nysalogs | [ closed ]

Entry tags:

[ closed ]

Who: Peggy Carter (

revlon) & Steve Rogers (

starspangle)
What: Goin' all the way.
When: April 8, late evening; post-birthday party.
Where: The Carter-Rogers apartment, Olympia.
Warning(s): as nsfw as these golden oldies can get

[ It's near midnight when the last of the party guests leave and Peggy almost doesn't want the evening to end. What a novel feeling this is, being so light and happy from the warmth of company, the buzzing under her skin from a few glasses and more than a few laughs. But as the evening winds down, Peggy finds that she'd like nothing more than to sidle up against Steve's side and while the hours away in his embrace, so utterly pleased and grateful for this gift he's given her — and maybe some people picked up on that, maybe that's why they've all drifted their way towards the door despite no one ushering them out.

Whatever the case, when the embraces are given, the final toasts raised, the last slice of cake eaten, everyone goes home and Steve and Peggy are left alone in their suddenly quiet apartment. She lingers at the door and listens to the last footfalls fade on the stone steps, the rattle of the wrought-iron gate as it opens and shuts. And then she shuts their own door and locks it, then turns and leans against the wood with a laugh riding on an exhale. ]

That's the last of them. [ She reaches out for him, fingertips outstretched in the air between them, and she smiles. Come here, is all but said. And once she can tangle his hand with hers, she tugs him closer. ] Eggsy, Emma, and Claire seem to have taken care of the washing up so I think we can leave everything else until morning. What do you say?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Well, sure. Whatever the birthday girl wants.

[ Steve steps in towards her, one hand tangled with hers and the other curling around her waist.

It's true that the little home they share is strangely quiet now that all of their guests have left for the night. The silence is almost deafening.

But it's nice too, having this moment together - a kind of let-down from the excitement of the party. And while Steve might not admit such a thing so outwardly, he's selfishly glad to have the rest of the evening with Peggy all for himself now.

He leans down to kiss her. ]

Happy Birthday, Pegs.

[ Their record player is still crooning soft music and she thinks, absently, that they should tend to that before it reaches the last song. But this is far more pressing and far more interesting. ]

Thank you, darling, [ is whispered right before they kiss, and she brings their joined hands to rest against her heart. She's shorter than him now, having kicked off her heels for bare stockings some time in the last hour of the party, but it's an easy thing to rise on her toes and lean against the door for leverage as she deepens the kiss, her free arm winding around his waist in turn.

It's still bandaged, but that's entirely for show. She's since recovered from their ordeal in the rescue missions and although she moves carefully with Steve now, she's sure he has, too. They share that bond, now. And maybe it's that, maybe it's the whiskey, maybe it's the spirit of the evening and the closeness of his body, but she's craving more contact than just this. The kiss may have started out chaste but she'd rather it not remain that way, not with all the false starts and stops they've had for months, not when she's riding high on the atmosphere of the evening. ]

[ Steve feels the rising intensity in the way Peggy shifts towards him, her mouth over his, the insistence that comes with it - all of which he meets with equal measure.

That's the wonderful thing about them - that they fit so perfectly in tandem to the other, it's easy to lead and to follow, and right now Steve is content enough to follow. Hands still tangled together, he guides them up and over her head, pinning her wrist to bury his face in the crook of her neck and kiss her there. The weight of his body presses into her. ]

[ Ordinarily, the last thing she'd enjoy is being cornered. But Steve all but pins her to the door and a spike of pure heat jolts through her; her fingers curl — tighter around his hand, his shirt — and she lifts her chin obligingly to bare her throat to his wandering mouth. This isn't the first time they've done this, this isn't the first time he's trailed kisses along her neck, but that's precisely why her skin is prickling with it: he knows precisely what makes her heart skip a beat. ]

Someone's a little impatient, [ she teases, only a little breathless. Her hand releases his shirt and skates up his back to curl through his hair, not quite tugging, but certainly guiding him to look up from his ministrations just long enough for her to say, ] Steve, [ before kissing him again, arching up into his space like she intends for him to pick her up off the floor. Maybe she does. ]

Peggy. [ Steve returns, lifting his head before Peggy kisses him again. He lets go of her hand then, runs his fingers down her sides and lifts her with very little effort, mouths still connected. That's one of the great things about being a super-soldier - strength is not an issue.

While the door of their cozy apartment is a fine enough place to start all of this, maybe their bedroom is the more appropriate setting for what they both have in mind. They've had similar moments like this - heated kisses and getting a little handsy - but something about tonight feels different. It helps that the world outside seems to have given them some respite. There are no battles to fight, no tortures to overcome; not tonight.

