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IC Inbox - Entranceway
Obviously I'm not here right now, but leave a message and I'll--listen to it. Eventually.
Obviously I'm not here right now, but leave a message and I'll--listen to it. Eventually.
Obviously I'm not here right now, but leave a message and I'll--listen to it. Eventually.
» november 29th
and peggy has been present in rip's room for, oh, about thirty-five minutes thus far. she'd arrived promptly at quarter-to-seven (to save them both the hassle of any ambiguity) and since then things have proceeded...normally. as normally as they can under these different auspices. although tonight she's swapped her usual chair for a seat on the sofa. as with most, it's a calculated move -- made in silence, maybe, but there's no quieting the way it reads to the rest of the room: peggy's positioning herself with as little impediment as possible. it's just about the only outward hint.
they drink (whiskey, what else?) but they don't drink as quickly or as determinedly as they did last week. even peggy nurses her cup, keen to cling to some of her sobriety. truth is, she hasn't felt this inconveniently nervous in a dog's age.
truth is, she's beginning to realize this may have been a dreadful, miserable mistake. not their arrangement! god above, no, she finds herself quite keen to once again get her hands on the man sitting beside her. instead, what she regrets is that they ever agreed to wait a week and reset their schedule once again upon the fulcrum of a wednesday. peggy thinks she should have kissed him, again, that very morning after; this isn't the first time she's thought so in the last week. but it's been a little over a half-hour, and it feels as though the weight of their previous negotiation is sabotaging everything.
they're talking about something interesting but inconsequential (peggy has been reading about integrated circuits, about microchips, about the history of the computer) -- however, peggy can't quite shake the anticipation lurking behind every word. she tries to ask a question about silicon, but all she can think about is what music's playing. although she'd confidently selected thelonious monk plays duke ellington, she doesn't half wonder whether she should have put them both out of their misery and grabbed the elton john instead. it had been there, waiting, amid the record sleeves.
the last few minutes of "caravan" are playing themselves out when peggy finally puffs her cheeks and interrupts the flow of their discussion: ]
God, this is ridiculous. [ ... ] Small talk is neither of our strongest suits, is it?
[ she stands up. not to leave, no, but to tend to the record player. after all, "caravan" was the last tune on that album. she'll need to settle on something new. ]
Re: » november 29th
Of course it's wiser this way--yet that does little to ease the anxious energy that sparks just how many ways this all could go wrong.
He'd taken care to put out whiskey and records as usual, in case Peggy has changed her mind since they last spoke. Far more important to Rip than any physical entanglement is her presence there that night; however these Wednesdays are to proceed, Rip has decided he'll be content to spend them with her. Though he suspects rather strongly that Peggy won't do a damn thing she doesn't please regardless, he'd still prefer her to make the choice without undue pressure.
And perhaps he'd been right to. She brings up talk of computers shortly after she sets the first record to play and the drinks are poured. It's quite fascinating, particularly whenever Peggy's eyes spark at the promise of some incredible thing this technology allows for in the future. On nearly any Wednesday prior, Rip could have easily lost himself to betraying such secrets, carefully selected tidbits that might tantalize, but not compromise too much should Peggy somehow be pulled back to 1947 with memories in tact.
The tension in the air, however, serves as sharp reminder that there is more to this night than friendly conversation. Peggy feels it too; she makes that quite clear when she huffs, leaving Rip to let out a soft laugh when she stands and crosses the short distance to the record player.]
You can't be surprised by that. [Not when neither of them is the type to mull about once a decision has been made. Yet that's exactly what they've been doing for the last thirty minutes, talking and sipping and stalling, all for the fear of the first step somehow being the wrong one.
So Rip knocks back the rest of his drink--only his first, to take off that edge--and sets down his glass before allowing himself to look at Peggy. She's come dressed as normal, crisp blouse and smooth skirt, with a sharp red accenting her lips. He's long recognized her beauty, but such observations gain significant weight in one context over another. She's stunning, and Rip in that moment grants himself permission to appreciate that about her.
