Maybe this wouldn't last. Maybe their window had closed years ago, before either of them had gotten the courage necessary to speak up, to broach the attraction that had once sparked a desperate, goodbye kiss. Peggy didn't know. For all of her savvy, she'd never really... dated.
Oh, she'd accompanied men to dinner, circulated around parties on a surprisingly wide variety of arms, and she'd left every single one of those men with little more than a coy smile and maybe (if they were lucky) a chaste kiss. The ones that got a repeat performance were usually at her father's behest, because sometimes he seemed to remember that Peggy was still single and in want of looking after beyond his ability to manage forever, and therefore never going to be regarded as more than a favor owed.
Steve was her choice. It was selfish. It was foolish. Sometimes he frustrated her to the point of tears and sometimes he made her want to give up on poise for a quick, cathartic, screaming tantrum. But none of those moments would ever be enough to make her walk away. For however long this could last- if it became something serious or ended amicably- Peggy wanted to enjoy every moment of it. She hoped that was what Steve wanted as well.
The kiss, when he did bend to catch her mouth, was a little sharper than any they'd shared before. There was mutual need there, a desire to keep him close even as he bowed forward to accommodate her fairly diminutive height. Instinct dropped her hands to broad shoulders, and it was a good thing she had something to hold when his mouth slid down to her throat instead. Peggy made an embarrassingly sharp noise, high and pitchy, and found she'd closed her eyes without intending to. All the better to focus on what she felt.
"Steve," she husked softly, fingers curling against his nape with a light drag of nails over warm skin, "The couch." She felt, very strongly, that they ought to sit.