[ and so they work in unexpected harmony. rip, holding her steady while she sees her 'mission' through. and peggy (habits loosened by the liquor) allows herself to depend, sincerely, on that same steadiness throughout the maneuver. leaning low like that has invited a rush of blood to her head and, upright again, she wobbles just a little. this 'grace' he recognizes exists only superficially, now. well-trained muscle memory and poise which compensate, both, for her drunkenness. but just beneath her skin she roils.
looking at him, she forces her eyes to focus on him once more. bringing his angles and the sharp lines of his face into hard focus as she lifts the heel of her palm against his jaw. fingertips curling into a thicker corner of his beard -- nails scratching against the hair with little noises. damn yourself, he says, and she breathes out some short laughter through her nose.
-- whatever she might have argued in return, whatever antagonistic protest she had chambered on the back of her tongue, it's all of it drowned out by yet another kiss. this one more dynamic than the last. peggy's sigh muffles into a quieter noise before it gets lost against his mouth. and in that moment she brings both hands to bear against his cheeks. her grip slides just behind the hinge of his jaw.
there is almost more eagerness found in the way she claims her handholds on him than there is in the kiss itself. in a moment like this one, peggy betrays herself as a fundamentally physical person. regardless of the distance kept, the reserve cultivated, and all the detachment in the world. and although she'd feel sick to consider the word, the truth is that she loves as fiercely as she lashes out.
only this isn't love. can't-bloody-be. this is -- rip hunter. he's to blame. a rare person, the sort who figures out how to press her buttons with precision instead of simply mashing them all and hoping for winning combination.
peggy pulls back a moment and tilts her forehead against his. while she'd been plying her tongue against his mouth, she'd safeguarded some sly comment in the back of her thoughts -- something about how he ought to have known better when he damn well knew she'd moved it -- but suddenly the words break apart and float away.
instead, she offers a one-shouldered shrug. she lifts her face from his and brushes back a piece of longer hair that's fallen over his brow -- mussed in the heat of the moment. ] It was in my way.
[ and peggy carter has little-to-no forbearance in the face of an obstacle, be they people or protocols or pieces of furniture. ]
no subject
looking at him, she forces her eyes to focus on him once more. bringing his angles and the sharp lines of his face into hard focus as she lifts the heel of her palm against his jaw. fingertips curling into a thicker corner of his beard -- nails scratching against the hair with little noises. damn yourself, he says, and she breathes out some short laughter through her nose.
-- whatever she might have argued in return, whatever antagonistic protest she had chambered on the back of her tongue, it's all of it drowned out by yet another kiss. this one more dynamic than the last. peggy's sigh muffles into a quieter noise before it gets lost against his mouth. and in that moment she brings both hands to bear against his cheeks. her grip slides just behind the hinge of his jaw.
there is almost more eagerness found in the way she claims her handholds on him than there is in the kiss itself. in a moment like this one, peggy betrays herself as a fundamentally physical person. regardless of the distance kept, the reserve cultivated, and all the detachment in the world. and although she'd feel sick to consider the word, the truth is that she loves as fiercely as she lashes out.
only this isn't love. can't-bloody-be. this is -- rip hunter. he's to blame. a rare person, the sort who figures out how to press her buttons with precision instead of simply mashing them all and hoping for winning combination.
peggy pulls back a moment and tilts her forehead against his. while she'd been plying her tongue against his mouth, she'd safeguarded some sly comment in the back of her thoughts -- something about how he ought to have known better when he damn well knew she'd moved it -- but suddenly the words break apart and float away.
instead, she offers a one-shouldered shrug. she lifts her face from his and brushes back a piece of longer hair that's fallen over his brow -- mussed in the heat of the moment. ] It was in my way.
[ and peggy carter has little-to-no forbearance in the face of an obstacle, be they people or protocols or pieces of furniture. ]