In the next, he stands up to follow after her.]
All the same, perhaps we should table our discussion of silicon chips for another time. [And if his next move turns out to be a mistake, then Peggy can deck him and get it over with. Either way they'll know, as Rip stands behind her, places his hands onto her hips, and plants a questioning kiss against her temple. Nothing too distracting, should she still wish to select a record--
Merely a suggestion of where they might venture next.]
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she's waffling between grant green and chet baker when rip joins her by the player. and when he puts his hands on her, she doesn't spurn him. although -- although -- it does take her a moment longer to relax. peggy had proven last week that she felt more at east when she was the one dictating direction and pace. even this soft nudge, this tenative kiss, feels new and strange.
but oh so very welcome.
in that moment, peggy remembers his warmth. she remembers a great deal more, besides. but a half-dozen restless nights have helped her realize how she doesn't remember near enough. so although she doesn't shelve the two options -- green or baker -- with their fellows, she abandons both albums to the stack so her her palms can find the backs of his hands. her nails drag across his fingers without catching or pulling or prying.
there is no graceful way to admit one's inexperience with these breath-marks of affection -- the touches like commas, the nudges like semi-colons, the little pecks like hyphens between intimacy's main arguments. peggy's 'go to' has always been a dramatic and desperate kiss, but she'd already inflicted that one on him last time 'round. in its place, tonight, she turns her head far enough to press her mouth against his with an almost...tentative pressure.
she doesn't kiss with hesitation, but with investigation. peggy takes a moment to search out some of the finer details that had been lost to last time's rush. such as how his bottom lip dents beneath her teeth.
-- the record player's platter still spins, whispering soft noises into the room, but there's no vinyl sitting on it. and the needle's arm remains raised. ]
Another time. [ she confirms, pleasantly stunned in the immediate aftermath. but not so stunned that she doesn't at long last paw his hands free so she can turn on the spot, face him, and look him in his bewitchingly green eyes. ] Suddenly, the future of semiconductors seems rather dull. By, ah -- comparison.
[ her responsibility to select the next album is easily -- wantonly -- thrust aside in light of better prospects. emboldened by last week, she wastes no time in grabbing at the back of his his and pulling him into yet another kiss. she teeters a moment on her heels before they leave the ground and she's left balancing on the fronts of her shoes.
it's a damned good start. ]
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The records are just as quickly forgotten by Rip the moment Peggy finds her mouth with his own. Far different from their kisses prior, this one is slow, almost sweet if one goes by the languid way they taste one another. A hint of whiskey lingers, but beyond that is her, sparking a desire in Rip to learn every note and detail of her body, taste and touch, and what might earn him quiet sighs she can't help but let slip.
She turns in his arms after the kiss; agrees that supercomputers and their ilk have all lost allure in the wake of this new pursuit. Even if the needle of the record player scratched uncomfortably on the surface, Rip might not notice it. Not when she captures his lips once more, let's show some of that desire that broke the surface the Wednesday prior, though no doubt it's lived for much longer.
Since the wedding, at least.
Rip once more moves his hands to her waist, slides them around her back this time so he can fully pull Peggy against him while they kiss. A damned good start indeed, and even now he parts his lips, seeks to coax hers apart with the teasing tip of his tongue, hungry for everything they were too tossed and tired to enjoy their first try at this.]
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last time, they's shared a kind of desperate fumbling that made them almost ignore anything as firm and well-founded as the way rip wraps his arms around her. his hold is warm and consistent and peggy knows that if she saw fit to trust it, his hold would keep her steady and in place and pressed to him. but even as her head swims she keeps her own balance -- leaning into, but not against.
her fingers curl against the back of his neck. peggy drags him downward, by inches, and opens her mouth against his. what might kick off like slow and languid is all at once fueled by a spark of want. she walks him backwards. one, two, maybe three steps -- but all without any clear idea of where she's going, where they're going, or how straight a path they might take to reach it.
the movement makes their teeth jangle together -- only briefly -- and peggy huffs a frustrated chuckle before she kisses him again. this time off the corner of his mouth, trailing across his cheek. she noses against his beard, the one he'd claimed she'd grow accustomed to, and the strangeness of it chases her attention back to his lips. her tongue finds his in a flash.
another step -- taken with more grace but less caution -- and then another. soon enough, she has him pinned against his own wall. ]
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Boundaries he means to abide by still, even when he lets Peggy guide him back that first number of steps.
