d been game, but Captain Rogers had been hesitant as you’d missed a lot of briefings about said mission and, therefore, were in the dark about a lot and could prove to be a liability.

To make up for this, Natasha had been assigned to give you a quick, but thorough run down of the plan and backup plans on the Quinjet. You had listened intently; using the near photographic memory you had to take in the diagrams and notes she’d shown you.

By the time the jet had landed, you’d been prepared and had confidently told Captain Rogers that.

Then everything had gone to shit. Quickly.

—————

They’d been setup. Or worse, there had been a leak somewhere in the chain. Nevertheless, the mission had become a complete disaster before it had even had a chance to start.

By some miracle, or blind fucking luck, they had all survived, but there were injuries. Most of them were minor, except for one, who was fighting for her life on the Quinjet flight back to the compound.

Steve Rogers always went with his gut instinct, but he had been convinced, this time, to go against it and disaster had struck. He shoved his hand through his hair as he stared down at her frail body and the bloody bandages wrapped around her torso where she'd been shot multiple times.

His usually spunky friend was asleep, thanks to powerful pain management protocols. Although the scans that were flashing across the screens around her (and being sent to Shuri in Wakanda) showed promise of her making it through this, Steve couldn’t shake the guilt at her being in this position. It was his fucking fault. If he had only stood his ground or…

“There’s nothing you could have done differently,” Natasha's quiet voice said from behind him. “We’ll figure out what happened, Steve, but it wasn’t your fault.” She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but it did little to comfort him.

—————

Your whole body ached, especially your torso, as you pulled yourself from the sleepy haze you’d been under. You could tell from the smell alone, that distinct disinfectant smell of a hospital that you'd never been found of, that you weren’t in your private apartment at the compound. It was too dark to see much in the room, except the large figure uncomfortably folded into the chair at your bedside.

“Steve?” you croaked, your voice hoarse from disuse.

He jolted upright at his name and he blinked at you a couple times before jumping out of the chair.

As you watched, he bounded to the door to the room, opened it and called out to someone. Within seconds, the lights were on and the room was full of the compound’s medical team. They fretted about you while Steve stood watch in a corner of the room, seemingly unwilling to leave you alone.

After what seemed like an hour of being poked and prodded, the medical team filed out, leaving you and Steve alone again.

“What happened?” you asked. The last thing you remembered was getting off the Quinjet and, now, you were laid up in a hospital bed.

Steve sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, and then began to fill you in on the disastrous mission that had taken place three days prior. They’d been neither setup nor had there been a leak in the planning, he explained. The intel that had come in at the last second had been an attempt to lure a different group into a trap; a trap that the Avengers had unknowingly sprung too early and gotten caught up in themselves.

“Was anyone else hurt?” you asked when he finished, concerned for your coworkers, many of whom had become your friends.

“A couple of broken arms and some bullet grazes,” he said. “But no one as bad as you.” He sucked in a deep breath and his voice was raw with emotion as he admitted. “I didn’t think you were going to make it when I carried you back to the Quinjet.”

—————

Steve closed his eyes, easily recalling the bloody state of her body as he’d carried her on to the jet. She had been breathing, but not easily, he'd known, for she had taken at least one bullet to the torso. Even over the chaos of the moment, he'd heard the ominous gurgling sound each time she breathed and he'd known she'd been in serious trouble.

Unlike everyone else, who had been armed to the teeth, she had been undercover as an employee of the data center where they were trying to recover stolen documents from, which also meant she hadn't been wearing much Kevlar. (Something he would never let happen again.) Even with the madness happening around him, he'd had presence of mind to quickly deduce that it was her role in the mission that made her the main target for the ambush and he'd charged after her.

It had happened before his eyes. She'd been on her way to one of the side doors and had been shot by someone coming out of them. Once. Twice. And nearly a third, which he'd thankfully been able to deflect with his shield as he'd caught her before she'd hit the ground. Clint had shown up then and had protected his back as he'd got her back to the jet.

The scans on the Quinjet had revealed a bullet wedged in her lung while the other had gone clean through her, missing several vital organs by just millimeters. The second had been the source of most of the blood that had soaked through her clothes. He and Clint had worked together to wrap gauze around her to hold the compression pads to her wounds to help slow down the bleeding. They'd changed it once more, during the flight back to the compound.

The medical team had been waiting for them, when they'd arrived, and she'd been rushed from the runway to the medical wing for surgery.

He'd then sat outside the operating room as they'd operated on her. It had taken five fucking hours. Three hundred minutes of him replaying every fucking second of the mission: how it had gone terribly wrong and what, if anything, he could have done differently.

Tony, Sam and Bucky had all tried to get him to leave the medical wing, accusing him of scaring the medical staff, but he had refused. It hadn't been until she'd been taken into a private room for recovery, that he'd allowed his friends to drag him off. He'd gotten cleaned up, eaten and had gotten a little sleep, but, ultimately, he'd returned to her side and hadn't left since.

—————

You'd fallen asleep again; sometime during or after Steve's retelling of the mission, you couldn't recall, but when you woke up, you weren't alone, but he wasn't there.

