Re: Log, Marvel: Peggy C & Steve R
Honestly, Steve wasn't a man for media. But, it was simply a part of the price paid to be what he was and it was a part of being a symbol to so many people. Still, he knew he'd made that choice. Less so with Peggy. She was more or less thrust into it because of him, and he hadn't forgotten that. She was a woman with more merits than anything his company could ascribe her, yet she was reduced to pin curls and lipstick by his side. That wasn't something he was willing to bear—not unless she chose to do it, and, as she'd said in shell of that bar, if he respected her, he ought respect her choice. But, he... wouldn't have blamed her, if she chose otherwise. Yet—here she was, and that was really all he needed to know for now. She was here, he was here, and they were tangled up in one another's arms and lips and memories made new.
Her breath was on his cheek, and his heart welled up, responsive to that warmth in British brown.
Her intent was indeed frank—her fingers down the side of his neck, and he wasn't behaving as one expected of a national hero. He didn't pull out her chair and he didn't invite her to eat. Her fingers were fine around his tie, tight, burning red into cheeks, and he wasn't the gentleman perhaps he ought to have been. Instead, he listened to her—which, thinking on it, maybe meant he was a gentleman... Either way, he listened to her. And to himself. Because he wanted her.
He took them to the room, that poor pork abandoned, and whatever earlier insinuation there had been about looking around, it was easy for him to just climb on the bed with her. It creaked with age, with weight, iron bars sagging in ward, but it held.—He eased himself back first, so she was left atop him, his spine propped against pillows and the knobs of the gilded headboard. His fingers were almost shy along the gray cowl of her top, pushed up between them to tease there now that her weight was on his thighs.—He almost asked, but in the end, he let his touch stray wordlessly. Over the shirt, of course, but still, an swipe of his thumb with intent over nipple as he tore his mouth from hers to press lips to her jaw and her throat, and as he paid a lot of attention to how she felt on top of him, straddling like she was.