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.

[ 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)

[Even without the weight Peggy puts behind the words, Rip would hold her to that oath all the same. In his estimation there is no reason for the trajectory of this night to change--although the sharpness to Peggy's edge shines clear, now that Rip's given her (and himself) a taste of her release. Only just, however, thanks to Peggy's own interruptions.

Yet perhaps that works to Rip's favor just then.

She's far from the only one eyeing the other just then; until she puts her foot on the bed, anyone else would have no idea why she's so crumpled, why her blouse has been wrinkled, her skirt creased, her stockings slipping down without the garters done to keep them up. But Rip knows damn well, and the same satisfaction she finds in his mussed up hair is mirrored when he looks at her then, partway through being wrecked, with the promise of more yet to come.

But not without demands being met. She gives an order, and Rip arches an eyebrow but pushes himself up to accommodate, a cheeky yes ma'am escaping him just before his face vanishes behind tugged up cotton. His shirt is off in short order, bunched up and tossed aside with even greater abandon than Peggy's gun.

(Thankfully there are no misfires; somehow Rip suspects a bullet suddenly being shot might spoil the mood.)]

[ there's more than only him to drink in. she might be driven to wonderful distraction -- focused so much more intently on what's to come than on a great many other details -- but old survival habits die hard. and peggy can't help but cast at least a cursory look around this half of his partitioned room. the part behind her, the part housing her chair and his sofa and the desk, she's committed its features to memory long before tonight. but she might as well have stepped into a different room. although the decor remains consistent -- the same collected clutter arranged with some semblance of intention -- the finer details are different.

as she looks, she hooks her thumbs beneath the top edge of one stocking. at first blush, it appears as though she prepares to roll the first one down past her knee and remove it. but something in his yes ma'am steadies her fingers. playful though it was, there's a ring to it she rather likes. it sounds terrible different slipping off his tongue than when she's heard it spoken by others here in wonderland. different enough to make her reconsider removing her stockings. different enough that, for reasons forged more in the blood than in the brain, peggy begins to refasten her garter clips instead.

but by the time his shirt is off, her eyes have snapped back to him. and on the topic of details! there's the scar tissue on his shoulder that she'd before only identified by touch. her gaze lingers, and she feels no compunction to minimize her curiosity. although she stops short of voicing it.

instead: ] I suppose we are only now leveling the field. You saw plenty the day I arrived. When you zipped my dress.

[ in this context, 'so much' more accurately means 'more than i would normally allow' but the sentiment stays. there had been scars, then, too. she watches him while she lowers one leg and lifts the other instead, herself with also adjusting its stocking. ]

Edited 2017-12-04 03:17 (UTC)

To be fair, Miss Carter, that day I was doing my level best not to look.

[Though some details he couldn't help but see, certainly Rip's mind had been in a far different place that day, so many months ago. Still, the sentiment rings true; there's no chance Peggy would have let a stranger see so much of her had there been another choice, but injury and circumstance played out as they had.

And look where they've now ended up, so many weeks later.

The scar on his shoulder is deceptively small; not much larger than a shilling, yet in texture akin to a burn. It's dated, nearly two years old now; it had been half that age the first time they met, in this very room, which speaks to the odd ways that Wonderland toys with time.

She makes no further demands of him yet, but the sight of Peggy tugging her stockings back in place certainly does inspire. He's got less to go than she, but Rip takes a moment to kick off his slippers; more modern than traditional, the kind with soles suitable for short trips outside. He's less keen to have them on in the bed, however, particularly since he expects to have company before too much longer.]

