driftfleet | ship mingle: february is for starstruckers.

[ there. just there. peggy gladly witnesses the very second his complaint at being pushed aside alchemizes instead as something else: abandon, maybe. or want. and now it's her turn to lean in kiss the very sound of her name off his lips -- hungry and eager to taste at least a fraction of that delight.

things begin slowly -- with peggy cognizant of a dry hand, and therefore keen to only tease for the time being. a stroke or two; a variable grip; a tracing of a fingertip from tip to stem. the angle is a bit of a challenge with the skivvies in the way, but she's nothing if not determined to offer steve at least a mutual glimpse at what happy madness he'd been inspiring just beneath her skin ever since he'd started charting his mental map of her body. ]

[ there's something to be said about everything that led them here. they've never, in any stage of their romance, rushed into anything. each one of their moments was well-spent and precious but they had time to take and use and spend together. still, here and now, she covers his lips with hers and he tangles his hand in her hair and there's something there that's, for once, impatient.

there's no point in trying to wrestle control back, not when she touches him like she does and he's nearly helpless before her. it's the combination of things, the soft pressure of her fingers and his fingers that still damp from her. he hisses and drops his hand from her hair to her knee. she doesn't work him up as much as she riles him up. he hooks his fingers behind her knee and tugs her closer to his side. ]

[ in effect, she rolls with the punches. or -- in this instance -- the light touches and compelling tugs. peggy supports her weight against him for a fractional moment while she changes the way she sits: now she straddles just one of his thighs, rewarding herself with the steady pressure between her legs. a pedal note, perhaps, while she finds a rhythm with her hand.

gentle; consistent; gradual, too, despite the mounting impatience between them. there will be time and opportunity for more spirited affection. for now, she tries (tries) to keep things easy. low stakes. she trusts that he'll ask for what he wants.

peggy's breath hasn't slowed since the shift in attention. if anything, a steady grip on him (hard; aroused; memorable) only further ratchets her own investment in the moment. reading files and observing drills and even living next to him on a ship has never granted her this kind of trusting proximity before now. because it's him (because it's her) she knows it's something special.

something with the right partner. ]

[ she's got many talents and steve appreciates her for all of them, every last one. every now and then, however, he finds out a new one and this one, the way she's slowly undoing him, it doesn't take him by surprise, not really, but it does make his breath catch. she's patient where steve is not. he sucks in a breath that barely lasts, barely registers.

it's all slow and easy, almost controlled and steve watches her and moves, presses up against her and tugs on her knee, dragging her against him. ]

[ she pulls back from their kiss -- tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, muffling a half-moan as she finds herself riding (in some small way) his thigh between her legs. his insistent hand under her knee prompts a roll of her hips, executed in time with a teasing squeeze. she's patient where he is not, certainly, but only in so far as patience keeps in charge of the moment.

peggy swallows hard. she lets her forehead knock against his -- noses touching. she's caught between a smile and a sigh. ] Tell me, [ she prompts him in a breathless tone, ] what you're thinking.

[ what you're craving. ]

[ he starts to say something but just then she rolls her hips and applies a bit more pressure and he all he manages is a chain of happy, erratic sounds. it's just right, the way she touches him, how he can still feel her pressed against him. ]

I think,

[ but no, there's no helping it. she's warm and pressed so close against him and he's lost for another moment, sliding his hand from her knee to her thigh and back. ]

I think, I've never been happier about enhanced senses.

[ the whole world was different after the serum but this here is a sensory overload. ]

I can smell you.

[ not her perfume or her soap, just her, from where she slides against his thigh. ]

[ and there was another question that hadn't been asked during the project rebirth debriefings. with a ragged sigh giving way to a wolfish smile, peggy can't help but wonder if it's a scent he's caught before when other moments had stopped well-shy of this -- though not without their own reasons to feel this fast familiar prickle just beneath her skin. possibly not; however, she's struck by the understanding that he'll recognize it in future.

(and it says a little too much about her that she finds a fresh source of arousal in that realization.)

peggy turns her head and kisses the slope of his neck: just as slowly and just as teasingly as the motions down below, matching the suction of her mouth to the gentle pulse of her grip. once again, she thumbs the tip. when she leans back -- braced against his palm -- it's only to taste the edge of her finger. ]

Perhaps not the most noble application of the serum's effects. [ but she smiles and smiles and smiles, lips curving around the side of her thumb. ]

I'm not sure.

[ he admits, and all too happily. perhaps she says and he would laugh of he wasn't thrown by the combination of it all, the proper tones and her smile, the touch of lips to her thumb. ]

Feels noble right about now.

[ his breath hitches and he leans into her touch, anchoring her against him at the same time, hands griping at her knees, supporting and demanding all at the same time. There's a tremor in the base of his spine that makes him jolt towards her. ]

Is that what you're feeling -- right now, deep into your bones? [ she teases -- leaning in for yet another kiss while her hands returns to its 'lazy' and gradual exploration. ] Nobility?

[ despite a hitch in her own breath, she's determined to take her time. to play her fingertips across the tender flesh at the very base of his manhood before tracing them once again up the length; grasping at girth; learning his twitches and sighs with nearly the same level of loving scrutiny that he'd displayed.

she splays her opposite hand against his chest -- feeling for his heartbeat. ]

No.