It's far from an uneventful journey; he nearly knocks into the stand where the record player sits, and does clip his arm on a set of shelves. But the jostling of trinkets aside, the hard impact of Rip's back against the wall reverberates through the room--or perhaps merely through him, now that Rip has found himself pinned between the hard grey surface and the stubbornly insistent woman who guided him there.
Yet he's hardly content to remain passive in this little game, or to simply relent without offering Peggy some measure of challenge. She has her moment, Rip bent at the neck, back to the wall, tongue toying against hers. And in the next, he tightens his grip on her, shifts forward with a turn to have Peggy the one now trapped against his wall, unable to keep that gap between herself and Rip any longer.]
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the impact -- negligible though it is -- makes her draw a breath that's sudden enough to interrupt their kiss. and that breath seems to falter and catch at its height, the closest she's yet come tonight to a sound. and as if to staunch another, she strains her neck upward to chase what's already been started. when she breathes her body rises against his. her hand drops from his neck to instead fist in his top.
she's so glad she's sober. nothing more than the barely-there tickle of whiskey warmth in her belly, leaving her with a clear mind capable of considering every detail in sharper relief. maybe there is something to be missed in the desperate inebriated fumble, but nothing she misses right now. not when her fingers bite into the line of his bicep, learning the lean muscle below his shirtsleeve.
when her lungs burn again, peggy's head tilts back against the wall. even now, it's the infrastructure she trusts with keeping herself upright -- because she feels a little weak in the knees. hot under the skin. ]
That's much better -- [ she says in a hushed and strained tone ] -- without the rum.
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Her hands begin to wander, as too do his. Rip means to learn the shape of her, not just through sight but also taste and touch both. Flatten palms trail over her curves, waist and hips and rear, slipping along whatever tight space might be found given how he keeps her against the wall.
A hold she seems to rely on, if the way she rolls her head back is any indication. Peggy teases him about the rum, and even as Rip laughs he never strays far from her. Not now, when they've both allowed themselves this dalliance.]
Although you do still have to put up with the beard. [A point proven in that very moment, as he noses her chin up just that much further, plants a kiss against her jaw, then another between teasing words.] How utterly terrible for you.
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in private, of course. it's a retrospective daydream that could never have happened in reality. but with a skip in her heartbeat, she finds herself thinking once more about dancing with rip hunter. not tonight -- never tonight, they've committed too far already and left his music collection behind -- but, oh, on another...
her attention snaps back into place when he pushes her head back by another degree and gifts her a scratchy kiss just below. peggy grumbles, pressing forward as though she might be thinking about prying herself off the wall. or maybe she's merely trying to get closer, closer, as close as she can. ]
Simply awful. [ she breathes the words wry and warm and feeling anything but awful. peggy's hand creeps back up the nape of his neck and a firm touch should hopefully dissuade him from any retaliation that might involve depriving her of the next kiss, or the one after that. especially once she continues speaking: ] I'd go so far as to call it a sacrifice--
[ but her words catch in earnest, then, before she can complete her retort. he's hit a spot; he's struck a lovely nerve. ]
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It's a place he'll remember well, he thinks, and not simply because that interruption gives him leave to hover there.]
Didn't quite catch that, I'm afraid. [His grin finds it's shape against her neck, and even as he retorts he doesn't stray far at all. Not because she's taken to clinging to him, no. It's simply unwise to not press such an advantage when found, quite literally in this case as he teases that tender spot with a nip of teeth.
