One Single Yesterday - Chapter Three
Aug. 27th, 2013 12:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cassandraoftroyChapter: 3 of 5
Characters: Peggy Carter, Steve Rogers, the Eleventh Doctor
Chapter Warnings: Explicit sex (F/M)
Word Count: ~4300
Summary: Steve and Peggy have their dance... and then reality intrudes on their adventures.
Master Post
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It was a memory that she would treasure, and revisit every night, until the day she died.
The Doctor hadn't told them precisely where they were going, but something in her heart had recognized England the moment the door of the TARDIS opened. Still, it wasn't the England she remembered. It was getting on toward evening on a chill February day – only four days shy of the Feast of Saint Valentine, as it turned out – and though the layers she was swathed in kept her mostly warm, she was glad of the wrap that clung to her bare shoulders. When they stepped out of the TARDIS and onto the lawn, she gasped (rather, she tried to gasp, but she was corseted within an inch of her life) when she saw where they were.
Buckingham Palace.
"Come along, you two," the Doctor had said, leading the way forward with a twirl of the cane he had picked up from somewhere, and they headed toward the main gate.
There was a line in the receiving area where couples in elaborate gowns and suits stood waiting to be presented and announced. As they waited their turn, she fussed with Steve's ascot and brushed at a few bits of lint clinging to his tailcoat. The top hat made him look even taller, and she couldn't help but think he presented a rather dashing figure.
Steve had smiled indulgently at her nervousness. It was easy enough for him; Buckingham Palace was as alien a realm to him as that fortieth-century space station! He wouldn't be so composed if we had gone back to meet Abraham Lincoln, she thought with bruised dignity.
Then it was their turn. The Doctor presented a wallet with a piece of blank paper in it to the man charged with announcing the new arrivals, and whispered their names to him. "Doctor Smith and guests, Captain Steven Rogers and Lady Margaret Carter!" They stepped forward together, and Peggy found herself face-to-face with Queen Victoria and her new husband, Prince Albert. Her face suddenly red, Peggy curtseyed deeply, as Steve bowed beside her. The maneuver was only slightly awkward in the wide-skirted gown, but she was proud of herself for managing it neatly.
"Welcome, my dears," the Queen told them. She was positively beaming, and kept exchanging adoring glances with the Prince between greeting guests. They look so happy, Peggy thought, as she was hurried off to the side to make room for the next set of invitees to be announced. I know how she feels...
Thankfully, there was no catastrophe to avert at the wedding celebration, for that was what it was. She led Steve into a quiet corner and taught him the steps to a simple waltz, glancing occasionally at other couples dancing to pick up any period-appropriate variations from the version she knew. He was a quick study and the serum had done wonders for his physical coordination, which was just as well; she didn't think her delicate dancing slippers would survive much clumsiness on his part.
When the musicians took up their instruments again, she and Steve joined the other celebrants out on the floor, and they danced. Steve held her right hand in his left, with his right arm curled gently about her corseted waist, and whirled her lightly across the floor. The perfection of the moment managed to eclipse even the awe she felt for their surroundings; Buckingham Palace seemed to fade away, leaving only her, Steve, and the music. Judging by the look in his eyes as he gazed down at her, he was just as lost in their dance as she was. They moved together as one, with no thought for anything but one another, talking softly about whatever passed through their minds or silently savoring each other's company, until the music stopped again.
Standing there under the faintly flickering gas lamps of the ballroom, waiting for the musicians to resume their duties, Peggy realized something: she was in love with Steve Rogers.
It took Peggy a moment to fit her skirts through the door to their bedroom in the TARDIS, both of them still laughing at something Steve had said. She felt a little tipsy and giggly, though she hadn't drunk enough champagne at the palace for it to have gone to her head – she had not relished the notion of needing to use the toilet while dressed in this rig-out. Speaking of which... "Steve, give me a hand out of this thing, would you?"
She glanced over her shoulder and noted his startled look. As much as she intended for this evening to end a certain way, that wasn't the intention behind her request. "These gowns were designed with the idea that a lady had a maid to help her off with them. If I try to do it myself, I'll ruin it, and it's too lovely for that. Please?"
