directed | IC Inbox - Entranceway

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!entranceway

IC Inbox - Entranceway

Obviously I'm not here right now, but leave a message and I'll--listen to it. Eventually.

[ it's not unlike what happened the previous week -- early hours on a thursday, then -- when he'd pressed her down into the sofa. there's enjoyment found in the jockeying: in holding him against the wall, using its stability as a means to kiss him harder. and there's also a spark of enjoyment in how her shoulders hit the same wall.

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.

Edited 2017-12-03 00:59 (UTC)

[Perhaps it's only a small little thing, the noise that escapes her as she sucks in that breath. But even this early on, Rip sees it as a victory, something he's teased into her--the first of only many, should he have his way this night. In that moment, so much like Peggy Rip finds himself glad for last week's failings; he's long been one to savor finite detail, a hitched breath, the feeling of fingers pulling at a cotton tee. No doubt he would've appreciated it all far less last time in their drunken rush.

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.

[ his laughter is a welcome noise. peggy finds she likes it, brief and close as it is. near enough to be felt like puffs of air on her skin. the sound is all the richer for knowing she's caused it, albeit only through a murmured preference. or maybe the association is made sweeter when his hands slip that little bit further than decorum had allowed while they'd danced -- but now in hindsight she can recognize that she might have wanted them to shift and wander even then.

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. ]

Edited 2017-12-03 02:02 (UTC)

[He thinks not of dance in the past, nor of their potential in the future. At the moment the present is what consumes Rip, particularly when his commentary sparks dry complaints from Peggy. Huffy words that sound oh so impressive, right up until the point where he finds that one certain spot that seems to resonate through her, carrying with it a sharp enough pleasure to somehow silence Peggy Carter.

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.]

[ it seems peggy's host of abortive romances and lukewarm lovers hasn't adequately prepared her for such impish, generous attention -- the kind that has rip lingering precisely where she wants him to. she can feel the upturn in his mouth and try as she might to rally her exasperation, it's all drowned out by a rush of blood. a happy flush creeps up her neck. when his teeth next tease her skin, she presses her tongue against the roof of her mouth, swallowing hard on a knee-jerk noise she won't give him the satisfaction of tearing from her so quickly and so easily.

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.

[Good lord but he wants her. Rip has had a week to consider all the ways in which this might go horribly wrong, to weigh his guilt over finding someone who is not his wife, in this horrible facsimile of a world, whom he wants to share such pleasure with. But Rip has found himself wrapped up in Peggy, and with that realization and the timing of recent events, reminded of a tragic, singular truth: his wife, his family have died. Rip cannot spend the rest of his days stagnant and still. He is human, and the most basic drive of any man is to move onward.

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.]

[ he is sharp tongued and bright eyed and -- and it surprises her to find so many similarities between rip just now and rip once he'd had a spark of purpose put in his grasp. he looks as keen and quick in this moment as he did once they'd started sharing notes. then and now both don't fall under the heading of happiness. but it's something near enough to that ballpark that peggy finds herself taken with the sight.

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. ]

Edited 2017-12-03 04:15 (UTC)

[Certainly it's eagerness, if not happiness; both then and now, Rip has a particular end in mind. Both then and now, he sees the possibilities of achieving those ends--although to be sure, the one consuming him now is much closer to his reach. Her skirt rises not unlike a curtain, and Rip finds himself rather enchanted by Peggy's choices. Certainly she would have dressed knowing he would be seeing these particular clothes. All dark blue, rich and royal, with that forties sensibility that so defines Peggy's style.

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.]

[ indecision is such a stranger to her. it gnaws at peggy a moment longer -- but when she meets his eyes, when she hears what's rock solid in his words, what's indecisive sloughs off her heart and leaves her mystified. thrillingly so. suddenly, it's less and less about groping for some equal vulnerability -- her thumb travels across his temple, pulling at the corner of his brow, and she can feel that first clasp give slack.

