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 β 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?
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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 β 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?
no subject
[ 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.
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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. ]
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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. ]
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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. ]
no subject
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?
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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. ]
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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. ]
no subject
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 β 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. ]
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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. ]
no subject
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 β 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.
no subject
[ 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.
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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 β 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. ]
no subject
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. ]
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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. ]
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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. ]