[ off come his slippers. and, for a tick, her eyes follow their small trajectory off the bed. they've left the trail, they have. shoes and garments and knocked-over items. whiskey left on the table; records unshelved. for all the anticipation and planning that's gone into tonight, it remains a point of chaos.

fitting, really.

peggy takes a step back. but only so she can cock her elbows and reach behind her hips, tugging down the zipper on her skirt. the action generates a soft mechanic whisper, and soon enough the wrinkled skirt joins everything else on the floor. only then, only now, does she take to his bed in earnest. and maybe they've both got clothing still to tug and undo, but she finds herself growing weary of standing alone.

whether he stays half-sat or lies back, peggy takes a straddled seat on his lap. her knees dent the bedclothes to either side of his hips. stockings, garter belt, a conspicuous lack of knickers. ]

Of course. [ she acknowledges the sanitary nature of that meeting -- edges even crisper and starchier than they are now. ] You were a proper gentleman. Apart from pointing your gun.

[ but her smile already anticipates every counter-argument -- it was the pragmatic way to greet a stranger walking out of a closet, the whole place had been on high alert, and (hell) it isn't as though she hasn't returned the favour since.

and even if he might manage to dredge up another besides, she curtails any argument with a sudden burst of words. ] God, this angle suits you.

[ she looks down at him and begins fussing with the first button on her blouse. ]

[Chaos, she considers it, but Rip sees it more as a happy eagerness shared between them. Whatever this is, what it may become, for now they've committed themselves to it. He knows better than to assume their boundaries will exist without flaws or their plans will go untested by Wonderland's machinations at the very least--nothing but bad barters, as they have warned and been warned, lived through day after day, seen unfold in countless ways.

But still. Still. For now, they share something that is good and decent and theirs by design and choice both. This is not the first time Rip has bucked the system, all for the sweet touch of a woman whom makes him want far too much. No doubt that is why he can embrace Peggy now, why some part of him knows he should, even in the moments when guilt or fatalistic thoughts twist in his mind.

He's just gotten the button of his trousers undone when she shimmies out of her skirt, and oh, it is a lovely sight. Made all the better when she climbs onto the bed with him, and Rip doesn't lay back, not just yet. He drinks the sight of her in instead, the contrast of dark silk and lace against her skin, the blouse that only just covers her lingerie, and the shape of her body.

Peggy's words are well-timed; Rip would have indeed argued the point, each one she so neatly ticks off in her mind, smile or no. But her compliment earns a reprieve, and he watches as she addresses her blouse.]

Funny; I was thinking the same of you. [He's got no compulsions about having a woman atop him; quite the opposite in fact. His trousers remain zipped and in place, Rip instead shifting so he can brace himself on one arm and raise the other to aid in the unbuttoning of Peggy's shirt.

There's little gentlemanly about him this time. Two buttons undone, and Rip can no longer stand merely providing this effort. Instead he pushes himself up, moves to catch Peggy's mouth with his own for a hungry and eager kiss.]

[ peggy is precisely the sort of person who can let herself forget -- at least between these walls and under the auspices of these moments -- that there is hell outside the doorstep. horror in a gilt package, one that waits to spring itself during the twisted events. events to which they are all of them subject. but it's something of a survival tactic, one that allowed her to navigate the war (relatively) unscathed.

a deep and entrenched ability to compartmentalize.

the same narrow focus that finds her in a fight finds her now, also, and hedges its boundaries all around him. he talks about a kind of harmony to their opposite but well-matched perspectives -- her looking down and him looking up -- and peggy's smile brightens not on her mouth but instead in her eyes. just as well, really, considering how hastily rip moves to occupy her lips.

even while she slants her mouth against his, peggy still pulls at her buttons until the blouse hangs loose and open on her body. but instead of shrugging free of it, she engages her hands on some other mission. her fingertips find the edges of his hips, then ride higher with each passing second as though she's committing the very musculature of his torso to sense-memory. and, yes, when she reaches that shilling-sized scar she thumbs it with idle curiosity. a curiosity that'll only be set to fire once her palms reach his bare back.

but it doesn't happen yet. because they're kissing, again, and peggy tilts forward until she's got him pressed back against his mattress -- and she bowed over him, palms on his cheeks. and although she's got every intention of dispatching his trousers as soon as bloody possible, she finds herself caught in this delightful rut where she doesn't dare break his kiss. not yet, not yet, not yet. it's a compartment within a compartment: twisting herself up in the act of kissing him to the exclusion of what's fated to follow. ]

