[The thought might not be spoken, but the implication is there, as easily seen as the woman now perched on his lap, equally easy to touch. And like Peggy Rip does mean to do so; though they've maintained a certain distance before this night, he's long been one for such affection. A clap on the shoulder, a wiped away tear, the comforting caress of fingers across a cheek when his few comrades have fallen into darker hours. Tomorrow they'll well be damned, but now there is liberation in the lines being blurred, gates opened as each of them pleases.
Up until the point where Rip drops the whiskey, at any rate.
Peggy shows her ire openly then, cursing the circumstance and Rip alike as she leans to fetch the thing. He in turn grips her round the waist, holds tight while she bends lest Peggy lose her balance and somehow send them both spilling. They'll have plenty to lament when morning finds them already; he'd much prefer a cracked skull not to be heaped upon that list.
But the crisis is averted, mostly. She moves with a rather impressive grace, given how much of the bottle she's already emptied in this short night. Peggy finishes it off then, and not without saddling Rip with a lecture besides. His head cocks to one side, his eyebrow arched up, and even when she properly places the bottle down he still offers his counter.]
Damn yourself, Miss Carter. You were the one who moved the table.
[Yet there are better pursuits than this argument, aren't there? Now that he might taste a little less of one spirit and more of another, Rip leans up to interrupt the statement she never means to finish anyway. His kiss is harder this time, more eager, as if somehow letting more of that restraint go might in fact be the key to winning their little discussion.
Or perhaps it has something to do with what pleasure can be found with a beautiful woman balanced just so atop him. One of the two.]
no subject
Up until the point where Rip drops the whiskey, at any rate.
Peggy shows her ire openly then, cursing the circumstance and Rip alike as she leans to fetch the thing. He in turn grips her round the waist, holds tight while she bends lest Peggy lose her balance and somehow send them both spilling. They'll have plenty to lament when morning finds them already; he'd much prefer a cracked skull not to be heaped upon that list.
But the crisis is averted, mostly. She moves with a rather impressive grace, given how much of the bottle she's already emptied in this short night. Peggy finishes it off then, and not without saddling Rip with a lecture besides. His head cocks to one side, his eyebrow arched up, and even when she properly places the bottle down he still offers his counter.]
Damn yourself, Miss Carter. You were the one who moved the table.
[Yet there are better pursuits than this argument, aren't there? Now that he might taste a little less of one spirit and more of another, Rip leans up to interrupt the statement she never means to finish anyway. His kiss is harder this time, more eager, as if somehow letting more of that restraint go might in fact be the key to winning their little discussion.
Or perhaps it has something to do with what pleasure can be found with a beautiful woman balanced just so atop him. One of the two.]