"Tony forced him to go to a meeting," the friendly voice of one of the nurses assigned to you said. "He's been here every minute of every day since you arrived. He even stood up to our charge nurse when she tried to kick him out. He told her that he was the Captain and he wasn't going to leave your side for anything." She chuckled. "Wish my boyfriend was as devoted to me as he is to you."

"I'm not... we're not... he's not my boyfriend," you stammered, caught off guard. You'd only been at the Avengers Compound for a little over a year and, while you and Steve had become friends, you certainly weren't dating.

"If I were you, I'd ask myself why," the nurse said with a wink before she left the room, leaving you alone.

At first, the idea of you and Steve dating was funny, not that you'd laugh for real, as the action made the pain in your torso worse. Yes, he was handsome, but anyone could tell you that just by looking at him. Yes, the two of you got along well and spent time together, but you rarely spent that time alone, it was usually with a large group of people. Even in those times the two of you were alone, you were usually in a common area and open to other people joining the conversations if they felt so inclined.

Still, you wondered, as you stared at the empty seat, was the fact that he'd stayed by your bedside a sign that there was something different in your relationship with him? Was there something different in the way you responded to his presence over, say, Bucky or Sam's?

Yes, you came to realize in the days that followed as Tony required Steve to return to most of his duties, which meant that he couldn't spend every minute by your bed. Instead, he sent a variety of your friends to sit with you for a while, during which time, you realized that you didn't respond to their arrivals as you did to Steve's.

—————

It had been a long, tiring day, but instead of going to his apartment, Steve made his way to the medical wing to visit her. He'd had breakfast with her that morning before Tony had pulled him upstairs for meeting after meeting. He'd gotten many a dirty look from his friend as he'd checked his phone each time a text had come through with a status update from the others he'd sent in his place.

Entering the medical wing, he nodded to the nurses on staff and made his way to her room, knocking and waiting for a welcoming response from inside, before he went in.

Maybe it was the dim lights in the room or the way her face was partially shaded, but he swore her face lit up when she saw him and he felt an excited thrill race through him when he saw a wide smile spread across her face. It was the first real smile he'd seen on her face since the morning of the mission.

"How was your day?" she asked him and then she smirked. "We both know your minions kept you up to date on mine."

He felt his face flush slightly as he sat down in the chair next to her bed. "I just didn't want you to be alone," he said, apologetically.

"I know, thank you," she said, holding her hand out to him.

Scooting the chair closer to the bed, he took her hand, cradling it delicately in his larger one, unable to not notice how it fit perfectly within his. Looking up at her, he saw that her eyes were focused back on their hands and there was a smile on her face.

—————

Despite his busy schedule, Steve always showed up at the end of the day to spend some time with you while you were cooped up due to your injuries. Sometimes the two of you would hold hands and sometimes you wouldn't, but he always made you feel like he cared about you.

He was with you, a week after the mission, when the doctor told you that you were well enough to be released from the medical wing, but not allowed to be on your own, quite yet, and asked if there was someone you could stay with.

"She can stay with me," Steve offered, almost immediately. Then he looked back at you with a blush on his cheeks. "I mean, if you want to."

You nodded your head, not even bothering to say the words aloud. You wanted very much to stay with him. You weren't ready for the two of you to go back to being casual friends.

Two days later, he led you into one of the spacious apartments reserved for the high-level staff, of which, he was. Though you didn't need him to, he cupped your elbow, in support, as he gave you a tour of his home. The truth was, you didn't need his help to get around, but you didn't want him to think you didn't want him to touch you. Because you did.

Being alone with him, having those quiet, private conversations with him in the medical wing, had awoken a new set of feelings for him that were anything but friendly. You'd even had a dream, or two, while in the medical wing, in which real memories you had of talking with Steve throughout the compound had become distorted to the point that they were about you and Steve making out or having sex instead.

New images sprang to your mind after he showed you his bedroom. There wasn't anything spectacular about it, just large, masculine furniture and decorated simply shades of blue-gray. He showed you the guest room, next, and, while it was nice, it wasn't a comfortable as his room had felt.

—————

Steve had faced temptation in the past, but never in the form of a half-awake beauty standing in his kitchen wearing a pair of too big pajama bottoms and a bulky sweatshirt. She'd been in his home for a week now, but he couldn't remember a time before she had lived with him and he didn't want to. She brought a new air to his apartment that made it homier and, for the first time ever, he couldn't wait to come home after work.

He'd had feelings for her, romantic feelings, before the mission, but he had ignored them. But after she'd been hurt and had nearly been killed, he could no longer keep them at bay. He was in love with her and he wanted to tell her, but he wanted to wait until she was strong enough on her own before he told her. The last thing he wanted was for her to think she had to tell him she loved him too for fear he'd throw her out if she didn't.

The right time came roughly two weeks later, after she'd been back in her own apartment for a week and been back at work, in a limited role, for a week. They'd gone back to their routine of hanging out in common areas, but he always walked her back to her apartment so they could spend some time alone, too.

It was on the couch in her apartment that he closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath before he turned to her and took her hands into his.