[She sweeps him away with the singularity of a kiss, draws Rip onto his back and Rip goes willingly, even eagerly as she directs. If he possesses reservation towards Peggy learning the shape of his body and the texture of his scars, it has yet to spark against the winds of exploration; his hands are no less idle than hers, not when she's perched over him now, leaving Rip free to touch each soft curves of her torso and waist, down to her hips. His fingers slide smoothly across skin, bump only the slightest at the hems of the lingerie she still wears. Yet while part of him wants to see absolutely every part of her, he's content to have that puzzle revealed in time--particularly when he's forced to break away just that small bit for air, opens his eyes and once more drinks in the vision she's created atop him.

A sight that takes his breath away as easily as their kisses have.

Equally, however, it is a growing impatience that has Rip keen to take Peggy just as she is; his want of her burns hot under his skin, lit trails of tinder burning through the path of his veins. He could kiss her for hours, spend just as long taking her apart in so much the same manner as he's done once already--but Rip craves a far more selfish satisfaction as well, one only highlighted when he uses his hold on her hips to draw Peggy down, to bring her body crashing against his in a prelude of what would soon come to pass between them.

He sucks in a sharp breath once more, his eyes dark as he looks up into hers.]

Unfortunately, Miss Carter, I've no intention of being a proper gentleman tonight. [Not in the most traditional sense of the terms, where a man and a woman would only engage in such intercourse once vows had been spoken and rings exchanged. There's unquestionably the most base brand of joke to be made about just where his 'gun' points this time as well, but he forgoes it. Seemingly contrary to his words, Rip doesn't release Peggy's hips just yet; rather he takes advantage of the still low angle of her body to press an open-mouthed kiss to her jaw. He wants, dear God does he, yet even as eager as he is to proceed it seems Rip might find it in himself to draw out this torture just a touch longer--if only because speaking her name reminds him that there's another dam to break first.

It's a silly game his mind sets forth, it's rules not shared with the woman he contends with. Yet it's victory would be sweet all the same, if he could coax Peggy into addressing his trousers first, slipping that much further before Rip can no longer stand this prolonged wait.]

[ his lips on her jaw leaves her mouth free for laughter. and as laughter goes, it's brief and low and textured. it's more like a hat tip to dark humour settling about their shoulders than it is to any genuine mirth. because, proper or not, she feels him beneath her -- stiff and dauntless. their weekly scotch hasn't sabotaged him tonight.

(then again -- it wasn't the scotch last week, was it?)

she'd love to pin him with some witty comeback, some seductive assurance that there's nothing 'unfortunate' about his intentions (or lack thereof), but her own wit is just a little too far out of reach. she can't grab it.

and she'd much rather grab at him, besides.

so they dally a little while, here, in another bit of prologue. peggy certainly doesn't mind the detour, and she's half-hoping he does. her next breath out is like a roll of gravel in the back of her throat, and once again she betrays herself as anything but a delicate creature. she might be, by a certain definition, out of practice -- but coming near undone against rip's bedroom wall with his head craning between her thighs did damned wonders for the easy, natural confidence she so often wear so well.

she noses a line across the angled plane of his cheek, dipping her mouth against the curl of his ear -- catching her breath and pressing her body onto his. it's all heat and limbs and the pleasant constant reminder that he waits for her, readied and at attention.

one piece of last week repeats itself when peggy pushes a hand between their bodies. this time, she probes for nothing but instead grips him through his trousers with clear and present intention of her own. stalled only by a thought, whispered warm against his ear: ]

The holster -- [ a beat, a sigh, god it's a chore just to speak when he's having his way with the exposed skin of her neck ] -- there's a French letter tucked next to the spare magazine.

[ the holster she'd left on the ground. it, much like her wit, feels altogether too far out of reach. far enough to make her regret mentioning that she'd come well-prepared to his door tonight. ]

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