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. ]

Edited 2017-12-03 05:01 (UTC)

[How strange it is to see that confusion on her face. Odd and wonderful both, and that first squirm only entices Rip to have her writhing before he's done with her. Peggy remains so carefully guarded, nearly always, yet in this moment it would seem that Rip's stumbled across something new for her--though the extent of her inexperience with this particular matter remains a mystery. One he might well uncover as they proceed, but now she would suffer so for it. This might well be the way to take her apart, so Rip would prove himself deliberate in the effort. He does so then, with the slow drag of Peggy's knickers off her body, down over the garter and the stockings she wears.

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.]

[ good, he says. and peggy's attention is split, filament-like, between the disarming quiet confidence wrapped up in one word and in the hush of silk down her thighs. maybe he trusts gravity to finish the job, but gravity gets a bit of help from a shimmy and a shuffle of her feet. but her knickers don't make it past the gauntlet of her heels -- ultimately caught on one and ignored. filed under 'dispatched' because suddenly peggy can't be bothered to care about much else outside the the tickle of beard against her thigh and the way in which he coaxes her legs apart.

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.

[Oh, it is such a sweet victory to hear that word whispered out above him; Rip has no doubt that the echo of his praise only further solidifies just how good she thinks this all to be, that her thoughts have lassoed the first phrase they've found, tossed it back out because now she can't be bothered to question, to wonder, to doubt. She gives herself over to certainty, and to him, her fingers tightening in his hair but even as she keeps him against her, Rip is the one who will set Peggy ablaze.

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.]

[ it's a paradox, maybe, but restraint has never been her best feature. given her posture and her poise, she might be easily mistaken for a restrained personality. peggy's is certainly a guarded one, as anyone who sniffs around her personal life can attest. but beneath those sharp-edged airs and graces lurks a white hot temperament. and it's this vein rip now skirts, plundering instead that thin veneer of restraint. like little shudders along her muscles; introductory, easy, and sweetly foreboding.

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. ]

[Somewhere amid his eager and focused attentions, the Peggy Carter he's come to know at last breaks through whatever has been holding her back. Rip wouldn't define her as restrained on an average day; clever, certainly, and absolutely determined. But one foundational truth of her that Rip has noticed over these passing Wednesdays is that when Peggy makes a decision, when she chooses the path she means to take, then she walks it boldly and without question, regardless of whatever might caution her otherwise.

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.]

[ and worm it does. she would sulk about the challenge, perhaps, if it didn't result in a burst of electric feeling. his laughter was a tremble against her skin -- moments earlier -- but now she feels herself trembling in turn. impatient and keyed up, the decision is made in the blood that she will happily accept his terms if his terms come with pleasures like these. under another circumstance, she might have felt differently. but he's still the one between her legs and peggy hasn't quite uncovered the linchpin intel: rip enjoys this too.

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. ]

[She shudders above him, grasps the wall when he takes her by surprise, and though Rip cannot see those movements he can feel them. Against his mouth, under his hands, her body sways and trembles, and her curse falls as loud as his own thudding heartbeat in his ears. He's teased her enough for this first time, he thinks; given her a taste of what he prefers, but not shown his hand in full. So when Peggy pushes against his grip, Rip puts up only a token resistance before letting her gain that ground, trapping him as effectively as he had pinned her with the dig of a single heel against his back.

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.]

[ she's no wilting violet. she's no novitiate. at least -- she had never before considered herself one. but the reality is that rip has surprised her, tonight. what she mistakes for a means to an end suddenly becomes the end itself. in her past relationships, foreplay had been a nebulous and narrow thing. rarely there -- and when it was, rarely enjoyed. clumsy attempts, most of it. no matter how well-meant they might also have been. but what more could she have expected, accepting the proposal of a man who boasted about the satisfaction of a boring life?

...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. ]

Edited 2017-12-03 23:06 (UTC)

[She's surprised as he continues on, her curse as astonished as it is pleased. Early on he wondered if perhaps Peggy had never experienced this particular brand of interplay, but now he thinks she's never had it rise to such a satisfying end. Oh, how sweet a thought, one that almost feels more like a wish as it floats through Rip's mind. But he doesn't break away to ask. No, not when he considers how close she must be, how she swears out to the heavens and rolls her hips against him, when he hears the pitch of her voice and those moments when she forgets to breathe.