The rest of him is far from idle, however, even as Rip hones in on that singular place. He'd told Peggy early on he wasn't a schoolboy, yet it's hard not to feel akin to one now as they stand against his wall, making-out while he cops a feel of her arse, rolling his hips against her at the same moment he pulls her forward.
A moment which makes it quite clear that the problems of last week have in no way repeated themselves this time.]
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but her eyes drift shut. she breathes him in -- the very atmosphere of his room, his space, is seductive in its familiarity. the known juxtaposed hard against the unknown, and peggy presses her face against the side of his head. inhaling shampoo and whatever pomade keeps his hair urged back off his brow. not for long, not for long, she promises herself, fingers laddering higher on the back of his neck as she thinks about how good it'll be to invite a little chaos into his appearance.
it's timed well considering just then he presses forward, pulls her in. certainly, she can feel the difference. there's no mistaking the night's trajectory, now, and peggy meets that firm evidence between their bodies with an unintelligible murmur -- the words aren't clear, but her anticipation can't be mistaken. she pushes against him. it's tentative, a single stride escape attempt, but only from the wall and certainly not from him.
her head straightens just enough to speak more clearly, words catching on the shell of his ear: ] Shall we take this somewhere a little less -- vertical? [ it's a breathless question, and asked with a corresponding scrape of an almost-bite. ] No disrespect to your bedroom wall. It's growing on me.
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No matter how many ghosts will always haunt him.
She denies him one sound, stifles it with her tongue but Rip knows she won't be able to do so for much longer. He's no intention of letting her off this wall before he's earned so much as a moan from her, and when Peggy makes the decision to adjourn to the bed, the hum of consideration he offers is little more than a rouse.]
I should hope so. You were rather insistent on us winding up here. [He pulls back only enough to meet Peggy's gaze, a mischievous spark in his eye promising Rip has some brand of devious intent in mind. He expects it'll be made clear when he pushes her back against the wall once more, only to lower himself down to his knees while she stands there. Certainly he's eager to get to the bed or the sofa, to make good on all their implications thus far. Yet he's got a level of patience to him, even in moments like these, and Rip tugs Peggy's skirt up her body to reveal all the flourishes she wears beneath.]
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she looks his deviousness in the eye and meets it with full investment of her own. faltering only a little when she finds her shoulders once again coaxed against the wall. and peggy's thoughts turn towards the only one immediate conclusion: he's looking to refuse her whispered request, choosing instead to undertake the job right here -- braced against the wall.
with a smile, peggy decides that's not such a terrible choice.
his patience, however, runs counter to the opposite in her. peggy never expected find him dropping to his knees. her grip skids off his upper arm; her fingers settle soft against the side of his head, a tender touch betraying a tremble of uncertainty. ]
-- What are you up to? [ she asks with a warm laugh, caught somewhere between intrigued and unconvinced. far from dismayed, her words tend nearer to disbelieving. as though she's about two heartbeats away from assuring him that's not something you need to do.
except he's already urged her skirt up to her hips, and that's where the fabric stays bunched. below, it's all silk and coordination. rich dark blue (something of an indulgence, if she's honest with herself) with suspender straps running from garter belt to stocking tops. and, of course, her oft-present thigh holster. gun, included.
if peggy feels suddenly beset by nerves, then it's got nothing to do with having her knickers suddenly on display. rather, her stomach ties itself into pleasant incredulous knots over the potential sold by how rip knees before her. she looks down at him, her question still ringing in her eyes. ]
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And the gun, of course. Rip expected nothing less, and part of the thrill now is leaving the piece where it's holstered even as he means to proceed.
Peggy questions him, however, her voice warm and seemingly amused--yet he thinks there might be a touch of hesitation there too. As if she doesn't expect him to go about this, either not with so much eagerness, or maybe even not at all.]
Something I've wanted to do since the last time you were here. [His confession is partnered with certainty in his gaze as he looks up to meet her. For a moment he cradles against her touch, leans into the soft press of fingers at his temple.]