She looked up, then, and met his eyes, giving him a small smile that both calmed his nerves and added to them.

"I hate that you got hurt," he said, trusting his gut to lead him through his confession. He felt her hands stiffen slightly in his and tried to calm her by caressing the back of her hands with his thumb. It worked, slightly, so he plunged on. "But if you hadn't, I never would have realized that I loved you."

He didn't know how he expected her to react to that, but he hadn't expected her to yank her hands out of his grasp and get off the couch. She paced in front of him, wringing her hands as she did so. Every now and then, she'd glance in his direction then look away, but she said nothing for several minutes.

Finally, he saw her take a deep breath, as if bracing herself, and then she spoke, without looking at him. "I think you should leave," she said so softly he didn't think he heard her correctly. "Please. Leave. Steve." Her voice was stronger the second time, but there was a noticeable quiver to it.

Instead of waiting for him to do so, she quickly made her way into her bedroom and had the door closed and locked before he'd even gotten off of the couch.

He stared after her in shock, not having a clue what had just happened. A part of him wanted to storm after her and demand that she tell him what was going on, but then he remembered her wavering voice and knew he couldn't do that.

Instead, he got up, walked to her front door and took one last glance at her bedroom door before he locked her door and left the apartment.

—————

You sat on your bed, listening for a sign that he'd left. After hearing the gentle closing of your door, you waited a couple more minutes, to make sure he was really gone, before you opened your door a smidge to check. The living room was empty and you let out a sigh of relief that became a choked sob full of despair.

Sinking down on the sofa, you buried your face in your hands and didn't fight the tears that had been building since his declaration of supposed love. You'd been waiting for him to tell you he loved you, but not that way. Not out of guilt for you getting hurt.

You'd overheard Sam and Bucky talking one day when they'd had a "shift change" while you'd been in the medical wing. They'd obviously thought you'd been sleeping, but despite their hushed tones, you'd caught the meaning behind their exchange: Steve felt guilty for you getting hurt. You'd always known he took his job to heart and didn't like it when a plan didn't go the way he planned, it was a quality of his that you'd always admired.

At the time, you hadn't put any connection to him spending so much time with you together with him feeling guilty that you'd gotten hurt. After all, the two of you had been friends before. But now…

"I hate that you got hurt," his voice echoed in your head. "But if you hadn't-"

You shook your head violently, trying to get the words out of there, but they kept repeating. Kept reminding you that while you'd been falling helplessly in love with Steve Rogers, he'd been keeping you company out of pure guilt and claiming, now, that it was love.

Still on a two page long, restricted activity list, which meant you couldn't use a punching bag to let out your frustration, you did the next best thing. You stood up and went to bed, burying yourself under the blankets as you cried, willing yourself to fall asleep.

—————

"You look like shit," Sam stated upon entering Steve's apartment, a couple days later, without as much as a courteous knock, Bucky behind him. "Did you even shower this weekend?"

"What do you want?" Steve asked, glaring at his friends.

"Well, it's Monday and you missed a meeting," Bucky stated as he sat down in one of the leather chairs in the living room. "Tony offered to come check on you, but we thought it was best if we did."

"We figured it might have something to do with a certain other person deciding she overdid herself last week and needing another day or two to rest," Sam said, trying to lead the conversation.

Jaw clenched, Steve glared at his friend, who then declared, "Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner, folks."

"Did something happen between you two?" Bucky asked in a more sensitive manner than Sam appeared to be able to manage. "You two seemed to be getting close."

"I thought we were," Steve admitted, running a hand over two days growth of stubble on his chin. "So, I told her I loved her and she threw me out of her apartment."

He didn't miss the look his friends shared before Sam inquired, "When you say that you told her you loved her, how exactly did you say it? You did say it right, you didn't throw yourself at her, did you?"

"Of course I said it," Steve snapped, glaring daggers at him. "I told her that I hated that she got hurt, but if she hadn't, I never would have realized I loved her."

He didn't need the looks on his friends' faces to tell him what he'd heard in his own retelling of his declaration of love. Instead of the romantic gesture he'd meant by the words, he only heard a guilty man declaring love.

"Fuck!" he cursed. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

"At least you figured out what went wrong," Sam offered, unhelpfully. "So now what?"

—————

It started with little gifts randomly showing up on your desk, when you went back to work on Tuesday, knowing you couldn't hide in your apartment without a lot of questions being asked. The little trinkets were meaningless to most people, but they held meaning to you and you knew they were from Steve. One had been a little Scottie dog figurine that had a startling likeness to the dog you'd had growing up, a nod to one of the first conversations you and Steve had shared. Another had been a Hufflepuff House magnet, that reminded you of your attempt at explaining the Harry Potter books to Steve. Similar conversation reminders appeared over the next couple of days and you were on edge, slightly, expecting Steve to appear out of nowhere.

He didn't though. He didn't even refer to himself until a bouquet of daisies, your favorite flowers, appeared on your desk at the end of the day on Friday, exactly a week after you'd asked him to leave. As flowers usually do, they created a stir from the other ladies in the department, but even without seeing the card, they all seemed to know they were from Steve.

