encompass | ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴘᴏsᴛ 2019-2020 ( ɢᴇɴ + sᴍᴜᴛ )

[ the water's too hot, or maybe it's steve that's running too hot. He hears something that signals of wood, she's not on the bed, that's not the sound of a mattress. He tries to put an image of her, is she sitting in the chair, legs leaned on the little ottoman? he can hear a wet sound and hell, he's hard, he wants -

what? to be the one making Peggy sigh and gasp, to hear everything a little clearer? to help her find an outlet to the same tension he's been feeling for weeks? He leaves the bath, reaches for a towel.

His skin is moist but he pulls his sleep trousers up and makes it all the way to her door before pausing just shy of knocking. he wants and wants, and even now he lingers. ]

[ —with only the door left to muffle her noises, everything comes a little further into focus. the soft squeak of her desk legs as the whole thing shudders; the rustle of a silk robe as she loosens it further, lets it fall off a shoulder; she way her breath has quickened just since he'd left his tub and stalled outside her bedroom.

more than that, the acoustics suggest that she's not exactly facing the doorway, but angled ever-so-slightly away. in the time it had taken him to arrive exactly where he stands, everything had ever so slightly escalated. her sighs betray a rhythmic, penetrated quality—as though the apex of a thrust of fingers never fails to drag a half-moan from her lips. she's enthralled. lost, deep, in imagining the day they'd wished they'd had together.

and as the sounds pitch a little higher, it's obvious she won't last long. if he stays where he stands, he'll hear it all. ]

[ there's a moment when steve has an argument with himself. he can't just burst in as if it were his bedroom, he can't invade her privacy, can't do it to her - she's already vulnerable, being heard by him without knowing it. She might never forgive him.

But what if she does want? why should he waste even another moment when Peggy's right there?

In the end, he decides against simply walking in as if he owns the place, as if he has any right to her. but he can't quite walk away, either. Instead, he speaks up, low but audible. ]

Say the word and I'll come in and help you.

[ oh, god, she's nearly there—she can taste the crest of this hill. it's bright and coppery on her tongue. just another flicker of her fantasy and she imagines she'll tumble right over the edge. it helps (naturally) to imagine his voice smooth and present. and for a second she swears it's good enough to be real. the very sound cuts her to the quick and...

and wait.

panting, practically incandescent with a nearly-captured orgasm, her fingers fall still but she still shivers where she sits on her desk. ]

—Steve?

[ her voice sounds strained. a little choked up. a touch higher pitched than it ought to be. but none of it seems sourced in embarrassment. rather, she wants to confirm that she didn't simply imagine hearing his offer. ]

[ she says his name and he nearly moves until his mind registers that she voiced it as a question. He almost swallows his tongue, what was he thinking? he wouldn't blame her if she speak another word to him again? but her tone is alluring, he's never heard her like that before. he doesn't think he'll ever be able to think about anything else. ]

yeah.

[ he breaths and just then, he says her name, peggy. hell, why did he stop her? she sounds to be on the verge of something wonderful. ]

[ she sits a little straighter—a half-completed job pooling between her thighs. she turns her head and stares at her door and wonders how long he'd been standing there, listening. is this the first night? good god, when the thinks of how many similarly personal interludes she's had since they first decamped to this mansion... ]

Depends.

[ peggy exhales. her mind's gears far outpace anything else happening inside her body. it's remarkable that she can dream up any scheme at all under the circumstances. but maybe the (false) memory of him beneath her, labouring upward, is enough to make her devilishly confident. ]

What manner of help are you offering?

Whatever you want.

[ there's a creak as he leans against the door, the wood protests against his weight. Hell, what can he offer? he doesn't even know how to put it into words. Steve reckons that he's out of his depths but he wants - he desperately wants to do everything for her. to her. ]

whatever you need.

[ he corrects himself. she does sound like she's in need. ]

[ what does she want? hell, what does she need? arguably, she needed him on his back in the garden. arguably, she needs just another minute-or-two to find her completion and then save off this deep madness. the one that suddenly thinks it's a great idea to ask him in.

chest still heaving with a thin, ragged breath, she watches the doorway. ]

...You should come inside.

[ it's a start. ]

[ he knows that the moment he crosses the doorway, everything will change. Their supposedly professional relationship might collapse to reveal what's been there all along and has until now been expressed in the way they looked at one another, the stolen brush of fingers and occasional flirting.

But he knows he wants it to change. He slips inside and quietly closes the door after him. He's shirtless, his sleep pants riding low on his hips. He walks over and hell, he can't look away from her, her position on the table, the wetness between her thighs. He steps closer and bites his bottom lip. ]

I stopped you in the middle, haven't I?

[ the sight of him is enough to make her wonder whether she isn't somehow still fantasizing. all body, all muscle, all bare—peg's just near enough to bliss that she doesn't stop the way her gaze travels down from his shoulders to his waist to...well, she manages a bit of decorum when she notices the subtle outline of something else against his thigh.

her attention snaps back up to his eyes. ]

More like a hairsbreadth from the very end.

[ peg clears her throat and relaxes her legs and tries to decide whether drawing them together or leaving them spread draws more attention to her current predicament. in the end, she settles for fussing with the edge of her robe. ]

[ he doesn't apologize, somehow, he knows he doesn't need to. but for all that he knows what he doesn't need to do, he still hasn't figured out what he should do. He takes a step closer to her, he can just about imagine what she was doing, though the very thought makes his toes curl.

When he touches her knee, it's clear he runs warmer than usual, even for him. ]

Bad timing.

