fic: The First Night
Jul. 11th, 2012 08:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hollititle: The First Night
fandoms: Captain America, the Avengers
pairing: Steve/Peggy
rating: Adult
Not surprisingly, Peggy’s first day in the 21st century was all a bit of a blur.
Really, the blur started when Steve walked in the door. Sorting things out with Howard, being catapulted into the future, getting her first glimpse of 2012-- those were all quite crisp, clean and sharp in her memory. But then Steve was there, impossibly, and life took on a sheen of unreality that lasted right up until nightfall.
Peggy went through the motions all right, and she didn’t think anyone noticed just how much shock she was in. She did a perfectly good job of seeming alert and competent and not at all gobsmacked. She got through the medical screening with aplomb, and sat through a meeting with the rather fearsome director of SHIELD without turning a hair. When she wrote a note to Howard on Stark Industries letterhead (“Having a lovely time. Don’t wait up-- all my love, Peggy”) and sent it back to 1946, her hands didn’t shake one bit.
Throughout it all, Steve hovered close at hand, looking quite as if he thought she’d disappear should he tear his eyes away for even a moment. She herself couldn’t help but sneak glances at him every chance she got, but she thought she did a good impression of someone who wasn’t longing desperately for a moment when they could be alone.
But the day ended, as days do, and Peggy found herself back at Tony Stark’s rather ostentatious tower with the rest of Steve’s team. The two time-travelers, Clint and Natasha (who she hadn’t quite forgiven yet for not telling her about Steve, timeline be damned), wished them a good night and headed off to their respective beds, Natasha with a cool nod and Clint with a knowing grin aimed in Steve’s direction. And then they were alone, just Peggy and the person she’d missed desperately since the day she thought he’d died.
“You must be tired,” Steve said. “There’s a guest room-- mmph!” he said, rather muffled at the end by Peggy’s lips pressed firmly to his. He kissed her back after a moment, though, which was the important bit.
“I don’t want a guest room,” Peggy said, when they finally came up for air. “And I’ve been wanting to do that all day. For a lot longer than a day, even-- but now I actually can.”
Steve’s answering smile was even better than any of her daydreams of the last year and change, because it was real, and right in front of her, and she could interrupt it with another kiss. Which she promptly did.
Steve was, it turned out, quite good at kissing. He swiped his tongue against hers, and bit teasingly at her bottom lip, and peppered her throat with what she hoped would not be terribly noticeable marks. His hands framed her face, to start with, and her own hands raked through the close-cropped hair at the back of his neck, but after a little while they both started moving in a southerly direction. Peggy was already more or less in Steve’s lap, pressed flush against his broad chest, when a polite voice that came from nowhere and everywhere made a throat-clearing noise and said, “Ahem. Captain Rogers?”
“Whoops,” said Steve, and “oh!” said Peggy, and “I should like to remind you that the common areas are under surveillance,” said the voice. “It may be wise to retreat to a more private space, all things considered.”
“Who is that?” Peggy asked.
“Um, that’s Jarvis,” said Steve. “He’s Tony’s computer. Uh, that is, a thinking machine, not a person who does math-- thanks, Jarvis, we’ll just-- be somewhere else.”
Peggy slid out of his lap and rose to her feet, still not entirely clear on who had just been speaking. Whatever it was, the voice was admirably polite, adding “And welcome to Avengers Tower, Agent Carter,” as Steve led her out of the room.
“Thank you?” she said to the room, not sure at all of where to direct a reply. But in all honesty, her mind was more on other things.
Steve’s room was a few floors up, and rather less ostentatiously futuristic than the rest of the Tower. Peggy toed off her shoes as she followed Steve in, letting them fall by the door, and surveyed the room with a quick sweep of her eyes. Bookshelf, radio, drafting table in the corner; flat black pane of glass mounted on the wall-- whatever for, she wasn’t sure-- and a wide, neatly-made bed, which Steve sat down on with a satisfied bounce, and smiled up at her once again.
“Alone at last,” Peggy said, which made his smile broader. She sat down astride him, and he put his hands on her hips and pulled her in close, kissing her breathless again. His hands crept to the waistband of her skirt-- she had pulled his button-down free and slid her own hands under it some time ago-- and she wriggled even closer, which made him moan a little, gratifyingly, into her mouth.
