Oh god yes, yes, yes, oh fuck, soon as Sean's back is against the wall, he goes ahead and drops the keys on the floor. They'll get them later. He's got more important things to focus on, namely how smoothly Steve moves. He's like a big jungle cat. Sean can't imagine ever pushing someone against a wall and shutting a door at the same time without causing some kind of disaster.

But who cares about that when he's got Steve right in front of him. Steve's hands are so big and warm, and Sean fucking loves how they feel running over his skin. Sean reaches out, hooking his fingers into Steve's belt loops and tugging him close until their hips are pressed together. Fuck, he can't believe it. He's going to sleep with Steve Rogers.

Sean ditches his jacket on the floor and leans in for another kiss. He's fit under the shirt, but he's human as well, and the further Steve explores, the more he comes across scars. Sean's been lucky, and most of them are old - childhood accidents, ill-advised teen stunts. There's a few fresh ones though - a thin long line high up on his chest where a knife stabbed him, and a handful of circular buckshot scars along his right side where a shotgun blast barely missed his mid-center. Sean's entirely forgotten about them, more focused on the feeling of Steve's cock as his hips start grinding forward.