Finally, he seemed to remember that their last few weeks in this room hadn't been exactly chaste, and stepped in close to help her out of the dress, corset, and petticoats. She carefully hung up the garments to keep them from getting wrinkled, and then turned to face Steve wearing only her soft silk under-gown. Steve smiled and took a step to close the distance between them, resting his hands on her hips as he leaned down to kiss her.
Peggy tilted her head up and opened herself to the kiss for a few long, lingering moments before pulling away. "As dapper as you look in that outfit, soldier, my plans for this evening don't involve you wearing it all night." Hiding a smirk at the way his ears reddened at that, she leaned against the wardrobe door and watched with languid interest as Steve unbuttoned his waistcoat and began removing his own clothing.
By mutual, unspoken consent, they had been taking their intimate exploration of one another slowly, though whether it was out of deference to Steve's inexperience or her own desire to draw out the act of sharing themselves with one another, she couldn't say. But it seemed that tonight, they had both decided that there would be no holding back. As Steve shucked the last of his garb, Peggy reached up and unlaced the gathered neckline of her under-dress, letting it slip off her shoulders and over her hips, pooling at her feet.
She couldn't remember the last time she had been this open, this exposed, with another person, but being with Steve didn't make her feel vulnerable. He respected her as well as desired her – but the worshipful expression in those blue eyes would have to go. With a small smile, she moved to fill the little distance between them, put her hands on his shoulders, hitched one leg around his hip, and pulled herself up his body, closing her mouth over his in a deep kiss.
Steve suddenly found himself with an armful of Peggy wrapped around him, jolting rather neatly out of his reverence. This was no untouchable goddess; she was his equal, his match, and very touchable indeed, as he'd had ample opportunity to discover of late. His arms wrapped around her, cupping the firm flesh of her back and rear and pressing her closer to him, as he gave himself over to her kiss. Peggy had slipped one hand behind his head and twined the fingers of her fist in the short hair just above the nape of his neck. Her other hand cradled his face as though it were something dear and precious, her thumb tracing soft caresses along his cheek.
Breaking the kiss, Peggy's mouth wandered along the line of Steve's jaw to his ear; she nibbled lightly on his ear. Before she could suggest that they move to the bed, he seemed to anticipate her thought, turning to lay her gently down on the sheets. He covered her mouth again with his as he knelt over her, but his kisses soon drifted from her lips down her throat. Peggy smiled; Steve may not have had much experience with women when she met him, but he was a fast learner. One of his hands found the curve of her breast, and he gently rolled the stiffening nipple between his thumb and forefinger; her back arched up toward him, pushing her body into his touch.
He was nibbling lightly at the side of her neck now, just above the place where it joined her shoulder. Ever since he'd discovered how sensitive her neck was during an innocent shoulder rub, Steve had barely been able to keep away from it – much to her satisfaction, truth be told. Now, the gentle play of his teeth and tongue across skin eager and primed for his touch made her practically melt into the bedsheets. She thought she might have murmured something, but couldn't have said what.
Still lower his attentions traveled, as he traced the line of her collarbone with his tongue. Then he moved down the swell of her breast, nosing lightly into the valley between them as he continued his line of kisses, and found her free nipple with his lips. The soft, warm sensation was just too firm a touch to be ticklish, and it sent ripples of stimulation down into her belly. A few moments later she felt the touch draw away, and opened her eyes to discover a wide blue gaze looking up at her. "Is this okay? Not too hard?" he asked.
Affection curled her lips up into a smile. So many people who had only ever known the super-soldier in him would never believe that Steve could be uncertain or hesitant about anything. Peggy brought her hand up to twine her fingers lightly in his hair. "It's wonderful," she breathed, "don't stop."
Peggy had never paid a great deal of attention to her breasts; she thought they looked quite nice, but in terms of sensation, she was used to thinking of them as an area that a beau would get more enjoyment out of than she did. With Steve, though, something was different. Maybe it was the careful way he watched her reactions, adjusting the pressure of his touch until he saw her gasp, taking it slowly to let the sensation build as if he had all the time and patience in the world. Whatever it was, Peggy could already feel the heat rising between her legs, and she was torn between wanting Steve never to stop what he was doing, and needing him to move lower, to the source of that flame.
