driftfleet | ship mingle: february is for starstruckers.

[ when he does as she says, he spends the first few seconds of lying down in a form of awed silence, gazing up her as if he's committing her to memory before their lips meet again. ]

Always in the way -

[ the little grumble is aimed at that necklace which now rests against his collarbone. Steve slides one hand through her hair and one down and along her spine. ]

You've got no one to blame but yourself.

[ something just below her stomach seems to flip-flop in response to the trailing fingers against her back. the touch drags a happy (albeit strained) groan from the back of her throat. it pitches high -- almost a whimper. and more so than by the semi-nudity, she's struck by how vulnerable the moment makes her. he's peeling away whole layers of her armour -- despite him being the one on his back.

she nips at the edge of his shoulder. ]

You're right -

[ but he doesn't attempt to reach for the clasp and take it off, he's too partial to the sight of her wearing little but. He arches up towards her, following her groan, seeking a way to coax it of her again. He doesn't seem to be able to stop touching her, slowly learning the angles and edges of her body, making himself familiar with it, moving open palms up her sides, nudging one between them to cover her breast. ]

I like the look of it too much.

[ it's a happy confession, all too willing, spurred by her touch and the way they're pressed together. ]

[ the heat of his hand leeches into her skin -- a warm, affectionate palm on her breast. as minor a touch as it seems, it prompts a whole cascading sigh past her lips. again, she buries it against the curve of his arm. her chin lowers. her eyes shut.

and a pleasant shiver works its way from the top of her spine down to her tail-bone -- a writhing shudder, by then. like a wave gaining momentum. ]

I get the impression -- [ her words hitch; they muddy with desire ] -- you're not talking about how the stone catches the sun.

Not a lot of sun in here.

[ it's a smart-ass remark but in reality, it's half distracted and half nervous. there was more than one uso girl who winked and made a suggestive comment, a waitress that slipped him a number with a bill but those remained unexplored concept and peggy's different, always have been and in that moment, his hands are steady but his pulse is anything but. ]

So no, not about that.

[ she doesn't laugh. she does, however, smile against his skin. peggy fancies she can sense the breadth of his nervousness in the way his muscles twitch. she wraps her fingers around one wrist and feels his pulse racing beneath the pads. by contrast, she feels remarkably calm -- but as if she ought to feel nervous, too. ]

What, then? [ she baits and goads and smiles some more. ] What are you talking about?

[ it's funny, the way instincts work. he feels the curve of her lips and he smiles in return, closing his eyes for a moment at her touch. he lets his mind go blank for a moment, neglecting his answer in favor of looking at her. ]

Can't put my finger on it.

[ but he does reach down, hooks his fingers beneath the chin and tugs upwards, urging her with a light pull until he can kiss her. ]

It has its uses.

[ nervous or not, he's not beyond being cheeky. ]

You could.

[ but her 'joke' is interrupted by his kiss. peggy's breath redirects -- sharpish -- through her nostrils and she edges forward. she presses closer: bare skin to bare skin, and her thighs anchoring her against his waist. there's strength in every bit of her, but it's being bent to a different purpose today. ]

Should you be so inclined.

[ put your finger on it -- peggy pauses for a beat, waiting to see how the implication lands. ]

[ steve heard his fair share of bragging from other men about their affairs with women. He always found those sorts of conversations inappropriate, speaking about a lady as if she's an item to be rated. Now, he realizes there was nothing to learn from those talks, either. This isn't about making out behind the soda shop. Peggy presses against him until there's no room between them and steve finds himself feeling shaken by how she fits against him, igniting thousands of nerve endings in her wake.

It's not just a physical sort of want, they have so much between them but some of it isn't present here, grief and longing and sadness pushed aside leaving only comfort and a deep sense of love and want. They're claiming an entire different dance now. He reaches for her hands, lets the tips of their fingers touch. He can settle back for hours of slow, exploratory touches but he doubts that's what the moment requires. There is only one thing more useful than slow learning. ]

Show me.

