she'd hit the finish line hard and unforgiving -- vocal, dynamic, and clutching him with knees and hands (two hands, once she'd relinquished her anchor-hold on the headboard) until the world cracked asunder and melted away both. everything had turned taut and tight and coiled only to give way to tremors. there was nothing halfway about it; together, they make up the ground lost when she'd earlier stumbled away from his wall. she might be snug around him but the very borders of her body feel as though they disintegrate. her touch might as well fade into his, and she feels a burst of something good and beautiful and exhausting inside.
and immediately afterward, a muted stillness despite his quick thrusts upward and the hot spill that follows. but that stillness inside doesn't match the way she breathes quick and loud, or the way she shudders still, or how her insistent grip on his hand -- pushed against her -- drags out radical aftershocks. late, thoughtless, she lets him go only to sway above him. her fingers flex useless against the air, as though she already misses holding on.
her nervous system flutters, still. peggy is flushed and euphoric and lost within herself -- content to stay a moment where she sits and keep him claimed inside of her, emptied and spent. she pushes her fingers into disarrayed curls, stretching her spine with a pleasant huff. gravel lingers, still, in the way she whimpers just afterward.
peggy thinks she would very much like to sink against him and listen to his heart race alongside hers. some last faint trace of self-preservation invites her to second guess that instinct, and instead she dismounts only to flop alongside him in his bed. her toes curl, still.
she's not prepared to speak. not yet. her mouth is dry. her head feels like it's wrapped up in cotton and ready to be shelved for another day. and her limbs? well, a soft groan dovetails with her next sigh. maybe she should stop letting herself be surprised by rip hunter. had she the chutzpah left to do so, she might have laughed low and warm when she realizes she ought to have stopped letting herself be surprised by him the moment he proved himself such a exciting dance partner. ]
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she'd hit the finish line hard and unforgiving -- vocal, dynamic, and clutching him with knees and hands (two hands, once she'd relinquished her anchor-hold on the headboard) until the world cracked asunder and melted away both. everything had turned taut and tight and coiled only to give way to tremors. there was nothing halfway about it; together, they make up the ground lost when she'd earlier stumbled away from his wall. she might be snug around him but the very borders of her body feel as though they disintegrate. her touch might as well fade into his, and she feels a burst of something good and beautiful and exhausting inside.
and immediately afterward, a muted stillness despite his quick thrusts upward and the hot spill that follows. but that stillness inside doesn't match the way she breathes quick and loud, or the way she shudders still, or how her insistent grip on his hand -- pushed against her -- drags out radical aftershocks. late, thoughtless, she lets him go only to sway above him. her fingers flex useless against the air, as though she already misses holding on.
her nervous system flutters, still. peggy is flushed and euphoric and lost within herself -- content to stay a moment where she sits and keep him claimed inside of her, emptied and spent. she pushes her fingers into disarrayed curls, stretching her spine with a pleasant huff. gravel lingers, still, in the way she whimpers just afterward.
peggy thinks she would very much like to sink against him and listen to his heart race alongside hers. some last faint trace of self-preservation invites her to second guess that instinct, and instead she dismounts only to flop alongside him in his bed. her toes curl, still.
she's not prepared to speak. not yet. her mouth is dry. her head feels like it's wrapped up in cotton and ready to be shelved for another day. and her limbs? well, a soft groan dovetails with her next sigh. maybe she should stop letting herself be surprised by rip hunter. had she the chutzpah left to do so, she might have laughed low and warm when she realizes she ought to have stopped letting herself be surprised by him the moment he proved himself such a exciting dance partner. ]