driftfleet | ship mingle: february is for starstruckers.

[ it may not be the traditional way lovers and sweethearts spend Valentine's Day but it fits her and him just fine. At the end of the day, the air is warm and there are beads of lake water shining on her skin. He catches one, kisses it away from her jaw. Beneath his fingers, he can feel her muscles when she tightens her hold of him. It's a slow, careful exploration. By now, he knows the taste of her kisses and the scent that lingers on her ( soap and at times, gun powder ) and the way her body fits against his at night but this is different.

In light of her words, he readily confesses the most basic truth of the day, ]

I love you.

[ there is a liberating feeling in the chance of saying it loud and clear and open instead of whispering it in her ear. ]

Oh, Hell. [ she makes a fuss. ] How many times must I say it? Hm?

[ her intention isn't half so exasperated as the tone suggests. peggy lets the moment sink in: light on clothing and heavy in sentiment. she's done a lot in her life but this feels singular. unique. ]

I love you, Steve Rogers. [ not at all a whisper. not a twinge. ] Does that suffice?

[ they've went through a lot, him and her, to be able to be this loud and clear about a love that has been kept secret for years and was always mixed with grief.

She's not wrong at all, he thinks, to call this a victory. In a way, there couldn't have been an easier question. He shifts, tilts up his head and kisses her collarbone. ]

No.

[ her head lolls a moment -- and she's torn between a sound of exasperation and a happy sigh. all the usual tricks and deflections aren't worth mud when tallied up against his kisses and the clear present touch of his fingers. maybe the lake is a mercy because all the water surrounding them also weighs down the rest of her temptation. keeps things cool. ]

You know I'm not that person. [ peggy doesn't describe who she means, but the empty spaces around her words paint the best picture: the person who lingers in the sheets or who says a hundred i love yous before lunch. she's not the person for whom you buy chocolates or bring flowers.

she is, however, enamoured with the pendant. and so deeply head-over-heels for him. saying it was always harder than showing it. saying it, after all, had become something of a black mark once the war was over. carter knew a lot of men during the war, someone might say. and she grew a little less talkative each time. ]

I don't wax poetic. [ says the woman who give him an anthology of sonnets for christmas. someone else's words; someone else's wax. ] You're going to have to make your peace with that fact.

[ she'll help, of course. help usher peace in with a kiss. and another. and another. soft and slow and just a little bit hungry. ]

Dunno if I believe you.

[ it's a tease that he tries to stay committed to. It's a bit difficult to focus his attention on it, however, to make it more than a few words. It's a blissful afternoon and he's keen on not disturbing this peace, not to give her any reason to slip away from this embrace.

There is energy buzzing beneath his skin, rushing at her touch, at the way his lips slant against hers. The water allow him to free one arm from beneath her, trail it up her back and over her sides, as if he's mapping a trail that will be followed again later on. ]

This was your idea and it's damn poetic to me.

What a thrillingly low bar you've allowed me to set.

[ this? poetic? so be it. peggy won't argue if it means accomplishing what she wants accomplished can be synonymous with being poetic. she shivers under his fingertips and reins in the rush in her breath.

she leans her elbows on his shoulders -- eyeing the tent from this distance. and as casually as she can manage, she suggests: ] Think we ought to head back to shore?

Hardly.

[ she may not be like anyone he has ever met but that was always a part of her appeal. There is a happy hum at the back of his throat and he nods. ]

Yeah, probably. Before it starts getting dark.

[ he doesn't give her back her legs, however. Merely shifts his hold of her and starts walking back. ]

You can start a fire. We can dry off.

[ she's tempted to fight his grip. tempted to try and seize her nominal freedom, more on principle than preference. but she still likes feeling his heart beating against hers. and likes the warm skin of his sides against her thighs. peggy holds onto him and vows to herself that should he ever draw attention to this concession, she might clean his clock. ]

There should be a towel in the bag.

[ it's still warm outside which makes it that much easier to walk out of the water. He pauses only to bend down and pick the little bundle of clothes, maintaining a firm hold on her. ]

And I'm pretty sure I got your hair brush.

Pretty sure, the man says. [ she adjusts her matched grip on him when he bends down to grab the clothing they abandoned on their way into the water. peggy's breath is a little too quick for comfort. she noses the curve of his neck. ] I don't see how there's room for any doubt -- either you took a brush or you didn't. There's not much that can be mistaken for a brush.

[ but in the end, it doesn't much matter. towels. hair brushes. more mascara. out here, on the planet, she feels far enough removed from the fleet's society. and when they reach their little campsite, peggy at long last makes her attempt to find the ground with her bare feet. ]

Can't really remember at the moment.

[ it's an easy confession to make, the situation being what it is and if he walks a bit slower back to the campsite, it's mostly so he can himself more time to memorize this, her fit in his arms. It doesn't last once they reach the tent and he bends a little, hears the soft thud when her feet meet the ground. ]

There's a sweatshirt in there, if it gets colder.