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.

[ next time, rip says. next time -- and peggy responds with a sharpish laugh because she's still trying to untangle every last tendriling piece of her consciousness, knotted still with a fluttery joy from this time. he talks about next time and she feels an attendant hop low in her body. feeling muscle twitches like remainders of what's just transpired.

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. ]

[The kiss she's after comes once Rip is on his feet, though at first it's merely a quick peck upon her lips. If her shock at what he's done is anything to go by, then he's got little doubt that Peggy equally likely hasn't tasted herself in such a fashion before. Though he's quite willing to share a longer kiss, he'll leave that choice to her--

And in the meantime, continue to grin in that insufferable way when she finally manages to voice a question.]

I'm afraid it is. [He wonders if she regrets that now, having experienced a bit better just what Rip had offered her. He reaches up, brushes a few stray strands of hair from her face as he considers what might have happened then, and what has happened now.] Although truth be told I'm rather glad you did. I think I'm appreciating the look of wonder on your face far better now than I would have while I was absolutely tossed.

[The same wonder that gives Rip every right to be proud of himself, he thinks. Not unlike Sherlock Holmes, having puzzled apart a case.]

Edited 2017-12-04 00:03 (UTC)

[ afterglow is just about the only thing keeping peggy from scowling. he's so ruddy pleased with himself, isn't he? and making matters worse is the fact that she finds herself rather pleased with him, too. it's an uncommon position -- this kind of thready, deep-in-the-body positive regard.

the tip of peggy's tongue darts across her lower lip -- tasting what he'd left there after his short peck. he's right about that, too. but that pleasant ache-y dull feeling through her body helps hide most of the surprise. ditto her exasperation when he emphasizes the word 'wonder' so wickedly. she's uncovering another unanticipated benefit of having had him on his knees, busy between her thighs: it had spared her these more incisive comments.

she'd give him a shove, except...except the way she places her palm against the base of his neck, settles her forearm against his chest? it all suggests she's still depending on him (a little, leastwise) to keep herself steadied.

instead of tossing fuel on the flames by adding commentary of her own, peggy does indeed opt for a longer and more involved kiss. her posture's uneven due to one abandoned shoe, so she quickly abandons the other only to strain that little bit higher just to catch his mouth with hers. her tongue curls, curious, behind his lip -- testing this taste that's slick and wet and on his mouth.

she takes her time; it's preferable talking, which she suspects would only serve to highlight her pleasant surprise with every fumbled word. it's a hole she won't dig for herself. ]

[Truth be told, Rip might well deserve that shove should it she opt for it--but Peggy doesn't, and Rip in turn holds and comments about how she still clings to him, how he suspects that should he take a step back too soon, she might well tumble.

Or at the very least, wobble where she stands.

Of course, it's less of a choice on his part and more of a consequence of what Peggy does next. Her shoe is kicked off, just as quickly forgotten when she kisses him. This time it is Rip who is the explored, Peggy not at all shy of the wetness still on his lips; quite the opposite, as she seeks it out, leaving Rip now the one whose breath catches for that telltale moment between heartbeats.

Earlier ideas, earlier thoughts have their merits ringing in his head. Jokes about finding a horizontal surface paired with the fact that certainly he remains quite ready for more spurn him onward. He pulls Peggy close; one hand about her waist, the other cupping the back of her neck, takes a guess as to which way the bed is and begins the unsteady walk there. It's far from a simple dance between them; as before, each movement jostles, has teeth strike teeth, noses bump when they aren't careful.

But he's determined, just as she had been earlier. Their foreplay has been quite wonderful--but even his patience in this has it's limits, in the end.]

[ it's odd to think it, maybe, but a thought still nags at peggy: so far, the night has presented itself like a bawdy paperback. a touch too good, a shade too enjoyable. even before he had dropped to his knees, she had struggled with a sprinkle of doubt. but, in the end, there's nothing storybook about the way'd neglected their music. nothing storybook, neither, in how wednesdays are meant for work and now they've gone and muddied the waters.

peggy's steps follow his. low on grace and high on endorphins, she doesn't think twice about the clumsy waltz they make from the wall to his bedside, except to consider the fact that in all these wednesdays she's never ventured beyond the shelves that divided one portion of his room from the other. she's had glimpses of the other half, yes, but with no reason to fix her thoughts on it until recently.