"He's so thoughtful," one of them said, wistfully. "You really are lucky to have started out as friends before becoming more."

"I could have saved myself a lot of trouble if I had done that instead of marrying my first husband," another agreed. "I thought we'd be seeing more of him around now that you two are together."

"We're trying to keep it private," you said, clutching the unopened card to your chest. "Keep it separate from work, you know." It wasn't a lie, you and Steve had been keeping that part of your relationship private, from nosy coworkers and friends.

It was another five minutes before they exited your area and you were able to finally read Steve's card. In his fine hand, he'd written just three words: I love you.

There was no explanation, no excuses, nothing that could have justified the little leap your heart made at those words written in his own hand. You'd always known Steve to be a simple, uncomplicated man, despite the fact that disaster seemed to follow him, and knew that he meant those three words.

Without any direction as to where he might be, you followed your gut and headed to the common area where the two of you had had your first conversation, not even waiting for your shift to be over. Sure enough, he was there and, as if he could sense your presence, he turned and looked at you as you stood in the doorway.

—————

Steve hadn't been convinced she would come, but there she was, standing there waiting for something, but for what? Did she want him to go to her? Did she want to go somewhere private? Whatever it was, he had a gut feeling it wasn't something bad. If it had been, she wouldn't be here, smiling at him like that.

He stood up, bringing an abrupt end to the story that Clint was telling. He was oblivious to everyone around him, except for her. His rising from his seat had propelled her into the room. As if pulled by an invisible magnet, they found themselves meeting in the middle of the room. He brought his hand up to dry the tears from her cheeks and then had the sudden urge to kiss her. So he did.

And she kissed him back.

At some point, the sounds of catcalls, wolf whistles and clapping broke through the bubble that had formed around them at their initial movements. With the sudden realization that they were very much in public, Steve set her feet back on the ground, unsure of when he'd actually swept her off her feet, and smiled down at her, slightly embarrassed but more interested in getting her alone.

Knowing they had to let their friends abuse them a little, just to get it off their chests, they stayed for a little while longer before they went to his apartment.

Despite wanting to take her directly to his room, Steve reminded himself that there was an important conversation that needed to happen first and it couldn't wait. He led her to the sofa and pulled her down so she was sitting next to him.

"Before we go any farther, I want to make something perfectly clear," he said, taking her hands, ironically resuming the exact position they'd been in a week prior. "Did I feel guilty after you got hurt? Yes." He tightened his grip on her hands instinctively, but it proved to be unnecessary, as her hands didn't even flinch. "But only because I'd gone against my gut instinct and let others convince me you wouldn't need the extra bulk of Kevlar." He felt her squeeze his hands gently, as if encouraging him to continue.

"That guilt has nothing to do with my love for you," he said, his eyes staring into hers. "If there is anything about my love for you that I do feel guilt over, it’s not telling you sooner." She blinked in surprise and he smiled. "I've been in love with you for so long that I don't know when it switched from being your friend to wanting to be more.

"I ignored it though, I didn't want to ruin what we had," he continued. "But then, that day, when I realized you were in trouble and then had to watch you get shot twice before I could get to you, before I could protect you..." His voice trailed off as the memories came back to him.

—————

You could feel the break in his voice all the way to your soul as the man you loved crumpled in front of you, the emotional strain of the last week, hell, the last month finally catching up to him. To both of you, you realized as you felt tears on your own cheeks.

"I love you, too, Steve," you told him, letting go of his hands so you could wrap your arms around him in a tight embrace. "I don't know how or when it happened, but I realized that I loved you when I was recovering from surgery."

Sensing he needed some strength, you pushed him back against the cushions of the couch then straddled his waist. You spent the next little while telling him you loved him in between kisses. First on his face, then his lips, then his neck and then his lips, again, the words slowly being replaced by longer, more passionate kisses.

"No," he whispered, when you reached for the hem of his shirt. "Not out here."

He stood up with ease, despite the fact that you still clung to him, and carried you into his bedroom, his arms wrapped around your torso and your legs wrapped around his waist. He set you on to the middle of the bed and then pushed you back against the blankets as he began kissing you again.

—————

A disappointed sound escaped her swollen lips when Steve pulled away and sat back on the bed, his breathing heavy. He'd enjoyed kissing her, but he wanted to go farther, but wouldn't until she was ready to do so.

"Do you want me to go?" she asked, quietly.

"No!" he answered quickly, grabbing her hand just in case. "I don't want you to leave. Ever. But I also don't want to do anything you're not ready to do."

"I'm ready for everything and anything," she said in a shy yet confident voice. "As long as you are."

Steve nodded his head and turned back to her, his eyebrows shooting up when he saw her pull her shirt over her head, revealing a simple bra that cupped her breasts perfectly.

"Your turn," she said as she let the shirt drop to the floor.

Standing up, Steve yanked his shirt over his head, dropped it, and then, with a quick glance at her, undid the fastenings of his pants and let them fall to the floor at his feet. Only realizing, as he tried to step out of the pants, that he was still wearing his shoes.