[ his own, much too large but still practical. ]

[ they stand toe-to-toe. peggy is relegated to looking up once again -- and as is her way, she doesn't exactly raise her chin but she certainly raises her eyes. the resulting expression is impish. happy. water drips down her ruined curls and down her bare(ish) shoulders and down the dull grey of her camisole. the same water drips down him, too. and peggy dabs at a droplet with the edge of her thumb. ]

How thoughtful of you. [ she doesn't need to ask whose sweatshirt he means; peggy owns none of those shirts, barring the standard issue sweats. ] But if it's all the same to you, I think I might enjoy the sunshine a little longer. Maybe change into something more...dry.

Seems like we have a while longer.

[ before the sun sets and the air cools. It's a safe subject of conversation while he holds her gaze, resisting an urge to look anywhere else. Her clothes cling to her skin and if he looks at her, he'll probably end up staring. ]

It feels like summer.

[ long days, short nights, warm weather. ]

-- Certainly makes for a funny sort of February. [ but peggy doesn't complain. the weather's allowed a great many chips to fall in place -- although she suspects it could have been ten below, and snowing, and she would have invited steve camping all the same. nevertheless, she's grateful for the breeze and the sun and her bare feet on the ground; makes this camping trip a far sight nicer than taking shelter in france in the height of winter.

he's gentleman-like and he keeps his eyes squarely fixed on hers. peggy's not so polite, perhaps, because she lets her attention wander once again. and each time ends with her squaring her shoulders a little more. standing straighter.

but a hand resting against her collarbone lets her toy with the necklace's charm. it's a telling aberration in her otherwise almost parade-ground posture. ]

It's -- nice. To care about the holiday again. Daft as it.

Maybe this planet is a warm one all year long.

[ or perhaps it's summer here, july or late august but in the end, it doesn't matter. according to their own schedule, the way they count the days, it's february, warm or otherwise. ]

We've had a few of those.

[ they're said something about dry clothes and hair brushes but steve still reaches for her hand, counts them on the tips of her fingers. ]

July 4th, right? Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's, Valentine's. I guess the next one is your birthday

[ st. patrick's, she almost drawls. but his certainty catches her off guard. april's not far away at all -- he's right about that. but more alarmingly... ]

I didn't think you knew it. [ her birthday. like last year, she'd intended to simply let it slip by without comment. it hardly seems important -- it never really did, after michael died and she signed on with soe and the ssr and then there wasn't anyone left who knew her birthday. no one she had regular contact with, anyway. ] I never told you.

[ which means he's been reading files -- a rather morose sort of image. or maybe she tells him in the future. perhaps her elderly self has gone soft on matters like birthdays. ]

You didn't.

[ and he seems all too pleased with himself. Back when he read her files, those were all details that he never got to ask her about and now one of them has a rather practical use. ]

It's before Easter so it's next on the list.

[ there's no lapel to grab nor collar to yank. so, instead, she gives the corner of his chin a devilish tweak. peggy clears her throat and tries to sound disappointed. ]

You've been snooping. [ she accuses him of doing the very thing she's done on more than one occasion. not too often, of course, because it's never pleasant to have a fellow agent catch you in the act of reading over old files. ] I suppose they'll give just about anyone security clearance by your modern era.

It's not what it used to be.

[ cheeky and undeterred, he wraps an arm around her waist and presses his lips to her cheek. ]

We celebrated my birthday. Yours isn't an exception.

Your birthday is a little bit -- different. To mine. [ at least, it falls differently. but it's a difficult argument to make when they hug each other close. damp skin and wet hair. she wants to argue that his birthday is damn well a matter of public record. and her records? classified. or they ought to be.

but it all feels a little moot when he's being so tender. ] It's still so far away. Let's you and I take it one holiday at a time, shall we?

[ far away, yes; but ideas are already forming in his mind for the day itself. Some are traditional and some are creative but all of them present.

Still, no reason for her to know alla that yet. As innocently and casually as he can, ]

Right. We said something about a fire didn't we?

[ there is palpable relief in her sigh. and in the way her shoulders slump. peggy extricates herself from his hold and becomes preoccupied with zipping open one of the duffel bags. she hunts for a towel. ]

We agreed the loser would build one.

[ guess who. ]

We did.

[ he watches her for a moment before smiling and heading over to the neat pile of logs he arranged earlier. ]

Found everything?

[ in the bag, that is. There are indeed towels and a single hair brush, her clothes and his, all carefully folded away. Beneath them are sketch books and pencils as well as steve's phone. ]

-- You brought your sketchpads.

[ less of a question; more of a statement. peggy runs the towel roughly over her limbs to buff away the excess water. her hair gets only a marginally more delicate treatment -- and although it's still damp, it no longer drips.

she's standing there, wringing her hair out with the towel, while she asks: ] Hoping to capture some of the alien flora and fauna?

I try to take them everywhere. I guess you never know what you might see and want to capture.

[ he looks at her as he works, setting an area for the fire with rocks and then arranging the logs. ]

There's always something I'd like to try drawing. I like to be prepared for it.

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