Steve kisses her again. ]

Bedroom?

[ He lifts her and she straddles his hips easily, linking her hands behind his neck and brushing her nose to his as she whispers, ]

Best idea you've had all night.

[ And it's been an evening of excellent ideas. He's going to have to put his soldier's senses to the test and navigate them blind because Peggy ducks her head to kiss him again, leaving the last of her faded lipstick in her wake as she lets her lips wander from his cheek, jaw, corner of his mouth, back to his lips again.

If they're walking backwards, she knows one of them will have to fumble with the doorknob of their bedroom, but it's a short distance from Point A to Point B. The second she feels that their bed is behind her, she's going to do her damnedest to fall back onto it and pull Captain Steve Rogers down along with her, uncaring of how her dress or hair might rumple. Because yes, they've been on the edge of this before, and she's eager to cross that threshold with him. ]

[ There's the briefest of smiles at her response before they're kissing again, Steve's attention otherwise occupied. But they do get to the bedroom without issue, the path between the door to the bed being a very brief journey and one they've taken so many times its practically muscle memory at this point.

He finds their bed in the darkness - made up neat and tidy before the party - with the barest touch of his knees, letting Peggy sink into the mattress before he follows suit, kissing her, always kissing her, his hands running along the fabric of her (slightly crumpled) dress. ]

[ She slides back a little on the bed, just enough to give him room to hit the mattress with her. And although she may have been sitting back on her elbows to start, she rises up to sit now, just enough to allow easy access to the zip down the back of her dress — she hasn't broken the kiss yet, cradling his face between her palms and thumbs winging his cheekbones. But she does slow down a little now that they're in the privacy of their bedroom, the kiss now languid and with just a slip of tongue.

They have time. Not just tonight, but here in El Nysa. Maybe the past few months have made it feel as though they're on the brink of another war, but that's where they thrive. (Or, at least, it's where she feels at her best — which is terrible and true.) But there's no war in here. In here, it's just Peggy and Steve.

Her hands slip from his face to work the hem of his shirt free from his trousers. If there are buttons, she'd unbutton them; but not before she can slide her hands up under the fabric to explore warm, bare skin first. ]

[ Steve's hands continue to roam, exploring the shape of her before they eventually make their way to the zipper of her dress the same way she'd found the hem of his shirt (which, yes, is a button-down, something nice and in a deep shade of blue). There is no rush here, not tonight, that's true - but that doesn't mean there's a lack of eagerness either.

Jesus, he wants her.

He pulls the zipper down the length of her spine, slow and easily, mouth still on hers. The feel of her skin, soft and smooth and warm is a contrast to the roughness of his calloused fingers which now find purchase against the sleeves of her dress, lets them guide the fabric over the curve of her shoulders, reveals the straps of her bra. He shifts, breaks apart from Peggy long enough to make it easier for her to get to the buttons of his shirt and exhales at the first touch of her hands on his chest, the blossoming of heat in his stomach that travels down the length of him. ]

[ Once upon a time, she'd have been a little more uncertain about this — where they are, what they're doing, how they're doing it. But as has always been the case with all manner of moments shared with Steve Rogers, this feels right in every sense of the word. They've never faltered, even in the times it felt as though they had, because every step has been taken together even when they were torn apart by the war. She can't speak for him, but she knows in her bones that he's the reason she carried on the way she did.

And now they're here.

There's the softest rustle of fabric and beadwork as she shrugs free of her dress, letting it pool around her hips as she works at the buttons of his shirt. She pushes it off his shoulders, leans in to press an open-mouthed kiss to the gentle slope of where his neck meets his shoulder, smooths her hands down along his ribs to settle at the dip of his hips. ]

I want to see you.

[ It's murmured into the heated air between them as she lifts her head and leans back in for another soft kiss, before drawing away just enough to snap on the bedside lamp, throwing them into its warm glow. She exhales slowly, taking him in — flushed but unmarked skin, whereas hers has scars to spare (two bullets to the right shoulderblade, another to the right thigh). This isn't the first time they've been unclothed around each other, but this is different. She caresses his hair, cradles his cheek.

Gently, fondly: ]

Hello.

Hi.

[ Steve smiles, head only very slightly ducking in a way that is so reminiscent of the skinny young man he once was before all of this had happened - before Captain America. In some ways that young man hasn't quite changed though he'd been hardened by war and death and violence over the course of seventy-some-plus years.

The belief that he would ever get to live a life with someone else, with the right partner as it were, had begun to fade with the reminder that Peggy Carter had lived a long and fruitful life during his slumber. And it hadn't really bothered him then, not outwardly anyway. He'd read her file, followed her story as best as he could. She'd done so much and she deserved it; she seemed happy. He couldn't want anything more than that.

