Chapter Text
As much as you hate to admit it, that dorky smile he gives you every time he sees you, every time he laughs as if his sides will fall apart, and every time you notice that glint in his eye when he talks about his passions, you could become a puddle at his feet. His short blonde hair slicked with sweat as he tries to lift a few boxes to take them to the back of the factory, and he passes by you, giving you that smile. Sometimes, he comes back from a weekend with unusual spirits, and you tried not to notice how rare a smile was on those days. Even passing by you, he uses a forced grin, and it feels like an offense. Knowing damn well why he's down, but wanting him to let it out, you sit down on a box and look at him expectantly.
"Tell me what happened" you call in his direction, and before he even answers, it rings in your ears. Can you believe they turned me down again?
"They turned me down for the army again, said I was too small" Steve responds after a moment of holding his breath.
"I don't understand why you keep putting yourself out there, Rogers, you know that they'll keep saying that until beyond the war is over" you admit. He turns, and nothing but raw determination is lining his features, and it is quite a turn on, except for the scowl.
"Because men are risking their lives while I sit here and work with the women in factories" he mutters.
"You have nothing to prove to anyone, Steve. Just because Bucky got draf-"
"Don't compare me to James, we're not the same person" he insists before you can even finish. It's true, the pair were high in differences, not only in look in build. Bucky, as much as you have heard about him, is cocky, good with the ladies, tough, and constantly kept Steve out of trouble, his duty as a best friend. Steve isn't exactly shy but he's down to Earth, awkward, and constantly without meaning to, stirs a fight. Really, it's more for protecting his beliefs, or as he says he doesn't like bullies.
You notice he's glancing over a label on a box, avoiding eye contact with you actively, and honestly it fires you up. So, you stand up and go straight to him, tugging his collar to where he's looking right at you. His eyes are wide, and he's blinking rapidly, making the blue of his eyes rip into yours every time.
"No, you don't get to cut into an argument and then not talk to me" you say, feeling your jaw setting. Even through your irritation, you notice just how close you've gotten to him, and he doesn't dare pull back. Sighing and biting his lip, he opens his mouth to talk, but then closes it.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you, I just don't want to argue with you" his voice is sincere, and he places his hand on yours, trying to get you to loosen your grip on him. Laughing a little, you let go of his collar and back up a step or two.
"Is that the first time you've ever backed out of a fight in your life?"
"Probably."
"Well I feel special" you say, grinning, and his puddle-inducing smile returns. Another thing you noticed through your rage was how kissable he looked like that, all innocent and defensive, almost submissive. You quickly shake away the thought, and he goes back to work with a better demeanor.
--
Since you'd met him, you always noticed that little sketch book he carried in every day. During lunch, he'd occasionally pull it out and sketch, lose himself completely in every line. But you'd never complain, it gave you plenty of time to admire every part of him you could see, and imagine what you couldn't. The way his hand moved, his arm straining, the intensity of his stare, it was sinful. He'd look up and catch you staring a few times, but he just gave an assuring smile and continued on the lines. He is a piece of art, himself, and you'd never know exactly how he didn't see himself as such. You constantly wonder if he knows the effect he has on you, and if he knows the way he describes Bucky being a charming guy that could get every woman, how he's describing himself for you.
That memorable longcase clock ringing through the place indicates a lunch break. Noticing most of the other workers pass by in a breeze, not catching a glimpse of Steve, as usual. He's heavily concentrated on something and is taking his time for food in order to finish it up. You'd met Bucky briefly once, and you made a promise before he left that you'd watch Steve carefully, don't let him get into trouble. Sighing, you go to find him in the back, opening the door of the supplies room. Hearing the typical noise of a pencil against paper, following it to the source, the small blonde propped on the ground, his back to you.
"You could at least take a chair, and you should probably eat something" you chide gently, and he leans his neck back to look at you, even if he knows it's you. The veins of his neck press against his pale skin, and you want to kiss down them desperately, you barely hear his response.
"-Later."
As soon as you come behind him to help him get up, he's shifted the small book against his chest, apparently covering the sketch from your view. You'd never tried to watch, but it bugged you that when you tried he wouldn't let you, in fact you're his best friend besides Bucky. Thinking about it, you'd never seen any of his artwork, but before now, that had never got on your nerves. His eyes shift nervously as he gets to his feet and there he goes again, purposefully avoiding your eyes.
"Hiding something from me?"
"N-no." He's a bad liar.
Smiling, you get closer to him, reaching for his arms to pry the book free. The second you touch his arm and he notices what exactly is going on, he flinches back.
"I-it's nothing, really" he protests, but the blush starting to hint at his face is a dead give away.
"Really, then why are you flustered?"
"I-I'm not!" He nearly shouts, and there goes the red cheeks. It is a little too much fun to tease him like that, and he's just taunting you with his innocence. I wonder what he looks like when he's blushing, his mouth open, his chest bare...Woah there (y/n), calm down.
