I’m a little bit frightened of my imagination
Steggy Week 2022, Day 4: Tropes or Genre
↳ The return of the fake dating fic
Part One | Part Two | Part Three
Steve wakes with his face buried in Peggy’s hair and his arm curled tightly around her.
For a brief moment, while his mind’s still hazy with the last remnants of sleep, he just breathes in her scent. The perfume she was wearing yesterday still lingers, a faint flowery scent that he can’t quite place but that fills his senses and makes something deep inside him ache.
Slowly, regretfully, he lifts his head and looks down at her. She’s still asleep, her eyelashes fluttering gently against her cheek with each breath and her lips slightly parted. A shaft of sunlight has spilled between the blinds, falling so the edge of her face and chin are outlined in a soft golden glow. She looks like a work of art and for several long moments he just watches her, trying to memorise it so that later he can try and recreate the scene with pencil and paper (although he already knows he won’t do her justice).
Despite falling asleep with as much space between them as can be managed in a standard double bed they’ve ended up tangled together, as they have every morning since they started sharing a bed. Beneath the covers he’s aware of one of her feet having slipped between his legs, while his arm rests on her side, his hand covering her stomach - where sometime during the night her pyjama top has ridden up, so his fingertips are now grazing warm, soft, bare skin.
Heat pools low in his body and he swallows hard, trying very hard not to think about all the images just that light touch evokes and what it would be like to skim his hand down further, along her thighs and then dip between them, and –
– and he needs to get out of this bed, before Peggy wakes up to the feeling of her fake boyfriend’s very real erection pressing against her backside. Moving as carefully as he can, Steve pulls his arm away inch by inch until he can gently roll to the side without moving her. He’s getting better at leaving without disturbing her. The first morning she came half-awake, only dozing off again after he assured her he was fine, but now as he stands up she only shifts a little; he still catches his breath, waiting, but after a few seconds she settles again and he’s able to tip-toe out.
In the bathroom he locks the door and then slumps against it, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing. They’ve been sharing a bed for ten days, and already his nerves are frayed down to the last thread. How the hell is he supposed to keep this up for the entire study?
He starts the shower, turning the temperature down to cold - another thing that is, unfortunately, becoming a regular part of his morning routine.
Though given they started this because they have no money he supposes it’s not a bad thing if their hot water bill goes down.
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