“Peggy,” he said, his voice a little breathy, faint with what she supposed was disbelief, “god, I don’t-- I can’t quite believe you’re really here.” The wonder on his face was, she suspected, matched by her own.
Peggy paused in unbuttoning Steve’s shirt to smile and kiss him again. “The feeling’s mutual, I promise you-- but even if this turns out to be a lovely dream tomorrow, I plan to take full advantage tonight.”
“It’s not a dream,” Steve said, his hands stilling on her waist, steady and solid and warm. “It’s not. This is all real, as impossible as it might be-- and it’ll be real tomorrow, too.”
“I hope so,” said Peggy, who’d had lovely dreams before now, though none so vivid as this. “Oh, I hope, I hope--”
They undressed each other hastily, Peggy flinging girdle and brassiere carelessly aside. She’d never need them again, with any luck; she’d trade them for more liberating modern versions in the morning. Steve shucked his undershirt and trousers with unseemly haste, and pulled her backwards onto the bed with a laugh, rolling them over to press all his warm well-muscled weight into her. She could feel the hardness of him through tap pants and shorts, and hitched her hips up against him.
She slid her hands down the back of Steve’s shorts and gave his bottom a squeeze, thus fulfilling a long-standing daydream. Steve’s hips bucked against hers, and he gasped something muffled into her shoulder. “I want you to touch me,” she said, dropping a kiss onto the hinge of Steve’s jaw, “all over, and then we’re going to have sex, and in the morning we’re going to wake up and this will still all be real, and then we’ll-- we’ll--
“Live happily ever after?” Steve asked, his voice a little wry, lifting his head to meet her eyes.
“Exactly so,” said Peggy. “We’ve more than earned it, haven’t we?”
“I don’t know what I could have done to earn this,” Steve said fervently. She reached up to stroke the hair that fell over his brow back into some semblance of order, and with a twist and a wriggle rolled them over onto their sides, facing one another. He looked at her like she was a miracle, a gift, something he never could have hoped for. She supposed that she looked at him just the same.
She took her hands off Steve just long enough to unbutton her tap pants, and even that made him make an injured sort of noise in the back of his throat. “Just a moment,” she said, and lifted her hips to slide out of them. Then she hooked her fingers in the elastic of Steve’s boxer shorts, and his hands, which had been roaming up and down her sides, stilled again as she pulled them off him.
She stroked his cock, red and flushed against his belly, and he moaned and fumbled a hand between her legs. It didn’t take him long at all to find the right spot, the one that made her gasp and throw one thigh over his hip to pull him in close; with his free hand he cupped her breast, stroking at her nipple. She felt overwhelmed by touch and feeling and heat. All she could do, all she wanted to do, was gasp and shiver and bite at Steve’s reddened mouth.
He broke off their kiss to breathe panting breaths into the curve of her shoulder. “God,” he said, “that’s-- just a second, I need--” and he stretched to reach for something in the bedside table, muscles shifting under her hands. “Don’t laugh,” he warned her, producing a strip of silver foil packets from a drawer, “but Tony keeps giving me these, he thinks it’s funny--”
The silver foil packets each bore a credible version of Steve’s shield. “Rubbers?” Peggy inquired curiously, examining one. “They make Captain America rubbers?”
“Well, it’s not like I endorsed them or anything,” Steve said, “and anyway I guess it’s lucky I’ve got them handy--”
“I’m certainly not complaining,” Peggy said. She opened the packet carefully; the rubber inside was thinner and lighter than the ones she was used to, and she rolled it onto Steve’s cock with careful hands. His eyes fluttered shut as she did it, and then snapped open again when she was done, gazing hungrily at her as she lay down on the bed. “Get over here,” she demanded, reaching out to him, “and--”
“Yeah, okay,” he replied hastily, “I can do that.” He leaned over her, braced on one arm, and the look on his face as he pushed into her was something she didn’t think she’d earned at all. But that’s what gifts were, sometimes: wonderful things you hadn’t earned at all.