Her melodic giggle filled the room as he nearly fell over in an attempt to take off his shoes without sitting down. Admitting defeat, he sat down on the bed, pulled off his shoes and socks and then kicked his pants off.

Rolling his head towards her smiling face, he said, "Checkmate."

—————

A flush spread across your face as you stood up, his heavy gaze upon you. Wanting to avoid the situation he'd found himself in, you slid off your ballet flats and nudged them out of the way with your foot.

You took a deep, calming breath as your hands found the zipper of your work trousers that was on your hip. Slowly, you slid the zipper down and then wiggled your hips a little to help get the probably a little too tight pants down over your hips and bum. Once past your knees, the dark trousers pooled instantly at your feet.

Steve held a hand out to you and you took it, using him to support your weight as you stepped out of the pants. With his encouragement, you got back on the bed and sat beside him.

He leaned into you, his mouth finding yours again while his hands touched the bare skin of your torso. His touches started innocently enough, but then rose higher to your bra and then under your bra. You sucked in a breath against his lips as his fingers brushed against your nipples for the first time, sending jolts of desire through your body.

He teased you around the satin fabric of your bra until you couldn't stand it anymore. Reaching behind your back, you unclasped the now-offending item of clothing. Pulling away from him, you rounded your shoulders as you slid your bra off, revealing your naked breasts to him for the first time.

The bra slipped from your hand as he pushed you backwards so you were laying down. He positioned himself next to you and, ever so slowly, began to touch you. His hands caressed your torso, sliding nearer and nearer to the fullness of your breasts, but dancing away at the last moment.

Then you felt him circle one of your new scars and you stiffened. In the heat of the moment, you'd forgotten all about them and, now, there was no way to hide them, the ugly marks that blemished your skin.

—————

He felt her stiffen when his fingers circled her still healing scars, but not in a painful way. Instead of circling it again, he lowered his mouth to her skin and kissed each scar, the ones from her bullet wounds and the ones from the surgery that had saved her life.

Feeling she needed some vocal encouragement as well, he whispered, "You're beautiful. So beautiful. These scars… these scars…" He brought his gaze up to meet hers. "These scars are just an external example of how much of a fighter you are. They're proof that you're alive. And I love them. And I love you."

"Steve," her voice quivered as she reached up and brushed her hand over his cheek.

Leaning forward, he kissed her lips and used his thumbs to brush away her tears. After guiding her hands to rest on the bed above her head, he slid his hands from her shoulders down to the bottom of her breasts, cupping the fleshy mounds in his large hands.

The soft, pleasure-filled noises that slipped from her mouth encouraged him as he took advantage of the size of his hands and how much of her breasts he could touch at once. Her nipples became hard peaks under the attention of his fingers and became so tempting that he couldn't resist leaning forward and taking one in his mouth.

—————

Desire rushed through your body as you felt his wicked tongue circle one nipple and then the other. Wanting, no, needing more, you arched your back, pressing your breast against his face, making him chuckle against your skin. You felt the vibrations of said chuckle from your breasts all the way to your pulsing sex.

"Steve," you whispered in desperation. "Please."

The sensation of his hot mouth clamping down on one of your nipples sent chills down your spine and you could practically feel your panties get wetter. Your eyes closed and you bit down on your lower lip as he suckled one breast and then the other, all the while, making sure each were being given attention, whether with his mouth or with his hand.

Leaving your breasts, you felt him kiss down your body to the waistband of your panties. There, he teased the flesh above it and then slid his fingers down between your parted legs, making you moan as he pressed the damp fabric against your needy folds.

"Damn, baby," he muttered, his lips pressed so close to you that you could feel his hot breath against your skin.

He teased you, then, taking his time not touching you where you desperately wanted him to.

"Steve, please," you pleaded.

—————

The scent of her arousal was making him drunk and her words made his already hard cock, painfully harder. He quickly found the waistband of her panties and pulled them down her legs until they fell onto the floor.

Without being prompted, his lady parted her legs farther, opening herself up to him completely. He slid his gaze up from the pink of her folds, up her beautiful body and to her bright eyes. He smiled at her and winked before he nestled himself between her legs.

Her little noises filled the room as he first, touched her and, then, tasted her, before he began to use both methods on her. He felt her hands slide through his short hair and nearly latch onto his ears as her body rocked in a wave like motion as he brought her closer and closer to an orgasm. When it hit, her whole body shook and then contracted as he continued to slid his fingers in and out of her core.

With an urge to kiss her, Steve slid up her body, positioning his arms on either side of her, and captured her mouth with his, finding her just as needy to kiss him as he was to kiss her.

Then her hand found his cock and he let out a low moan as she began to slide her hand up and down the shaft.

"Oh god," he moaned into her ear, his hips jerking forward into her touch. He let her do it for a few more seconds before he pulled free. Reaching over, he yanked open the drawer in his bedside table to grab a condom.

Once the condom was in place, he returned to her and carefully aligned his cock with her entrance. Simultaneous moans filled the room as he slid into her, her sex stretching to accept his size. He waited until she nodded ok and then he began to move, pulling back and sliding in a little farther each time.