[ there are endless ways he wants to touch her but for now, he needs to stick to just one. ]

[ nor is peggy immune to the quiet -- almost reverent -- tension building between them. usually so solid and immovable, she finds a trembling inside of her. slight, brief, and almost impossible to pin. something so small and sweet as the way their fingertips touch sends sparks through her system. it lights her up; it puts a gleam in her eyes. ]

Gladly. [ she says one word but the tremor in her voice suggests she might have meant to say eagerly instead.

curling her fingers around his palm, she resolves to 'show' him a brace of gestures; movements; motions. first, she guides steve's hand back to the bottom-most curve of her breast -- this time, she cants his touch against her flesh so that the tips of his fingers fall against peaked and puckered skin: darker and pinker, and (now) stiffening. before she lets him go, she squeezes his hand with hers -- imparting, perhaps, the suggestion that he needn't hold her like something fragile. pressure is welcomed, here.

and welcomed elsewhere, too. because as fresh and new as these experiences are, she's always got harboured in the back of her mind the notion that he should be challenged at every turn. he's no slouch; he doesn't need her to only give him the most watered-down version of what's good, what's wanted, what's enjoyed. so peggy feels her mouth go dry when she reaches for his other hand and -- sitting up on her knees -- she guides him past her stomach and past her navel. with a telling hitch in her own breath, she slides the length of his fingers against the good and dark blue silk of her drawers.

peggy doesn't ask anything of him. instead, she tilts her chin against his shoulder -- pressing forward against his hands -- and gives him a moment to catch his breath. to acclimatize. ]

[ some things are instinctive, others are meant to be taught. It doesn't take away from the moment, on the contrary. Being shown, her confidence as she leads his hands to where she wants them, it all adds up to a whole new moment, raw and overwhelming. It's a fierce reminder that she trusts him and it tugs at him, makes him sigh her name as she sits up.

One thing seems to hold true, once he has her guidance he becomes a very keen learner. He feels her response, warm skin reacting to an initial touch and at once, he moves, dragging a thumb over her nipple once, twice, before drawing a decisive circle just there.

A moment later and he lets his fingers move over thin silk, a small dip and the same circling movement, pressing the fabric against her. It's not tentative anymore as much as it's passionate and curious. ]

[ beyond desire and beyond sex, she's bestowed upon him a boon of sorts. she's given him the keys to the kingdom and puts her faith in his eagerness to loiter over every lock. this time when her breath catches, it's with a hard and plosive sound -- air forced past her lips, curling into a pleasant snarl she's quick to bury with her teeth on his shoulder.

goosebumps spread across her shoulders and down her flanks. and her hips move, pressing herself against his fingertips. this is new territory for them, together, and there's a lot of ground to cover. just now, peggy realizes she'd be dead happy to go an inch at a time.

yes, she all-but-whispers. praising his initiative even as she grips her fingers tight against the outer curve of his thighs -- stabilizing herself while she still can. ]

[ they've been building towards this for months. There was the hotel, there was a red dress in new year's eve that steve secretly imagined peeling off of her and here and now he has to empty his reserves of patience to set a slow pace at first.

There is a moment when it all crashes down, however, a press of teeth and nails and steve's infamous patience fails him entirely, his fingers setting a faster, determined pace as he arches up beneath her, nudging her backwards,ducking his head and pressing a kiss to her neck and to the breast he isn't holding. There is little need for guidance now, he seems to realize that an open mouthed kiss against her nipple will be welcomed. ]

[ it's welcomed. and how. her spine bends with how he urges her backward. working on instinct, she leans back in a way that relinquishes her role as the aggressor in the moment. dimly, in the back of her mind, she knows no control has been lost. not really. only traded away for their mutual enjoyment.

she feels her hair slip off her shoulder. she feels the necklace slide against her clavicle. and, best of all, she feels his mouth close on her skin. the sound she makes dovetails to a brief squirm -- all in reaction to a pleasant flip-flop in the pit of her stomach. peggy skims her palm up his arm and curls her fingers against the back of his head -- pulling him near and urging his mouth to stay in place.

although she tips backward at his bidding, there remains a subtle buck of her hips against his body -- and against his touch. it allows for no mistaking the physical grammar of the moment: betraying a biological drive even as she lolls and luxuriates in their play. ]

[ it's funny how she undoes him with so few gestures. He feels her lean back, feels her fingers curled at his nape and just then, she shifts against his fingers and steve hums against her skin, entirely intoxicated. ]

Christ.

[ his voice is low and when he swears, it's just barely audible, a huff of air against her breast. Right then and there, another alien raid could come and go and he'd be entirely oblivious to it. ]

[ although they might indulge their twinned impatience, there remains no imperative to rush. peggy thinks she might happily stay just like this for a lengthy while. there's a charm and an enchantment found in how he feels his way to her reactions: how he tests and how he tries. despite the silk barrier, he manages to stroke just high enough and -- ah-h, the air is stolen straight out of her lungs. her nails dig in, as though she might anchor herself to that sensation a moment longer. ]

-- That's my line, [ she protests (half-heartedly) and suggests that she ought to be the one cursing blue beneath her breath because of these exploratory touches and beginner's kisses. ]

Got to it first.