[ or maybe it's the other way around. ]

[ god, but she adores his boldness. his courage. the way he's invited himself into her room—or what passes for her room in howard's mansion—once again. his fingers touch her leg, her knee, and it's all she can do to restrain herself to a single melting sigh.

she isn't cold but she still shivers. ]

—How much did you hear?

[ her head tilts. there's no hiding it, it seems, and it's not as though he's running away from the conversation. why should she? ]

My name. And - you. The way you touch yourself.

[ sighs, a slight wat sound. She doesn't move, remains spread before him, bold and brazen. Steve trails his touch from her knee and up her leg; slow, loving. ]

I wanted - hell, Peggy. I've been thinking about you, too.

[ the whole world pivots on this exchange. they're over the rubicon, past the point of no return, but the quality of this brave new world will depend almost entirely on the next few seconds. she seems to tremble as she holds her breath—feeling his hand ease up her leg.

peggy places her fingers on the back of his—her touch is warm and wet. ]

And what would I have heard if I went lurking outside your door? While you're thinking about me.

Edited 2020-04-19 21:23 (UTC)

Your name. Peggy. Ma'am.

[ it's a confession that he's never imagined he'll get to share with her, that his fantasies have started back when she was his drill sergeant. Steve's touch lingers along her inner thigh. Her skin is wet, it's enough to make his head spin. ]

Can I?

[ she's all hawkish observation. well—apart from the pink riding high in her cheeks and the way she seems to lean toward him the higher his touch climbs. gently, eagerly, she uses her hold on the back of his hand to guide him higher, higher, higher until his fingers slip under the longer french knickers she'd meant to wear to bed. ]

You could always ask what exactly I was thinking about you.

[ she directs him, suddenly keen to share. ]

Alright.

[ but hell, she's soft and she's warm and the moment he touches her properly he whispers a curse. She's wet, steve is tempted to withdraw his touch only to suck on his own finger and find out what she tastes like. He caresses her, light and soft and then he remembers he was supposed to ask her something. ]

What did you think about, Peggy?

[ she's sensitive every nerve feels tender—jacked up and on alert—after she'd already brought herself so damned close. even his brief, tentative touch makes her shiver. makes her want to sigh and sink down and give herself over to this high-tide arousal.

she only grips his hand so long, only guides him so far, before she relinquishes her hold and leans back a little—leaving him to explore. ]

About how I ought to have knocked you on your back. In the garden. After your run.

[ she leaves it at that—watching to see how he fills in her blanks. ]

[ she was particularly lovely this morning. It was something about her dress or her smart pair of heels or the curve of her smile. Steve imagines her above him, the fabric of her dress pooling over her thighs. He imagines her tugging off his sweatshirt and leading his hand below her skirt, much like now. His touch stills, he holds her gaze. ]

I wish you had.

[ —peggy also wishes she had. it might have been a measure more dignified (more controlled) to snag him by his shirt and haul him to the grass. rather than what's happening now, where he has her at such a keen disadvantage. the bare skin across her stomach prickles and raises. each breath is visible in her chest.

his hand still. peggy, more than a little needy in this house, inches forward on the desk. she moves toward his fingers. ]

Hindsight is twenty-twenty, I suppose.

[ for a moment, he only watches her. He watches the deep brown of hr eyes, the curve of her smile, the way her chest rises and falls with each breath, the way her feet rest on the chair. She's beautiful. His fingers start moving again once the moment passes, slow and curious. It's a trial and error, some things stir a reaction, others don't. It's only a matter of watching and learning. ]

I guess it can teach us a lesson.

[ she fights to maintain even the barest scrap of her composure. firm and poised through her spine, she sits on the desk's edge as naturally and normally as if it were a proper chair. and a funny think happens down between their bodies, down where his touch meets her flesh, and peggy must silently admit that there's an alluring quality to his experimenting. his exploring. like he doesn't quite know where or or how to proceed, but he's so eager to test and try and tease out an answer.

and, warm and involuntary, her body does indeed answer. peggy can't quite suppress a shiver—nor the way her muscles seem to contract a twinge under his fingers. she breathes in long and audible through her nose and her grip on his arm turns to a back-raking of her fingernails up, up, up to her elbow.

the moment seems to hang there—unchanged—for a good minute while they look into each other's eyes and run all kinds of personal calculus. and then peggy makes her move, grabbing at his hip, his backside, tugging on him and his slip pants until she pulls him close. the height differential doesn't let her reach his mouth, but she does lean in and kiss his chest.

she tastes his skin. ]

[ being able to see what his doing, fingers caressing and circling, gathering wetness, is making it difficult to remain composed. Steve's cock feels impossibly hard when she shivers as the sound between them grows wetter. And then she pulls him against her and he can feel her wetness on his pants.

Her lips and tongue are hot. Steve rubs against her, sighing. His fingers are wet; curious, he sucks on them, familiarising himself with her scent and taste. ]

[ —good god, he just about floors her when she realizes exactly why he's sucking on his fingers. tasting her, sampling her, acclimatizing his senses. the thought and proof both send another jolt of lightning through her body. more than that, she can feel him hard, eager, pressed into the cleft between her thighs and it's all she can do not to rub back. ]

It feels like you might also be in need of a little help.

[ her fingers dance across his hip, the waistband of his sleep pants, and she teases the thought of pulling them down. ]

[ it's interesting - he loves visuals, it shows in his interest of art, it shows in the way his eyes followed her when he did the most basic things ( agent carter, tying the laces of her combat boots, agent carter assembling a weapon, all oddly alluring, all fascinating ), but visuals seem to work on her too. Steve can see it in the way her eyes follow his fingers as he works them out of his mouth and back between them, just as she reaches for him. ]

can you blame me?

[ he smiles, wraps an arm around her, keeping her in place, an intimate embrace. ]

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