Unless you object--[A pinch and a tug leaves the clasp free]--though I sincerely hope you don't. [A movement he repeats on the other side, then again behind her thighs. Means to an end, and all the while he watches her expression, darkened eyes never straying once from the study of her anticipation, her questioning, her desire and her doubt.
He doesn't need long after to hook a finger under the seam of her knickers. At that moment, his tongue briefly darts out, just enough to wet his lips.]
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rip introduces the notion as something he's wanted since last time, and she's never heard it discussed in such terms. not from a lover's mouth, at least, because she can't account for the kind of wishful thinking and happy gossip that flitted 'round the dorms at bletchley.
she squirms where she stands against the wall. his fingers ghost against the top-band of her stockings, prying clips free. the barest sensation drives her to speak. ]
I don't -- [ peggy assures him in a rush. quick enough to suggest she's eager, also, even if she doesn't exactly wear that eagerness as comfortably as she did when they were (nearly) eye to eye and (nearly) nose to nose. ] I don't object. Not at all. Not one bit. Not in the least.
[ and if her assurance is given breathlessly, then it's because she doesn't realize how she's been holding her breath since he's spoken the word hope. peggy swallows hard against a dry mouth. she'd had such grand plans. and when she thinks about them, she cards her fingers into his hair and twists her fingertips around a few pieces. a handful of control.
and when his touch eases under silk, peggy's eyes shift upward to the ceiling -- a physical clue of a silent prayer. part of her still doubts the honesty of the overture, suspecting that it's somehow a spectacle to draw her in and convince her further. but a kind of greedy curiosity stops peggy from explaining that she would eagerly take him to bed without any bribery required.
because, lord above, when it comes to this? bribery is all she's ever known it is. someone else's means to an end she's already earmarked for him a week ago. ]
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He abandons them somewhere around her knees, expecting gravity to do the rest. Far more important just then is the way her fingers curl into his hair. For a moment, his eyes close, this long forgotten sensation one he has always truly enjoyed.]
Good. [His voice comes out soft, and once more Rip kisses her thigh, nuzzles against her leg with a prompting nudge so she parts them. She's bare before him now, fully dressed and fully revealed all at once, and as Rip shifts forward to taste her for the first time he rests a hand on either thigh, keeping her open, pinning her in place while his tongue moves across her folds in a single long stroke.]
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good, he'd said. and, despite her puzzlement, she's quick to agree with rip's verdict. his palms feel hot and sturdy on her thighs -- and peggy thinks only briefly about the sensory difference between where his fingers grip bare skin to where they span the tops of her stockings instead. and she thinks only briefly about this force of a man, a tower in his own right -- albeit one made of anything but ivory -- who now kneels between her legs and...!
it's better than good, peggy thinks, and her shoulders roll back against the hard grey wall. a hint isn't nearly enough, as proven by the flexing grip she keeps wrapped up in his hair -- as if she already reaches and grasps for the final say in whether he should dare to lift his head after such a fine introduction.
maybe it's odd, but behind her closed eyes peggy can't shake the sight of his tight-packed diagrams or the written noted crowded from margin to margin in his well-used notebook. it's a paradox to be caught thinking about his work (their work) with his tongue dragging against her -- but all she knows is that it's that man, accurate and painstaking, she wants to keep and cultivate.
he gets what he's after: one first real sound. her next breath frays into a whimper when her hips twitch, flex forward by a barely-perceptible degree, and his word is more groaned than spoken when she repeats it: ] Good.
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Her thoughts unknown, but perhaps not to odd as she might first think them to be. It is that same man who kneels before her now, presses his mouth against her, and with her heady taste rich on his tongue seeks out more of those whimpers and cries. He explores with tongue and lips alike, pushes past her folds to find each spot, each stroke that makes her breath hitch, that has her muscles tighten beneath his hands, that has her tugging insistently on his locks. He takes her measure and calculates, determines the slow and steady pace on which he'll have her break apart for him.