[ and so easily, too. spurred by the expanse of skin beneath his fingertips and his lips and her quickening breath. it's entirely new and ever the strategist, he files away every spot and every touch that coaxes a desired reaction, makes a plan on when to visit them next.

he sighs, nudges closer to her. all of the sudden, he's not sure how he managed without this sort of proximity before. ]

You'll have to find another.

[ others do spring to mind -- but she tries to hold her tongue. tries to bite down on the next rich, heartfelt sound his fingers elicit. it's a raw and honest moment. foreplay is such a misleading word for something she might happily do again and again with no expectation of escalating further.

and yet! as in conversation, she seeks to deflect a little in intimacy too. peggy's hands grope -- greedy -- at the slope of his thighs. she kisses past his neck. and although she allows herself to be urged onto her back, she uses this fresh angle to her advantage and places a sucking kiss to the same bit of flesh she once reached out and touched on impulse in the minutes after steve had stepped out of the vita-ray chamber. ]

Continue like that, [ she huffs -- more breath than voice, ] and I'm certain I will.

[ there is so much of everything in those moments that steve is almost worried he might miss a sound or a touch. Touching her becomes, at once, as necessary as kissing her and he lets his kisses wander, and one of his hands to roam over her skin. Still, the sentiment here isn't complex, it's really as simple as it is overwhelming. steve seeks her lips and her kisses, letting those distract him from what feels like a thousand different love confession that almost slip out.

There's just her name, a strained whisper pressed against the corner of her mouth, to imply that there is a lot more that goes unsaid. ]

I've got a question to ask you -- [ peggy sighs her way through the words, arching up against his exploratory touch. ] And you've got to promise me you'll try and react with a level head.

[ be cool, steve rogers. that's what she's trying to say. don't make it awkward or damning or bizarre, though she half-suspects what comes next has an equal opportunity to either inflame or douse their current mood. regardless of his answer. ]

A level head, right now?

[ he sounds as if she had asked him the most impossible of things. He sighs and lifts himself onto an elbow, his other hand moves to her thigh. ]

I'll do my best but you should have tried me twenty minutes ago.

[ she curls her fingers into his hairline, ghosting the edge of her thumb across his temple. soft, tender touches. there's nothing elegant about moments like these -- and in part, she feels a slim temptation to dispense with responsibility and simply enjoy a stolen afternoon. it's not so easily done, however, when she considers how fierce and honestly she loves this man. some things are worth doing right. ]

It's only that I, ah -- wonder how well you packed. How [ -- err -- ] prepared you'd planned to be. [ it's unlike peggy to stumble, or to demure, or to break eye-contact with a nervous smile. and yet all three of these things happen at once.

she can't quite make it all the way to the word prophylactic. heavens, she's not even convinced that would be the inevitable direction of this little tryst -- but if the conversation is worth having, then it's worth having now. the hotel is long behind them. ]

[ it takes a moment. not a long one, mercifully - just enough to focus on her words and find the meaning beneath them. it's an uncharted territory, one he has been thinking about but not one he has been anticipating. ]

Not well enough [ he admits, and not without a rather tragic sigh, ] didn't think about it.

[ ever the old-fashioned, it would seem. originally, he had imagined a whole other setting for this, preferably one when he isn't pressing her into the ground, sleeping bag or not. goes to show, really, as he is rather taken with this moment, unorthodox as it is. ]

Definitely will be thinking about it for a few more weeks to come,

[ it's a breathless confession, his fingers unconsciously trace a line up her thigh. ]

[ she can't help but smile: smallish, but sincere. trusting and affable. when peggy ensnares him with another kiss, it's no less heated and no less insistent. a lot of love can be had without the tools under discussion -- and knowing, now, means their boundaries are set. and their future opportunities broadened.

with low laughter, she leans into his touch gives herself a moment to catch her breath again. ] Middle drawer in my desk, by the way. I've had a false bottom put in. [ ahem. ] For when you do think about it.

You've put a -

[ not important, he has to remind himself. something to be curious about much, much later when they're not kissing like this. steve sighs against her lips, kisses the corner of her smile, lingering there. ]

Good to know.

[ he grabs her close, both hands at her hips and rolls aside, letting her claim her earlier position above him. ]

You say it like it's going to be a seldom thing.

[ him thinking about it, that is. ]

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