—————

Steve's forehead was practically resting on yours as the two of you moved together. His chiseled body rubbing deliciously against yours as you clung to him, wanting to feel every inch of him against you.

You both became more vocal as the pleasure built. Murmuring words of encouragement along with unintelligible sounds of pure lust and desire.

With your arms wrapped tightly about him, you felt his whole body stiffen and jerk just before he let out a grunt by your ear. You slid your hands down to clutch his bum, pulling him deeper into you, as he came.

Unlike your previous lovers, who had often faded after cumming, Steve seemed to gain more strength after his orgasm and soon had you on the brink of another climax. With a seemingly magical touch, he sent you cascading over the edge.

The two of you laid there, your chests heaving, for a few minutes as you came down from your highs. Once your legs felt like they could support you again, you slipped from Steve's bed to clean yourself up in the bathroom.

When you came out, Steve was sitting with his back against the headboard waiting for you. You felt yourself blush, suddenly aware you were completely naked, as he watched you make your way back to his bed, the heat of his gaze making you feel loved and wanted.

After you got into the bed and laid down, he stretched out alongside of you. His body spooning yours in a warm, comforting way.

"Goodnight," he whispered into your ear. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Steve," you said before closing your eyes.

—————

Steve woke up, sometime later, his cock hard from the constant contact with her body. He shifted slightly, trying to put some space between their bodies, but stopped when she reached her hand back to stop him.

"I need you, too," she whispered in the dark.

He groaned when her hand slid down to his hardness and wrapped around it. Leaning towards her, he nuzzled her neck, encouraging her to bend her neck back to give him more access. He licked and kissed her neck as she touched him.

Not wanting to cum before he was inside of her, he pulled away to get a condom and then slid it on. Coming back to her, he slid his hand down her body, taking a few moments to toy with her nipples, before reaching the apex of her thighs, where he found her more than ready for him.

"I was having a really good dream," she admitted without an ounce of embarrassment in her voice. "You were fucking me really good."

"Like this?" he asked before lifting her upper leg, allowing her to hook it over his own, so there was room for him to slid into her sex in a single thrust.

She let out a moan of confirmation as she rolled forward slightly so he could hold on to her hip as he moved behind her. With his hands busy, she used her own to touch herself. Their moans filled the room as their passion built to the point where they both came, nearly at the same time.

After cleaning up a bit, they fell back to sleep wrapped in each other's arms.

—————

The faint signs of daylight were sneaking into the bedroom when you woke up, your head resting on Steve's chest. You could tell from the slow breaths he was taking that he was still asleep.

Leaning back slightly, you took in the wide expanse of his bare torso and all the muscular bits that sent zings directly to your clit. Your eyes followed his pecs to his abs and his abs to… the hard cock that was tenting the bed sheets.

"He likes attention," Steve's sleepy voice said. "If you ignore him, he'll go away on his own. He just really likes you."

"I really like him," you told Steve and then went about proving it. You made your way down his chest, nipping, licking, sucking and kissing every hard plane of it on your way to down to the part of his body that most wanted your attention. Pulling back the covers, you licked your lips and began to play with him.

The sounds that came from Steve's mouth as you used your hands on him and then your mouth, sent jolts of pleasure to your heated core. It was all you could do to remain on your hands and knees between his legs, circling the tip of his cock with your tongue when all you wanted to do was ride him and ride him hard.

It was Steve, ultimately, who made the decisive move. Taking advantage of you giving your jaw a break, he pulled you forward and ordered you to get a condom. You obeyed and quickly grabbed one.

After you slid it on to his cock, he sat up and pulled you into his arms in a sitting position, face to face. He held onto you as you lowered yourself down onto his cock. Your hands found the back of his neck as you began to move, rocking back and forth as you rode him.

With one hand securely on your back, his other hand wandered, taking advantage of the position the two of you were in. They started at your breasts and you arched your back towards him as he played with your nipples. Then his talented fingers slipped between your legs where the two of you were joined and he teased your clit, bringing you closer and closer to your release.

His extra attention on you, meant you came just moments before he did. You shuddered in his embrace and slumped against him as the night's events caught up with you.

—————

He watched her sleep for a long time. He was aware that it was weird, but he didn't care at all. She was the woman he loved and he'd almost lost her before he could tell her how much he cared about her.

Now, though, she knew how much he loved her and he knew that she loved him, too. She was his future, that much he knew. Whether they were here at the compound or if they found a house nearby, like Tony and Pepper had, he didn't know, but as long as he was with her, he would be happy.

She sighed in her sleep and he smiled. What had started as conversations in one of the common areas had blossomed into a lifetime of happiness with her by his side.

Want to find me off tumblr? I’m @beccatheycallme on twitter. I also post my stories on AO3.

My tag list is always open, just let me know if you’d like to be added!