But he means to savor this; they are not drunken and desperate as they had been the first time, and Rip finds his own pleasure in how Peggy shivers, how she gasps and moans for him. He drags a teasing path around her clit at first, leaving the bundle of nerves untouched while the rest builds her higher. She moves her hips, only just, but Rip pulls back a fraction in response, even knowing she won't be able to stay still for long. He wants her to think she must, to feel that bond of mental restraint, and as he kisses and licks a path to her opening, lets his tongue delve deeper inside her, he tightens his hold on her legs, as if to warn, as if to better trap her there.]
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how on earth did she end up here? how on earth did they? it's a question which barely merits the brain cells as she squirms above him, the silk of her blouse sliding on the textured wall. and peggy scrounges together the thought that maybe she ought to feel regret for having diverted him last week. no reason that both of us should go without, he'd offered. and she balked.
no, she refuses to let this new regret darken a doorstep already overcrowded with so many others. thinking about it only distracts her from the unmediated delight he's offering her right now. well -- practically unmediated. there are his tightening hands to consider. and the way he's just-about-avoiding where she'd really like to feel his tongue -- near-misses that she's starting to realize aren't misses at all.
his aim is intentional -- and utterly. as realizations go, this one only fans the flames.
peggy sinks back against the wall. this time, her corresponding grip only tries to take him nearer -- sod the scratch of his beard against tender skin, sod the arguments his fingers make to keep her stilled and restrained. a few too many heartbeats have passed with peggy playing the ingénue in rip's little overture; it's time that she saw fit to claw back. as lovely as his current exploration proves to be, she uses a fistful of hair to try and pull his mouth higher once again.
she's can aim, too. ]
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She means to direct him by way of her grip, tight and unforgiving, a pull which earns a low groan quickly lost and muffled against her. On another night he might even relent, less out of kindness than mutual satisfaction, but certainly from an outside perspective it might seem a charitable action on his part. Still, Rip remains ever aware that this is their first time experiencing each other under this brand of partnership. He could relent, but really, he would hate for Peggy to think him always so easily swayed.
So he yields, only so much that Peggy inadvertently pulls him higher than her goal. The rough bristle of his beard rubs against her, and Rip lets out a breathless laugh before lowering his head once more. Just a single sound to spark her frustration, to make Peggy think she'll have to try again before Rip hungrily sucks her clit past parted lips. It's what she's wanted, but strictly on his terms, a show of power designed to worm it's way under Peggy's skin.
Later, he'll find a place for guilt and regret in his thoughts. Perhaps as he hears the echoes of her moans in his memory, and measures out the difference in timbre and tone. But for the moment, Rip doesn't question. He cannot; he has made his choice, right along with her, and as is fitting of a man such as he? Rip devotes himself to the task undertaken.]
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the petty response would be to yank him off, nudge him back, end it all. but she doesn't want to be petty and she doesn't want to obstruct -- not when the next flood of his attention, hot and targeted, threatens her very balance.
her free hand grabs at the wall.
peggy shelves her vengeance in favour of the present moment. there's the infinitesimal give to the skin of his scalp when her fingernails bite down; there's the jolt of sensation when his lips tighten; there's the memory of his laughter, looping again and again and muddling her frustration with her appetite.
both are expressed in a single-syllable curse before she fights one leg against his grip, and when she breaks it she slides the inside up his body before draping it behind his shoulder. leaving her shoe behind, she now urges a stocking'd heel against his spine. another point of pressure, dragging him in. ]
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Good lord but it is intoxicating, drinking in each eager sign of how she begins to unravel.
Their balance might be precarious, save for the wall at Peggy's back. Even so, Rip pushes one step further, always, meaning to hit her boundaries and shatter them. No longer occupied with holding Peggy in place, Rip moves his now free hand along the outside of her thigh, over garter and gun, snakes his fingers inward and presses the center pair within her. His movements meticulous, he drives the digits deep before drawing back only a fraction, sets a shallow rhythm timed with how he sucks and licks where she's been so eager to have him. His taunting, it seems, is well and truly done for the time.