[ teasing and playfulness turn into raw honest. his heart races, just beneath her fingertips. there won't be any getting used to this, he thinks, it'll never become predictable, her touch, the things it ignites in him, the fact that it's her is enough to make him incoherent. he nearly bites his tongue when her fingers move, down, then up. steve had loved her since he saw her punch a sorry sod who talked back to her and still, he was always late, late to tell her, late to their dance, late, here, to tell her.

and then there's now. it's darkening outside and the air inside feels too warm, too humid. steve moves a hand down her neck and over her breast. ]

Not even close.

[ her mouth has gone dry -- throat tight with all the things she's not quite saying. like how she wants to ask him what he's instead feeling if not nobility. but another sound from him and she knows the answer already. better (perhaps) to let it simmer unsaid just beneath the surface.

electricity crackles under her skin -- mere steps behind his fingertips. again, she kisses him. and again, she reminds herself that there's no rush in this. that given the limitations already put on their 'progress' tonight, all they've got is hours to touch and explore and (best of all) learn.

doesn't mean, of course, that the ante can't be upped. peggy replaces her wandering fingertips with the full grip of her hand. and she doesn't ask him any questions; doesn't feel quite so cruel as to make him speak just now. instead, she leans in -- against him -- and whispers a near-silent i love you. ]

[ they're polar opposites, at that moment. Peggy is patient and controlled and good, so good, keeping a certain amount of clarity between them even when she's slowly undoing him. Steve is savouring her in a manner that's far more urgent, slanting his lips against hers, pulling her bottom lip between his and not relenting for a long moment.

And then she presses close, her palm instead of her fingers and steve swears, a choked shit, peggy pressed against her lips before he kisses her again, one hand tangled in her hair, the other one covering her breast, thumbing at her nipple. ]

Christ, I love you.

[ he steals her breath away. despite a valiant effort to overpower him in sweet distraction, the simple flick of a thumb causes her to lose a moan -- truncated, frustrated -- against his lips. she's momentarily thrown off course, her teeth knocking with his as a clumsy side-effect of her attempt to press nearer; get closer; take over. there's a distant voice (low and sultry) in the back of her head chastising her for ever being so responsible aloud and limiting the scope of their intimacy for the evening.

she silences that voice by busying herself with the barrier of his boxers -- pawing, pulling, blindly tugging them down his thighs to free him and fix the inefficient angle at which her grip can find him. peggy presses forward -- easing him, once again, onto his back. and with a kiss. ]

[ for a moment, all patience seems to evaporate from the tent and steve reaches for her waist, drags her closer and holds her for a few more precious seconds before she pushes forward and he finds himself beneath her again. there's laughter, pressed into the side of her mouth.

He moves a hand to her back, keeps her pressed against him. ]

Comfortable?

[ he meets her gaze, smiling. this evening, he takes to listening and obeying. in the future, it won't be that easy but then, he has a feeling she knows as much. ]

[ oh, she most certainly knows. not only is peggy acutely aware that her current edge is temporary, she can hardly wait for future 'altercations' to prove themselves more differently weighted. when the time comes, she will invite his challenges and his bullheadedness.

but for now? she keeps her place as the composer of the evening. leveraging her own patience against his lack of it, plying him to fall prey to his instincts and his urges. her kisses dip down to his chest -- teasing a future destination while she lavishes attention at the hollow of his throat. ]

Comfortable? [ there's a gentle gravel to her voice. ] Not the word I'd use.

What would you use?

[ he dares ask but the question itself is fleeting, he half fears her answer would only add fuel to an already existing fire and then where would they be? there's a slight arch in his spine, a quiet attempt to close non-existence gaps between them.

one to one ]

Thrilled. [ she kisses his shoulder. ] Stirred -- [ then, the initial slope of a pectoral muscle. ] Excited.

[ all sorts of words, it seems, that dance around the idea of arousal. but she doesn't dare say it. peggy knows she doesn't need to -- it's not a question he would have asked if he didn't have half-a-notion about what the answer might be. either way, the electricity bubbling beneath her skin is hardly comfortable. comforting, perhaps. but not comfortable. ]

Yeah.

[ it's a quiet, keen agreement. There's so much skin beneath his fingertips, he feels his way from her hips, up her sides and over her arms, squirming beneath her a little. ]

That was - the wrong word, absolutely. Peggy.

[ there is a request there somewhere but if pressed, he might not be able to focus on just one. There seem to be endless things he wants from and with her. ]

[ she doesn't answer. not with words, at least -- instead, she smiles against the smooth skin of his sternum and trails her mouth down to his solar plexus. pity (she thinks) that her lipstick has long since smudged away. she wouldn't much mind marking him, now, with its richness and vibrancy.

peggy shimmies backwards and grips him by his sides. first her chin grazes his navel, then her tongue teases an edge, then the tip of her nose passes it by. she's sinking lower, lower, lower --

but she freezes at the slope of his hip bone. as though waiting for a plea or permission or both. ]

[ his lips are dry, he realizes and there is a breath or two he's been holding, busy as he is watching her and then it all becomes impossible, she halts just shy of where she touched him and it all seems to click into place and the moment it does he almost jumps out of his skin.

she's waiting for him to say something, he knows that much. getting the words out proves to be a bit more of a challenge. ]

You know, you're killing me.

[ it's as honest as he manages. ]

Believe me, that's hardly my end goal.

[ killing him, that is. at least not so literally. it's true that the french have a hauntingly poetic way of calling what comes later the little death but his strangled honesty is all she needs to direct her attentions lower.

she breathes in: sweat and sunshine and musk. peggy braces her palm against the length of him and starts with only a sample -- a light, learning lick. a warm tongue on warm skin. ]

ship mingle: february is for starstruckers.

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