Re: Log, Marvel: Peggy C & Steve R
Butter. Steve knew what that meant. Years of red stamps, of rations, booklets, and points, and he could understand why Peggy might go overboard with butter. Sugar too. Milk. All of it. And he smiled at her, knowing, and it was a moment of shared experience Steve had mourned the year before with Natasha, when she was trying to foist dates on him.
"Did you? What did you do?" It was asked conversationally. Truth be told, that little aside about the bedroom wasn't meant as any sort of indication of his intentions. Sure, of course, Steve wanted that. He'd dreamt of it. ...A lot. And though he could be both cunning and devious if need be, he hadn't meant anything by the comment. It was fact—the apartment was little more than a studio, the door opening into the kitchen that broadened a bit to a couch against the wall by the door. There was a small bathroom. Then the bedroom, with a desk and a bed and yellow-brokered light. Perhaps better suited to someone smaller, but Steve didn't seem to notice, save for the instances he banged his head on the canted ceiling, which were less and less as time went by. Thankfully.—He gave Peggy a conspiratorial smile, a thing that went sideways on his open face, a thing that opened him back up to a buck-twenty, just him against the world. "I think we can all do with more butter. Margarine though..."
He'd had enough of that to last him a lifetime—and 70 years in ice.
But, to be perfectly honest, Steve stopped considering how much margarine he was willing to put up with the moment he circled the table. She was warm against him. She smelled good. She felt good. And Steve let himself melt into the contact—like butter—his lips parting, and if she was deliberate, he was too giddy to notice. He pulled her against him with considerable strength, lifting her, accidentally, out of her shoes, and though the pork was plated, cooling in sunset, Steve rather forgot about it. His hands slid down the bell of Peggy's waist to her hips, searing back to, maybe ungentlemanly, grab her ass as his tongue moved hard against hers, and if her lipstick went somber red all over his face, he didn't care.