IC Inbox - Entranceway

[directed]

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

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[mucked]

[ she shuts her eyes against the glow of the lights left on. it's taking longer to catch her breath than she'd first imagined; even now, it's all havoc. pleasant, erratic, unpredictable havoc. her next inhale gets thready and catchy come its peak. and maybe maybe maybe lurking far beneath this fresh panorama of feeling, peggy also feels some vestigial urge to get intertwined and cozy. but it's more like an echo of an instinct, and easily dismissed.

instead, she pillows one arm behind her head -- leaving the other arm slack at her side so that when she turns to look at him she hasn't got a cocked elbow impeding her view. what's less vestigial is her recognition of his smile. it's a rare enough occurrence that even now she knows to enjoy it.

she's got colour high in her cheeks. and peggy scrapes her teeth over her bottom lip, not quite hiding a grin of her own. bloody hell is bloody right, but she finds herself less inclined to share easy awe and praise now that the checkpoint's reached. slowly, she finds her tactical reserve once again. it trickles back to her in dribs and drabs.

but not so quickly that she doesn't offer up a threadbare judgment: ] That was a bit of alright.

[ wry, layered, and well-intended. she stretches and finds herself just beginning to realize they'd only managed to get rid of the bare minimum of their clothing, really, before hopping to it. next time, she thinks. ]

[directed]

[A bit of alright she claims, and Rip expects it's rather high praise coming from Peggy. He doesn't say it, however; merely reaches over with a hand to brush an errant curl from her face, the brown lock contrasting beautifully with the flushed pink of her cheeks.

Much like her lipstick; he thinks, idly, she must have wished for something with staying power from the closets. Whatever she'd found is certainly a survivor.]

Worth being mostly sober for, surely. [Though he has little doubt that what they might have had last week would have been good, it wouldn't have been--this. Though he's tired and his thoughts lazy, Rip's mind feels surprisingly clear all the same. It's a brand of relaxation he doesn't often find. Certainly not in Wonderland, and there's even the chance he might manage a decent bit of sleep tonight.

A rare prize indeed, should it happen.]

[mucked]

[ his touch doesn't catch her by surprise. she sees it, telegraphed, in his should and in his arm before it happens. and peggy, much like she did the week before, turns her face only slightly towards the gesture. she could have stopped it, dodged it, refused it; however, she didn't. but even as she indulges this bit of afterglow intimacy, she doesn't invite anything more.

what she does instead is shift languid-like onto her side, propping her head up with the flat of a palm. peggy's arm drapes across her side, red-nailed fingers finding a comfortable and familiar place against her own hip, the dark blue of her garter belt, and it's a compromise -- although she's spent and lazy in her own right, she at least pins her attention on him like some alternative to snuggling together. ]

Surely. [ peggy repeats. and although she thinks about kissing him, it's harder to accomplish without the white hot furnace of arousal driving her forward. to kiss him now would be almost exclusively sentimental.

unacceptable. ]

I do believe you've more than made up for last week. [ which is another scrap of praise masquerading as mild retort. silently, peggy thinks she could do with a drink -- spirits or otherwise -- but she doesn't trust her legs to carry her, just yet, and she'll be damned before she asks rip for any favours.

and so it's idle chatter (pillow talk, ugh) until she gathers enough steam to slip out. at least, that's the plan. it's not terrible concrete just yet -- and there's something wonderfully nice about laying right here and watch all of rip hunter's springs stay uncoiled.

it's a view she likes. ]

[directed]

[So simple a thing, and yet when Peggy leans in just that small measure, Rip once more feels an urge to draw nearer to her. He doesn't, however; their intimacy must have it's boundaries, as they decided on that particularly unforgiving morning last week. He can live with the momentary regret of what he must deny himself, if the trade-off means she'll show up at his door the next Wednesday and the next.

There is always a larger picture to consider, and a price to be paid for greater gains.

She speaks of his failing last week and he lets out a huffed breath, closing his eyes for a brief time. Though his breathing has evened out, he's not willing to drift off just yet. Though neither crosses the boundary of space between them, there is something to be said for the time shared, even if physical contact is no longer there.]

How grand. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I hadn't. [Though that's far from the truth; making up for the week prior truly hadn't been on his mind so much as ensuring tonight was simply good for it's own sake. A beat passes; in the quiet of the room he can hear the cadence of her breath, and something else: a bit of white noise he needs a second to identify, though when he does, it makes a rather convenient follow-up to her remark.]

Though now you're the one with something to make up for, Miss Carter. [Right back to that touch of formality, never mind that just minutes before Rip had been inside of her.] This whole time you've failed in your duty to select the next record--and left my player running to boot.

