Re: Log, Marvel: Peggy C & Steve R
He'd read up on what he could, but there was, unsurprisingly, little literature about Peggy's early post-War days. He knew about the radio programs, though he hadn't listened to them himself (he couldn't quite bear to)—but he would've understood, she was right to think that. Who was to say he would've been effective, after everything? And, regardless, Peggy Carter was a woman—not extraordinary, as Steve firmly believed the strength she epitomized was in every person, in some manner of ore not yet mined, but... perhaps she was extraordinary in the innateness of her strength, how refined it was. Men of their time, like men now, feared that in a woman, sought to keep her as docile as they imagined she ought be. If anything, her so-called effectiveness was blunted by them and their egos.—Steve wasn't jaded or oblivious to the capitalization upon his image and the symbol of Captain America, and that relationship, between man and shield, was complex, but somehow he didn't feel it soiled anything between him and Peggy, though perhaps he ought to've. Perhaps it was naive to imagine love was a thing pure in and of itself.
He wasn't thinking about it, honestly. He was focusing on the woman near him... physically. Physically near him, and physically focusing on her. No onlookers. Just them. She pulled him in and he went without resistance. Her knees split around his hips, and okay, Steve went a furious red, heated, beneath everything and, quite suddenly, he felt like he was boiling. It was an automatic reaction that came with an excited drop of stomach. It wasn't that he'd never... or that they'd never... just—it'd been a long time.
He lifted her easily—God bless modernity and slacks—and, though they really should eat first, Steve made no move to break away and return to cutting pork. If anything, he had dinner-related amnesia. Once he was wound up with Peggy, once her lips broke open over his, he surrendered completely to the moment and to the taste of her on his tongue, mixed in with the paint-palette scent of lipstick. Billie continued to croon in lazy summer heat, and for half a second, it was just her voice that filled the space—her voice and breathing. Steve did manage to pull away, just enough, his lips smeared red against Peggy's still, to tell her, "I missed you."
Perhaps too achingly earnest, but the memory of the Valkyrie was just there behind bright American blue, and he had missed her. He still couldn't quite believe she'd come back, that this was real and not some figment ghosted into life by his brain on ice. He knew they were meant to be getting to know each other, here in this new setting, new time, new world, but—well, he wanted to keep kissing her. And as soon as the breathless words were past his kiss-swollen lips, he caught his mouth over hers again with vigor and he took a step toward the bedroom.