ship mingle: february is for starstruckers.

[mucked]

Who: Crew of the Starstruck
Broadcast: N/A
Action: Y, aboard the ship
When: All month

[ welcome to february. y'all know the drill. ]

Comments

[mucked]

[ 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. ]

[uprightness]

[ 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. ]

[mucked]

[ 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.

[uprightness]

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 ]

[mucked]

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. ]

[uprightness]

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. ]

[mucked]

[ 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. ]

[uprightness]

[ 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. ]

[mucked]

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. ]