-- they stub toes and elbows on their way through, stopping to blaspheme and distract each other with a wobbly kiss pressed against the shelving unit's corner. something -- a book, a box, peggy doesn't pay attention -- tips over.

this is what she'd expected of him from the moment he'd slipped behind her by the record player: a race to the bed sheets, clawing and pulling at one another. but she'll admit, at least in her own heart, that the detour taken before now has done wonders to take that initial edge off her nerves. sweeter and more effective than any cup of whiskey. her edges bleed, but her senses remain sharp. flushed and warm and rallied.

two more steps, then three, and peggy's hands wander under his shirt. she grips him by the palmful, taking hold of his side and -- with a look over his shoulder -- steering his backward strides toward the bed. twenty minutes earlier and she might have balked at going to bed with him in his actual bed, but a resurging arousal drowns out a slew of superficial hangups.

feeling more and more certain by the moment, she lets go only to push him back onto the mattress. ]

There, Mister Hunter. Horizontal.

[ said very much in a breathless tone of much bloody better. ]

[Nothing storybook, perhaps, but Rip expects that over the weeks to come they would find their balance. Tonight may have been originally meant for work, yet after the events of last week it simply could not be. They were both far too distracted, as their earlier attempt at conversation proved; perhaps they could have shifted into more relevant topics, her progress with Leo Fitz, any contacts Rip might have made, and yet the unresolved tension would have lingered in the back of their thoughts.

Last week proved, if nothing else, that there had been a dam ready to burst between them. Tonight provides an opportunity for that water to flow, a controlled release rather than something more akin to disaster.

Bumps happen along the way, and Rip suspects they'll both wind up with a number of small bruises for their trouble. That, and Rip would find himself straightening any number of things, as the sound of something smacking against the surface of the shelves causes a momentary distraction--but no real need to look and see just what has fallen.

Not when her hands find his sides, press warm against his skin. He expects she'll have his shirt tugged off in a minute; he's only worn the one tonight, and that speaks of his anticipation as much as anything else. Instead she sends him back with a shove, Rip letting out a small cry of surprise as his back hits the mattress behind him. Really, hindsight tells him he should have expected nothing less, particularly when Rip leans up on his elbows to see the satisfaction in Peggy's face.]

Horizontal indeed, Ms. Carter--although regrettably alone. [Even if only for the time being. He's tempted, sorely so, to shoot up in bed and take hold of whatever part of Peggy he might reach, her hands or her arms, or even her waist; to drag her into bed with him, leave her shocked and surprised for a moment.

Except curiosity wins out. Rip's already seen her react to the unexpected. So instead he waits, braced on his elbows, head lifted up to watch her. If her opinion of this improvement remains unspoken, then surely his question falls into the same tone.

All eyes on her, with a look that proclaims she has him; now what will you do?]

[ what she wants to do and what she will do are two different things. for a moment, she stands at the foot of his bed with her eyes climbing up his body -- not altogether different to a little under a week ago when she'd seen fit to give him a good once-over. ]

Not for long.

[ peggy says it like a promise. and perhaps yet another scintillating silver lining to what's already passed between them is that she no longer feels quite the same rising tide of impatience, riding high in the back of her throat like some urge she can't ignore. it's bought her enough clear thought to proceed with at least a smattering of protocol in mind.

so she props her foot against the mattress's edge, her skirt since slipped back into place -- albeit creased and crumpled. since he'd undone her garters, the tops of her stockings have shifted and begun to migrate down her legs. but, more importantly, peggy glances down while she works her fingers under the clasps holding her holster in place. ]

-- Off with your shirt, then.

[ peggy's attention flicks back to where he half-sits on his own bed. eventually, she frees the holster (and thereby her gun) from her thigh and abandons both to the floor with a weighty thud. ]

Edited 2017-12-04 02:38 (UTC)

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