[mucked]

[ she breathes out one long breath after his hand retreats from her cheek. there's more said in the way she meets his eye than in anything else -- a kind of solidarity with what goes unspoken, acknowledging the time shared is welcome. wanted, even. sweethearts they won't be, no, but equally neither of them seem all that interested in carving a hard line between their sex and their camaraderie.

peggy has no desire to stay the night -- but she doesn't want to flee it, either. something both caring and protective in her better nature yearns to stick around at least until he falls asleep. better yet, her loosely defined affection informs her she wouldn't much mind if it takes him a quarter of an hour, a half hour, whatever to drift.

it's not love. but it's not friendship, either. out by the firing range she'd assured him they weren't friends and peggy is convinced that such a verdict stays true. they've skipped a few steps; they've found themselves mired straight in the middle. liked, respected, wanted, enjoyed.

she turns her head to glance across the room -- she can just about see the record player from this angle. ]

You're wrong. [ all the respect and want in the world couldn't iron out the attitude she puts forth, whether it's cloaked in a tired yawning voice or not. ] I never failed in my duty. I was thwarted. Sabotaged. There's a keen difference.

[ peggy gives a stretch, though, and considers how much she'd like a glass of something. perhaps a chance to tidy up a bit-- ] But I'll head back into the field and see the thing dispatched, Mister Hunter, if that's what you truly want.

[ it'll give her a chance to find her knickers. ]

[directed]

[Indeed, he's glad for her lingering company, even if they both restrain themselves to temporary touches and quiet words from this point forward. Equally that she seems content enough to stay for the time, rather than abscond immediately now that the more rigorous part of the evening is done. Rip already doubts that she would allow herself to spend the night. The two times it's happened now, they'd both been more drunk than anything else. And each morning after, neither one of them had been entirely comfortable around the other, particularly Peggy, whom had tried to sneak away without Rip's noticing on each occasion.

It's an interesting set of weight to put upon the scales: the warm presence of another body in his bed throughout the night, or the avoidance of a third morning marred by awkwardness. In the end it's a matter left entirely in Peggy's hands—and one better, Rip thinks, left without the input of whatever opinion he might form should he give it too much thought. He's often in the habit of spoiling something by overthinking it—something Miranda would often accuse him of in the past.

So instead he tries to accept the good for what it is, and trust the notion of what comes next to someone else. Not the simplest thing for him, and thus it's good that Peggy offers distraction. Such a brassy stance even now, and Rip turns his head just enough to show off a single arched eyebrow.]

Sabotaged; that is quite the accusation to make. [An entirely accurate one, he knows, but far be it from him to simply admit that Peggy's right. Especially not as she continues on, clever and quick as always. Suddenly the ball he'd deemed fit to set aside has been sent spiraling into his court, and with the question of his desires, Rip can practically hear the lynchpin of the trap set into place.

And here he'd been, just having decided to avoid bad habits.]

I'm rather fond of the quiet, actually. [Of her, close enough to touch should he stretch a hand out just to the side. Stay or go, the choice remains hers—even if Rip decides for the moment, he's content to have her put off making it just a touch longer.]

[mucked]

But it's not, is it? Quiet.

[ peggy shifts and returns to her place, head swiveling so she can look at him again. she watches his profile, side-on, and admires all the details she'd first observed in a scotched haze one week prior. observed, yes, as his head had sat in her lap. piece by piece, she builds up a familiarity. ]

Because I can hear it too. [ she assures him. ] The faint scratch of the needle on the platter. I imagine it's ruined, now. [ the needle; not the platter. ] You'll need to fit a new one before --

[ before next week ]

-- before you can listen to anything else.

[ that little noise might as well fill the room. it's a pedal note behind their gradually calming breath and the internal thrum of their respective pulses. the more she thinks about it, the more she hears it. ordinarily, it's the sort of thing that should fray her nerves after the first minute. but there's still lead in her limbs and a kind of euphoria working its way through her system. and...

and there's no mistaking rip's real meaning. fond of the quiet, he said. and although she'd replied to them, all she'd heard underpinning those words was an argument for her not to get up and break the detente between them. so, grabbing at one of his pillows, she decides there's no profit in trying to undo the damage that's already been done. the needle's broken; rushing to the player won't change that fact. so she'll linger here a little longer. peggy stuffs the pillow beneath her head and settles. more comfortable.

and after their hushed and tired chatter falls silent, she winds in and out of a light, light sleep. cat-naps, nearly, as she's never out of it for longer than twenty minutes at a time. but eventually she outstays her own welcome and leaves him to occupy his bed alone. in the dead of night, she's careful-quiet. she finds her clothes and she shuts off the player and she pauses -- hesitant -- beside the tumblers they'd left out on the table. peggy downs what remains of both her glass. it's a little liquid courage taken before she rifles through a desk drawer, finding herself a piece of stiff paper and a good pen.

she scribbles out a brief note, unsigned: see you next wednesday. and then she tucks it into whatever book he's reading, choosing a page at random after she steals his proper bookmark from within.

peggy takes it with her when she leaves -- hastily dressed -- and carries her shoes and holster with her. ]