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ayearofpike · 6 years ago

Text

Remember Me 2: The Return

Pocket Books, 1994 210 pages, 16 chapters + epilogue ISBN 0-671-87265-6 LOC: unknown (catalog down as I wrote this) OCLC: 30986560 Released September 1, 1994 (per B&N)

Shari Cooper, having passed into the light after her untimely death, is learning to be one with the universe and accept it with love and grace. It makes her a perfect candidate to return to the realm of the living — only she’s not going to have such an easy, pampered life. Rather, she’ll have to take on the life and struggles of a downtrodden minority who has given up, and work to improve the lot of everyone in her circle.

So here’s the one that Pike said he should have refused, that the publisher talked him into a sequel but in retrospect it damaged the story. But ... I don’t hate it? I know, that last entry was super vitriolic and angry about sequels and Pike’s slide into essentially irrelevance. Still, I was surprised that this book is not totally horrible — save one major racial problem that we’ll get to.

One thing that definitely annoys me about this book: the new die-cut covers. When I picked this one up at the store, I thought it was the awesomest thing: extra-spooky typeface that shows the art THROUGH it rather than just a generic script along the margins? But then I got the next one and stuck it on the bookshelf by this one, and the back cover caught the fingers of the E and PFFFTT. It took them a couple years to catch on and just print it, which, while a kludge, is preferable to the six or however many torn ones I have.

But narrative-construction-wise (as opposed to physical-construction-wise) the book actually holds up. Pike alternates between the first-person consciousness of Shari and the third-person observation of Jean Rodrigues, a poor and unmotivated but hot Latina living in the projects in Los Angeles. It’s not really a spoiler to say that Shari ends up taking over Jean’s body, and the realization marks a nice in-time shift in descriptive perspective as she suddenly understands that “she” is “I.”

So how the hell am I going to summarize this, considering the construction and flipping between astral plane and physical realm is what makes this book work? I guess you’re just going to have to trust me, and read it if you want. I’m going to punch through the world beyond the light first and then come back to Jean, even though it’s her who opens the novel.

We know Shari’s dead, and we know she planned to go into the light at the close of events of the last novel. Our first encounter with her here has her talking with a more-enlightened being, who acts as a teacher and a guide to help Shari understand that the love she gave and the services she rendered are the more important elements of her life, beyond the expensive house and the indulgent parents and the fucking Ferrari. As she starts to get it, he suggests that she should become a Wanderer — a soul that takes over a living body rather than being reborn from the beginning and works to make things better. She’s interested, but she also wants to talk to Peter before she goes back.

Yeah, remember Peter? Well, I never said his name in the first summary — the spirit guide who loved her in life. He was able to get through too. He overcame his fear that he wasn’t good enough, and now he’s on the eternal plane with Shari. They construct the prom that they never went to, but just before they can get it on in the hotel room afterwards Peter lets his body get ripped open by the alien xenomorph that he decides to turn into as a joke. I have to admit it’s funny, but it highlights what Peter might still be afraid of: love, intimacy, getting too close, not being good enough still. So instead of boning, they explore the stars, and there’s some metaphysical shit about a black hole and how everything is interconnected that makes Shari realize she’s ready to be alive again and start making a difference.

Of course Peter wants to go too, but the fact that he killed himself is going to be an obstacle. These fears that he can’t quite release, and the circumstances of his death, mean that he’ll be resurrected into a body that is less than whole. Peter’s willing to take the hit, and the teacher accepts because he senses Peter’s love is pure. Also, the teacher lets them know that they’ll need some kind of a shock to the system in order to remember what they know about the cosmos, but even if they don’t they’ll still know they have some kind of higher purpose.

So now I’ve gotta jump all the way back to the beginning and talk about Jean. We get more male-gazey description of this hot brown mamacita, but I wasn’t quite as grossed out this time because her looks are the only thing Jean likes about herself. She’s down on her prospects, down on school, down on her family and what her life might turn into — because she’s pregnant with her boyfriend’s kid at 18. And tonight is his birthday party, and she’s going to tell him.

The birthday boy is Lenny Mandez, a gang dropout who finished high school at 20 and is trying to get clean but still has too many connections. He lives in a ramshackle house on a hill surrounded by oil wells, dirty but good enough to get wasted at. And I don’t really like the fact that the first time we have a whole cast of Latinxs they’re gang-bangers and dopeheads and dropouts — but the picture is real. I had plenty of friends and coworkers as a young food service employee in the Southwest who felt like this was their ceiling, this was all they could get, this was all they should aspire to. Which is part of why this story starts to piss me off later, but we’ll get to that.

So Jean tells Lenny about the baby, he’s less than thrilled, but then there’s a meeting. Kind of parallel to what happened in the first book, only with fewer people. It seems that a friend just got gunned down in a drive-by, and his girl wants revenge. She and Lenny are planning everything out, Jean’s best friend (who is a lesbian but again, don’t be squicked out, kids in 1994, because she totally doesn’t hit on Jean or anything!) doesn’t want to get involved, and Jean really doesn’t want them to pursue this. Why do they drive themselves down, Jean asks? Why can’t they aspire to anything better? Nobody’s hearing it, so she goes out on the balcony (because, sure, there’s a balcony in a two-bedroom house in the projects) to pray for help and understanding.