Now for a goal far more satisfying: to drive Peggy to that apex, and see just what other sweet sounds he might have fall from her lips.]
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...nothing about her current predicament is boring.
quite the opposite, in fact. her eyes are shut and her attention rolls back into her head, but this sensation of staying attuned to every muscle and rustle is something she hardly ever feels outside of a fight. her pulse is in her ears and her blood rushes and when rip presses his fingers inside peggy could testify that she forgets to breath for a handful of seconds. oxygen comes back to her in a sudden, noisy rush. a panting gasp, corkscrewing around something verbal and unrestrained. flipping hell, she exhales shortly, but the sound doesn't stop there. and they together reach a threshold where each thrust merits a whimper.
she begins to piece together the breadcrumbs, coming to the sudden humbling epiphany that rip means to shatter her as she stands. peggy bites her bottom lip through an observation -- that she'd felt him ready and willing -- because although she's concerned she's not nearly concerned enough to stop him. if she mistakes this for a sacrifice on his part, then it's a sacrifice she invites him to make.
ultimately, she's far far far too invested in what the next handful of minutes will bring her. she's not thinking about how that handful might lead onto another handful which might spark more. for now, peggy lives only inside these minutes. the ones that ratchet her tighter, higher, closer, until every sigh threatens to crack louder and every roll of her hips threatens to devolve into thoughtless shudders. and for a tense half-minute that's all there is: threats of pleasure squirming beneath her belly and straining in her thighs. and by her measure, it's an eternity of near-stillness except for his fingers and his mouth and the vibrant current that runs through her body connecting these two points. peggy's back arches off the wall and the whole world sounds quiet -- muffled -- before she comes apart.
she clings to the wall and she clings to him and, unless he supports her by some miracle of physics, she compromises the breadth of her own delight when she suddenly pedals her heel against his back before trying to stand on her own two feet again, nudging him aside before she falls on him -- appealing to christ once, twice, thrice while she shakes above him. it's a half-orgasm, interrupted early, that nevertheless towers over the one-note releases given to her by past partners. ]
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Her grip tightens, painfully so, when her body thrums at just the right chord. The knowledge makes him shiver, though only for a brief time. It must be so, because while he does indeed mean to see her through to her very end, Peggy has another thought in mind. Her balance must be slipping, because before Rip can understand just why she waves her foot so desperately about, striking him hard in the back once, she pulls away from him in full, braces herself while she still shakes and gasps.
For his part, Rip withdraws, moves to hold her by the hips once it does dawn on him that she's trying not to crumble.]
Easy. [He whispers quietly, his eyes once more focused up at her. She's not the only one left breathless, though it's only a touch in Rip's case. The exhilaration of what he's granted her has a grin forming across his expression, and he waits until she comes back down to herself, even if only from a half-peak. Meanwhile, Rip licks his lips, still tastes her potent upon them, and after a beat? Offers up a wry bit of commentary.]
I suppose that next time I should take your advice to find a less vertical position first.
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her knees press together with a shiver and she's trying to remember what it's like to stand at her proper height without his hands braced on her hips. the memory eludes her, now, and instead of chasing it she cards her fingers through his hair -- only now recognizing it for the muss its become; an earlier desire ticked and checked and satisfied.
she wants to kiss him but his mouth is too bloody far away. and she has to weigh whether dropping to his level might be worth it just to nip the grin right off his lips. it's both insufferable and devilishly handsome and hers is a pleasant confusion when she watches it stretch over his mouth. peggy chooses instead to push off the wall and find her balance, tugging him upward with the same movement. ]
What the hell--[ if she's indignant, then she's indignant with a smile. it rises up behind the red of her lipstick, the modern formula might have done a passable job at surviving their kisses but became more than a little marred when she bit down on her bottom lip.
peggy has to ask: ] Is that what I turned down last week?
[ quick, someone get this woman a time ship. ]
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