And besides, Captain America had his own destiny, a true soldier from blood to soul. He finally had the body and the physical strength to do what his heart had always wanted: to fight for those who couldn't, and to bring an end to war (any war, all war). Now in the warm glow of light in their bedroom, having this very real chance with Peggy in a strange otherworld outside of time, he allows himself to want what he couldn't before. He allows himself to love her when their stories made that impossible.

He reaches out to touch her, to graze his fingers over the scar across her thigh, to skim the line of her right arm like he's drawing her. ]

I love you.

[ It's not the first time hearing it and she has always known it to be true, but that doesn't mean the words have lost their novelty. She doubts they ever will, just like sharing a dance with him. They lived years believing those little things were lost to them; she can relish each moment they reclaim a piece of it. ]

I love you, [ she breathes out in reply, shivering pleasantly in the wake of his touch, rising up on her knees on the bed so she can kiss him again. ] Always have.

[ Even when she bid farewell to him in a radio room or on the Brooklyn Bridge. Even when she tried her damnedest to let him go and move on. Even when she thought she had. Because one never truly forgets their first love.

Her dress has dropped to her knees now along with the slip she'd worn with it, pushed away by Steve's clever fingers, leaving her in the undergarments she brought to El Nysa with her from a previous life. Brassiere and garter belt in peach satin holding up delicate seamed stockings — her only pair in the city. Without the world outside, this could be 1946 as they'd always dreamed it, and sometimes she imagines it was. She breaks the kiss to let her lips travel south, trailing faded lipstick along the column of his throat, collarbone, chest, drawing away to undo the button and zip of his trousers.

They really ought to get out of their finery before they tear something. ]

[ Steve has seen Peggy in her undergarments enough times during their preparations for bed on any normal day that the sight of her shouldn't surprise him, nor should it re-ignite the heat in his gut - and yet everything about tonight feels just a little different. There's an intention with every motion, every movement.

Steve exhales, reaching down to help her with the zipper of his trousers, fingers folding over hers for a brief moment. He moves to pull them down over his legs and toss them aside towards the pile of their discarded clothing.

And so here they both are in nothing but their undergarments, merely a layer of thin fabric to separate skin from skin. Steve leans in to drop a kiss against Peggy's bare shoulder while simultaneously letting the strap of her brassiere fall aside.

He doesn't want to rush this, wanting to savour every second of it with her, however overwhelming it might be. He doesn't think about the fact that he doesn't have a whole lot of experience prior to this, having never gone this far with anyone before. He loves her and she loves him, and that's the important thing. ]

[ There's a first time for everything but that's the farthest thing from her mind when they come back together like this, kneeling in the centre of their bed in the half-darkness. All she can think, as Steve brushes his lips over her bare skin, as her hands travel up from his hips to explore the rest of him — smooth over his ribs, back, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck to simply hang on rather than guide him up or down — is how happy she is.

Peggy turns her head to press a kiss to his temple, lips curved into a soft smile, and then she draws away from him to sit back against the headboard, shimmying out of her dress and nudging it off to the side (it slips over the edge to the floor). It's entirely intentional, the artful way she drapes herself across the neatly arranged pillows, her hand the last bit of contact on his jaw before it falls away. Desire sings in every line of her, the flush of her cheeks, the smear of her lipstick, how dark and focused her gaze is as she surveys him from beneath lowered lashes. ]

I'd like you to kiss me, [ she murmurs, stockinged feet sliding across the blanket to invite him closer with a brush of her toes. ] And then I'd like you to take me to bed. [ She smiles, a flash of teeth and mischief in the warm lamplight. There's no hesitation or sheepishness in it. ] If that's all right.

[ It's an antiquated statement that means more than the literal; but it's the when of who they are. So it isn't out of place here with them. ]

Yes, ma'am. [ Steve answers, shifting his weight to his knees. He crawls forward and stills - just for a moment, long enough to be noticeable - because he looks at her, studies her, relishes in the image of her looking up at him from the pillows, nearly-naked, her hair framing her face, her cheeks flush with colour, her lipstick a bit of a mess because of him.

She's the most beautiful woman he's ever known, the most magnificent thing to be in the presence of. His heart feels full; no, it feels like it could burst. He's never felt this way about anyone before, not like this, nothing like this.

He leans in to kiss her, just as she's requested. And then he answers her properly: ] It's more than all right.

[ He runs his fingers along the length of her thighs, against the sheer fabric of her stockings, catching on the clasps of her garter. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ closed ]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject