Work Text:
Two years ago, Steve would never have been caught dead cuddling. He was cool, you know? Now, though, as he had time to stop and still after the monsters had left. Well, could you blame him for pulling Jonathan down onto the couch and not letting him go? That was another thing that two years ago he wouldn’t have done. Jonathan was something he didn’t expect, didn’t plan for. He thought, back then, that his romantic life would live and die with Nancy, and then that didn’t work out. But he was okay with that. Nancy had been the one to help him come to terms with the way that boys turned his head. That it was okay to like both.
Steve had asked Jonathan on a date nearly six months ago, and luck would have it that Jonathan agreed. Their friends had taken to calling them disgusting because of how darn sappy they were. Safe to say, they didn’t mind. It wasn’t easy, being gay (or bisexual in Steve’s case) in 1985 but they had a group of friends that really didn’t mind.
Steve snuggled further down into the worn couch, soft fabric practically enveloping him. He was on his back, eyes closed and feet dangling off the edge. It didn’t look particularly comfortable but oh it was. Jonathan was nestled carefully on top of him, Steve’s arms wrapped around his waist in a vice-like grip. Steve was close to sleep, his eyelids heavy with the soft fingers of Hypnos dragging him under.
There was a rustling from the corner of the room. He lazily twisted his head, one eye blinking open. Jonathan’s head pushed further into his chest, a groan of discontent slipping from his diaphragm.
“Go back to sleep, darling,” Steve soothed, voice barely a whisper. His hand came up to card through Jonathan’s hair, gently tugging out tangles and smoothing it down from the crown of his head.
Finally, he acknowledged the noise in the corner. Mike and El had entered the room and now stood frozen in the doorway, taking in the scene in front of them. Steve eyed them casually, not really caring what they did next, so long as they didn’t wake Jonathan again.
“Get your shit quick,” he said softly, voice rumbling through his chest as a deep monotone.
“I’ve not seen him so relaxed,” El muttered in wonder, eyes trained on the sleeping form of Jonathan.
Steve’s hand moved from his hair to stroke his back. Long, languid caresses designed purely to keep him calm and pliable. To let him know it was okay to just be still and quiet and something warm. Vulnerable.
Steve felt good here, his boy on top of him, covered in comfort and blankets and love and safety. Mike and El slipped through the room on the tips of their toes, grabbing whatever it was they needed and leaving just as quiet. Steve turned his head back, pressing a gentle kiss to Jonathan’s head. His eyes slipped closed. There were no more steps he had to take, and no more miles to go. He could sleep.