"Oh, really, you look awfully red for 'not flustered'" you tease, stepping closer, giving him a smirk. He bites his lip again and it makes you wonder how it would feel to bite his lip, and if he'd moan against your mouth. Before you can further that fantasy, he's closing the latch of the notebook, but not before you grab his hand.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm gonna have to confiscate this for evidence, that you definitely draw your love interests" you giggle, making him get that protective stance. But, there's no denial, and he looks guilty. You grin and grab both of the sides of his stomach, not letting him back up if he wanted to, basically pinning him against a shelf. The gasp he lets out is not helping your case, but he finally lets his hands go limp around the notebook, enough for you to slide it out of his grasp. Automatically, he starts grabbing for it again, but you hold it up cruelly, right out of his reach.
"You're being a jerk, give it back!"
"Not until I find out your love interest!" You challenge, flicking through some pages with your thumb, your arm still raised as he continues to reach for it. Stopping at a drawing, noticing features of yourself, scanning over every curve of your face and even random hairs that stick out funny. Steve drew you, and he doesn't seem to be denying the whole 'love interest' situation. Glancing back to him, you realize he's given up on grabbing at it, but his eyes are still on it nervously. Now more curious, you flick through a few more pages, and you're literally shocked when you notice the drawings are getting raunchy at every turn. Starring you and the small guy you're currently pinning to a shelf, and you flick your eyes to him, expecting an explanation.
Surprisingly there isn't one, and he just bites his lip again, looking to his shoes, that blush returning. So, you didn't expect that, out of all the people he could have drawn the situations with, he picked you. It's your epitome of strangely sexy flattery.
Wanting to show your appreciation for the arts (of course), you put the book down and press him further against the shelf, flush against him. The way a gasp meets a groan sends a prickling sensation down your body.
"How long have you been drawing such perverted things about me, without showing me?"
"N-not too long" he manages, his breath already uneven. It's endearing how easy he is to stir up, and there's no way you can't do it more.
Leaning in for a kiss that is anything but gentle, like a first kiss probably should be, he doesn't hesitate in kissing back. Your hands grasp the back of his head, threading through his hair, his hands plastered awkwardly at his sides. He has a lot to learn, but you won't push it for now. Nipping his lip like you'd imagined before, you notice your fantasy was reality when a moan from the back of his throat finds its way against your lips. He's practically humming against your mouth, and his hands finally cool your demanding skin at your sides. He won't open his mouth, and you're not sure if it's because he's not sure about it yet or he doesn't realize, so you take it as a challenge to teach him. Your hands trail down his body slowly, taking extra attention to places when he takes in air fast, stopping to grope him through his slacks, and trailing right back up. Needless to say his mouth opens in a gasp, but he's panting and losing all excess air in his lungs by that point, so you pull back just enough to let him take in his own air.
After a moment of him starting to even his breathing, he opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but you press your mouth right back against his. He doesn't disagree at all, kissing back with a different purpose, it's lingering on rough yet affectionate. You give his jaw attention with your fingers for a reward, and he takes it, greedily groaning against your skin. His hands make their way to your hips, squeezing, and this time it's you who gasps. The clever kid understood all along, considering he takes advantage of the opening, pressing his tongue along yours, almost in a challenge. Pressed up against him so tight, his arousal is obvious, and you're wondering if the 'good boy' piece of him is an act or it just needs to be torn away with kisses and touches.
You reach your nervous hands to the edges of his shirt, pressing your fingers under the cloth to touch gently at his pale stomach, letting them make a path toward his ribs as it goes along. Another gasp is pressed into your lungs, and your tongue is dominating his, despite his eagerness he hadn't quite the technique down. Yet. You could fix that, easily, though. And you're sure he's willing to be taught.
His hands making their way down to your thigh catches you off guard, but when he squeezes there, you outright moan. He returns with a shivering moan, and through all the lustful kissing, he's losing breath again. You pull away from his lips, kissing along his jaw, down the side of his neck, and you gain a hitch in his inhale. It's intoxicating, the way his breathing is strained, his chest lowering and rising fast, the tightness in his pants, the now reddened lips from your acts, and damn the way his face is flushed. It's all for you, and you need to take all of it in, very soon.
His fingers shift to your inner thigh, and he's stroking right under where you want him, and clothes become a very sudden problem. Moaning into his damp collarbone, you grip at his shirt desperately, nearly ripping it off his body in an attempt to just slide it off. His lips return to yours and it is nothing but teeth and tongues, and you only pull back to allow that painfully baggy shirt to slide over his head. Right as he's rubbing along the line of your underwear, so close to where you want, you're rudely snapped into reality.
Another chime that shows the end of lunch, and footsteps are heard from the hall. You pull away from him, irritated and panting, and he's a mess as he slides on his wrinkled shirt from the floor.
"To hell with that alarm" you mutter, and he nods in agreement.
"Maybe sometime I can come to your house and we can reenact some of your sketches?"
He just gives you a rare, and unexpected smirk.