They found a rhythm quickly, hips snapping in counterpoint, and a warm hot feeling built and built in Peggy’s belly. She was making little noises, breathy moans she couldn’t control in the least. Steve felt wonderful inside her, his body against hers, his lips on her throat and her shoulder. As the feeling built she clenched around him, making him buck out of time, thrusting hard, and the unexpected movement sent her right over the edge. He thrust again, just as hard, and she arched against him, her nerves lighting up, caught up in feeling for an endless moment. She cried out, her head thrown back, and Steve lost the rhythm entirely, gasping her name as he came. He kissed her deeply, his arms around her, his weight on her, and she clung back just as hard until the feeling faded, until she felt like she could breathe again.
They pulled apart reluctantly, losing contact for a moment as Steve disposed of the condom, and then Peggy curled up into his side, head pillowed on his chest. They were both still breathing hard, a little, though Steve’s evened out before hers did, and they were both sweaty and sticky and loose-limbed. She twisted in his arms to kiss him, and they passed a pleasant little while like that, until Peggy became aware of something pressing insistently into her hip.
He was quite hard already, and when she stroked him a little he made a pleased noise into her mouth. “Super-Soldier serum, you know,” he said, a little shamefacedly, and blinked at the predatory grin that appeared on her face.
“Well, I never thought of that,” she said, “but I certainly shan’t complain--” and she pushed Steve over onto his back and reached for the condoms.
Later-- much later-- Peggy was aware of early-morning light filtering into the room through the curtains. She stretched and sighed, feeling pleasantly sore in every muscle. Steve stirred to wakefulness beside her. “It’s tomorrow,” he said, a slow smile appearing on his face. “And not a dream.”
“Not a bit of it,” she agreed. “I never should have doubted.” And she leaned over him for a kiss, a quick press of lips against his, before she sat up and stretched once more.
Steve went down to breakfast first, leaving her the top half of his pyjamas and directions to the communal kitchen he shared with his teammates. Peggy showered in Steve’s wondrously large and well-appointed bathroom, under an apparently infinite supply of hot water. When she was done she decided to be scandalous, and appear at breakfast in nothing but her tap pants and Steve’s pyjama top.
It was enormous on her, anyway, and besides, this was the twenty-first century. She was determined to be a modern sort of girl.
fandoms: Captain America, the Avengers
pairing: Steve/Peggy
rating: Adult
Not surprisingly, Peggy’s first day in the 21st century was all a bit of a blur.
Really, the blur started when Steve walked in the door. Sorting things out with Howard, being catapulted into the future, getting her first glimpse of 2012-- those were all quite crisp, clean and sharp in her memory. But then Steve was there, impossibly, and life took on a sheen of unreality that lasted right up until nightfall.
Peggy went through the motions all right, and she didn’t think anyone noticed just how much shock she was in. She did a perfectly good job of seeming alert and competent and not at all gobsmacked. She got through the medical screening with aplomb, and sat through a meeting with the rather fearsome director of SHIELD without turning a hair. When she wrote a note to Howard on Stark Industries letterhead (“Having a lovely time. Don’t wait up-- all my love, Peggy”) and sent it back to 1946, her hands didn’t shake one bit.
Throughout it all, Steve hovered close at hand, looking quite as if he thought she’d disappear should he tear his eyes away for even a moment. She herself couldn’t help but sneak glances at him every chance she got, but she thought she did a good impression of someone who wasn’t longing desperately for a moment when they could be alone.
But the day ended, as days do, and Peggy found herself back at Tony Stark’s rather ostentatious tower with the rest of Steve’s team. The two time-travelers, Clint and Natasha (who she hadn’t quite forgiven yet for not telling her about Steve, timeline be damned), wished them a good night and headed off to their respective beds, Natasha with a cool nod and Clint with a knowing grin aimed in Steve’s direction. And then they were alone, just Peggy and the person she’d missed desperately since the day she thought he’d died.
“You must be tired,” Steve said. “There’s a guest room-- mmph!” he said, rather muffled at the end by Peggy’s lips pressed firmly to his. He kissed her back after a moment, though, which was the important bit.
“I don’t want a guest room,” Peggy said, when they finally came up for air. “And I’ve been wanting to do that all day. For a lot longer than a day, even-- but now I actually can.”