And the thing collapses out from under her.

She wakes up in the hospital three days later, with a concussion and several broken bones. Her mom is there and just breaks down out of happiness, because there was no sign that she would ever wake up until just a little bit before she did. She had a miscarriage too, which ... is sort of glossed over and forgotten quickly. But Lenny was on the balcony too, and he broke his back, severed the spinal cord and will probably never walk again, and now he just wants to die.

See, maybe I gave away too much too soon by breaking the story down the way I did.

But anyway, Jean suddenly feels less selfish and more giving, and she wants to help. She starts volunteering in the hospital as soon as she’s well enough, and has crazy ideas for stories about aliens and monsters and things. (Because evidently the best way to give your family and community a leg up is to become a horror and sci-fi writer. Getting less and less sly as we go along, Pike.) One of her patients (who is dying of leukemia, because everything old is new again) actually inspires her first short story, a tale of a successful writer whose muse wants in on the action and starts blackmailing her, which includes this frustrating little nugget.

But Jean isn’t satisfied just being her new self. Something is drawing her away from the hood and out to the rich developments. She takes a bus to Huntington Beach and walks with no goal in mind until she finds a bloodstain on the concrete by a condo. The property manager assumes she’s a friend of the poor girl who fell to her death the previous year and helps her find the family house, which of course she goes straight to and finds Shari’s brother moving out. She gets him to let her help in exchange for a ride home, and after reading the short story at the grave of her patient she feels compelled to go see him right away.

He lets her in and they immediately start talking about the dead sister. They’re both unnerved, but they keep going because something compels them. In fact, the brother reveals that he has a file on his computer that he’s never shared with anyone — a story written while he was sleepwalking that tells about his sister’s death and the events around it. Jean starts reading it, but she doesn’t have to finish because of course she wrote it. She is Shari. Shari is her. Shari has taken over Jean’s body in light of her prayer for help.

And this right here is where I get pissed. Like, Pike has constructed the realistically untenable situation of undereducated Latinxs in America. He’s written it with ... well, if not tenderness and understanding, then at least care and consideration. And he’s got a protagonist who wants to help her family and her community rise up and get out of the problematic cycle. BUT THEN. As soon as Jean Rodrigues realizes she’s Shari Cooper, the whole fuckin’ community goes out the window and Shari takes over and wants to try to reconstruct her old life. I mean, yeah, she gives some lip service to where she came from, but right away she’s like, yeah, let’s see my birth mom, let’s get my old best friend in here, let’s find the detective who cracked the case.

More than that: we’re getting a white savior story. Yes, this was many years before we understood the problems endemic to this trope, but still, that’s what it is. It requires the soul of a white girl going into the body of a Latina for her to want to start improving herself and her situation. It didn’t bother me then, because hey actual brown people in YA lit, take what I can get. But now? It bugs the fuckin’ shit out of me.

But Shari/Jean does actually still care about Lenny. Knowing she’s Shari, she’s surprised by the depth of feeling she has for him. (I mean, we’re not, because I gave away the reveal already.) What’s more, she still wants him to live a meaningful life beyond vengeance. Word is he’s gotten out of the hospital and out of rehab, and is mobile in a wheelchair, and is tracking down a gun. Shari/Jean knows what that means, and she goes to collect him and get him out of the projects to meet her new/old brother.

Lenny is surprisingly amenable to going with her — but only because it’s Jean that he’s going after the whole time, and now he’ll have ample opportunity to kill her away from where people know her and will suspect. See, he knows that he used protection every time they had sex, so he knows he can’t be the father of the (now-non) baby, and so she must have cheated on him. In fact, he figured it was his best friend, based on their prior relationship, and so he got the dude into the rival turf so that he’d be a target. And now he’s going to end Jean, who doesn’t love him and never did, and save a bullet for himself.

Lenny doesn’t see the parallels to the end of Peter’s life, because he never reads. (He says so himself.) But Shari/Jean does. She does her best to try to talk him out of his actions, but still ends up hanging from another goddamn balcony as he shoots at her fingers. It’s only as she’s slipping away, millimeters from death, that Peter wakes up and realizes who he is.

It’s too late to grab her hand, and Shari/Jean falls. Lucky for her, there’s a pool under this balcony, and she lands in the deep end. (Her best friend makes a joke out of it, actually, which did get a chuckle from me.) And then, just as everybody knows who they are and where they’re from and what they’re supposed to do: we get another goddamn “to be continued.”

I really don’t like ongoing sagas. Not sure what it is, but I have increasingly lost patience with them as I get older. (I think this is part of why I had such an angry reaction to The Last Vampire.) So the idea that I have to wait for another book to get the rest of the story bugs me, even though a) I have it on the shelf and don’t technically have to wait and b) this resurrection story hangs together OK. As I recall, the “white savior” and “forgetting where you come from” elements are even worse in the third book — as in, I’ll stop calling her Jean or even Shari/Jean, because she’s just Shari. Still, this one wasn’t as painful as I expected it to be, especially reading it for the first time in, I don’t know, 20 years after so many Pike Facebook posts regretting it.

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