Steve’s answering smile was even better than any of her daydreams of the last year and change, because it was real, and right in front of her, and she could interrupt it with another kiss. Which she promptly did.
Steve was, it turned out, quite good at kissing. He swiped his tongue against hers, and bit teasingly at her bottom lip, and peppered her throat with what she hoped would not be terribly noticeable marks. His hands framed her face, to start with, and her own hands raked through the close-cropped hair at the back of his neck, but after a little while they both started moving in a southerly direction. Peggy was already more or less in Steve’s lap, pressed flush against his broad chest, when a polite voice that came from nowhere and everywhere made a throat-clearing noise and said, “Ahem. Captain Rogers?”
“Whoops,” said Steve, and “oh!” said Peggy, and “I should like to remind you that the common areas are under surveillance,” said the voice. “It may be wise to retreat to a more private space, all things considered.”
“Who is that?” Peggy asked.
“Um, that’s Jarvis,” said Steve. “He’s Tony’s computer. Uh, that is, a thinking machine, not a person who does math-- thanks, Jarvis, we’ll just-- be somewhere else.”
Peggy slid out of his lap and rose to her feet, still not entirely clear on who had just been speaking. Whatever it was, the voice was admirably polite, adding “And welcome to Avengers Tower, Agent Carter,” as Steve led her out of the room.
“Thank you?” she said to the room, not sure at all of where to direct a reply. But in all honesty, her mind was more on other things.
Steve’s room was a few floors up, and rather less ostentatiously futuristic than the rest of the Tower. Peggy toed off her shoes as she followed Steve in, letting them fall by the door, and surveyed the room with a quick sweep of her eyes. Bookshelf, radio, drafting table in the corner; flat black pane of glass mounted on the wall-- whatever for, she wasn’t sure-- and a wide, neatly-made bed, which Steve sat down on with a satisfied bounce, and smiled up at her once again.
“Alone at last,” Peggy said, which made his smile broader. She sat down astride him, and he put his hands on her hips and pulled her in close, kissing her breathless again. His hands crept to the waistband of her skirt-- she had pulled his button-down free and slid her own hands under it some time ago-- and she wriggled even closer, which made him moan a little, gratifyingly, into her mouth.
“Peggy,” he said, his voice a little breathy, faint with what she supposed was disbelief, “god, I don’t-- I can’t quite believe you’re really here.” The wonder on his face was, she suspected, matched by her own.
Peggy paused in unbuttoning Steve’s shirt to smile and kiss him again. “The feeling’s mutual, I promise you-- but even if this turns out to be a lovely dream tomorrow, I plan to take full advantage tonight.”
“It’s not a dream,” Steve said, his hands stilling on her waist, steady and solid and warm. “It’s not. This is all real, as impossible as it might be-- and it’ll be real tomorrow, too.”
“I hope so,” said Peggy, who’d had lovely dreams before now, though none so vivid as this. “Oh, I hope, I hope--”
They undressed each other hastily, Peggy flinging girdle and brassiere carelessly aside. She’d never need them again, with any luck; she’d trade them for more liberating modern versions in the morning. Steve shucked his undershirt and trousers with unseemly haste, and pulled her backwards onto the bed with a laugh, rolling them over to press all his warm well-muscled weight into her. She could feel the hardness of him through tap pants and shorts, and hitched her hips up against him.
She slid her hands down the back of Steve’s shorts and gave his bottom a squeeze, thus fulfilling a long-standing daydream. Steve’s hips bucked against hers, and he gasped something muffled into her shoulder. “I want you to touch me,” she said, dropping a kiss onto the hinge of Steve’s jaw, “all over, and then we’re going to have sex, and in the morning we’re going to wake up and this will still all be real, and then we’ll-- we’ll--
“Live happily ever after?” Steve asked, his voice a little wry, lifting his head to meet her eyes.
“Exactly so,” said Peggy. “We’ve more than earned it, haven’t we?”
“I don’t know what I could have done to earn this,” Steve said fervently. She reached up to stroke the hair that fell over his brow back into some semblance of order, and with a twist and a wriggle rolled them over onto their sides, facing one another. He looked at her like she was a miracle, a gift, something he never could have hoped for. She supposed that she looked at him just the same.
She took her hands off Steve just long enough to unbutton her tap pants, and even that made him make an injured sort of noise in the back of his throat. “Just a moment,” she said, and lifted her hips to slide out of them. Then she hooked her fingers in the elastic of Steve’s boxer shorts, and his hands, which had been roaming up and down her sides, stilled again as she pulled them off him.
She stroked his cock, red and flushed against his belly, and he moaned and fumbled a hand between her legs. It didn’t take him long at all to find the right spot, the one that made her gasp and throw one thigh over his hip to pull him in close; with his free hand he cupped her breast, stroking at her nipple. She felt overwhelmed by touch and feeling and heat. All she could do, all she wanted to do, was gasp and shiver and bite at Steve’s reddened mouth.
He broke off their kiss to breathe panting breaths into the curve of her shoulder. “God,” he said, “that’s-- just a second, I need--” and he stretched to reach for something in the bedside table, muscles shifting under her hands. “Don’t laugh,” he warned her, producing a strip of silver foil packets from a drawer, “but Tony keeps giving me these, he thinks it’s funny--”
The silver foil packets each bore a credible version of Steve’s shield. “Rubbers?” Peggy inquired curiously, examining one. “They make Captain America rubbers?”
“Well, it’s not like I endorsed them or anything,” Steve said, “and anyway I guess it’s lucky I’ve got them handy--”
“I’m certainly not complaining,” Peggy said. She opened the packet carefully; the rubber inside was thinner and lighter than the ones she was used to, and she rolled it onto Steve’s cock with careful hands. His eyes fluttered shut as she did it, and then snapped open again when she was done, gazing hungrily at her as she lay down on the bed. “Get over here,” she demanded, reaching out to him, “and--”
“Yeah, okay,” he replied hastily, “I can do that.” He leaned over her, braced on one arm, and the look on his face as he pushed into her was something she didn’t think she’d earned at all. But that’s what gifts were, sometimes: wonderful things you hadn’t earned at all.
They found a rhythm quickly, hips snapping in counterpoint, and a warm hot feeling built and built in Peggy’s belly. She was making little noises, breathy moans she couldn’t control in the least. Steve felt wonderful inside her, his body against hers, his lips on her throat and her shoulder. As the feeling built she clenched around him, making him buck out of time, thrusting hard, and the unexpected movement sent her right over the edge. He thrust again, just as hard, and she arched against him, her nerves lighting up, caught up in feeling for an endless moment. She cried out, her head thrown back, and Steve lost the rhythm entirely, gasping her name as he came. He kissed her deeply, his arms around her, his weight on her, and she clung back just as hard until the feeling faded, until she felt like she could breathe again.
They pulled apart reluctantly, losing contact for a moment as Steve disposed of the condom, and then Peggy curled up into his side, head pillowed on his chest. They were both still breathing hard, a little, though Steve’s evened out before hers did, and they were both sweaty and sticky and loose-limbed. She twisted in his arms to kiss him, and they passed a pleasant little while like that, until Peggy became aware of something pressing insistently into her hip.
He was quite hard already, and when she stroked him a little he made a pleased noise into her mouth. “Super-Soldier serum, you know,” he said, a little shamefacedly, and blinked at the predatory grin that appeared on her face.
“Well, I never thought of that,” she said, “but I certainly shan’t complain--” and she pushed Steve over onto his back and reached for the condoms.
Later-- much later-- Peggy was aware of early-morning light filtering into the room through the curtains. She stretched and sighed, feeling pleasantly sore in every muscle. Steve stirred to wakefulness beside her. “It’s tomorrow,” he said, a slow smile appearing on his face. “And not a dream.”
“Not a bit of it,” she agreed. “I never should have doubted.” And she leaned over him for a kiss, a quick press of lips against his, before she sat up and stretched once more.
Steve went down to breakfast first, leaving her the top half of his pyjamas and directions to the communal kitchen he shared with his teammates. Peggy showered in Steve’s wondrously large and well-appointed bathroom, under an apparently infinite supply of hot water. When she was done she decided to be scandalous, and appear at breakfast in nothing but her tap pants and Steve’s pyjama top.
It was enormous on her, anyway, and besides, this was the twenty-first century. She was determined to be a modern sort of girl.