As though he sensed her conflict, Steve let the hand on her breast come away and ghost down her side, the calluses on his fingers dragging lightly across her smooth flesh. He toyed with the soft ridge of her hipbone for a moment, and Peggy shivered with the sensation made all the more intense by bone so close to the skin. Then he followed the crease of her thigh down and down, stroking his thumb along the surface of her lips before sliding between them.
His thumb teased the entrance of her vagina only briefly, coating itself in the wetness there before slipping forward again toward the burning core of her arousal. His tongue and lips still danced across her areola and swirled around her nipple. It seemed his attentions flowed between the two loci of pleasure: whenever the sensation became almost too intense at her breast, he would ease off there and redouble his efforts on her clitoris, and when she felt nearly overtaken by the heat between her legs, his concentration would rock back to her nipple. He kept her caught between the two for longer than she could guess, and only when he noticed that she was bucking against his hand more than she was arching into his mouth did he withdraw from her breast to kneel between her legs.
As much as Peggy looked forward to what he planned next, she missed the warmth of his body stretched out above hers; perhaps because of the serum, Steve ran a little hotter than average. The room wasn't uncomfortably cool by any means, but the heat radiating from Steve was a pleasant little reminder of him.
The shift in position had brought a short pause to his efforts between her legs, and feeling Steve's tongue slide into the place where his thumb had been moments before sent a shock of pleasure through her. His arms had curled around her thighs, holding her close to him and helping him maintain the proper angle to do his good work. He found the strong, steady rhythm that she had told him worked best for her, and quickly she found herself at the precipice. She hung there for a moment, and then another touch of Steve's tongue sent her hurtling over the edge.
She arched and strained against him as the orgasm seized her, but its gradual ebb left her a boneless rag-doll in the face of the lingering pleasure. Her lassitude did not last long, though; while she felt nothing but purring contentment from her clitoris, a place deeper inside her body ached with an emptiness that demanded to be filled.
Steve looked up at her from his perch between her knees, with an expression poised between adoration and smugness, and a mouth and chin that glistened with the evidence of his efforts. He began to crawl up the length of her body to kiss her, but Peggy had other ideas in mind; when he had moved up far enough that his hands bracketed her waist, she brought her legs up fast and locked them around his body, throwing her hips to one side to send him crashing to the mattress. She knew she wouldn't have been able to manage the move if he'd sincerely resisted, but the amused surprise and anticipation on his face clearly stated that resisting her advances was the last thing on the mind of Steve Rogers.
He got his kiss then, as she leaned over him – long and deep and utterly heedless of the sex smeared across his face, and brimming with the emotion that still hung unspoken between them. Then Peggy's attention shifted to the small table standing beside the bed, and more specifically, the little box in its uppermost drawer.
One fact that Peggy had discovered in the weeks they had traveled with the Doctor was that any conversation touching on personal or private matters became either breezily frank or intensely awkward when the Doctor was involved. The brief exchange in which he had taken Peggy aside and warned her that children conceived by a couple living in the TARDIS would likely end up part Time Lord had been an almost painfully uncomfortable discussion, but it had led to her acquire a pack of rubbers the next time they had visited twentieth-century Earth.
She withdrew one of these from its box in the nightstand and tore open its foil packet. It unrolled easily down the length of Steve's erection, and she knelt over his hips to position herself above him. Slowly she pushed herself down onto him, spreading her knees apart by degrees as she descended and felt him gradually filling her. Her eyes remained locked on Steve's face as his expression grew more unrestrained each time she pressed down against him.
When he was fully inside her, she paused for a moment, adjusting to the slightly stretched feeling and waiting for the last twinges of discomfort to subside. Then she began to move, gripping the bed's headboard to brace against as she pulled up and thrust back down onto Steve. Soon he was moving with her, his hips straining up against her in time with her undulations. His hands wandered across her body, trailing caresses up her legs, along her sides, across her stomach and around to her lower back.
After a minute or two, her movements slowed a little. It felt good, yes, but something wasn't quite working. Once or twice she felt Steve just brush against something inside her that ached for more attention. "Can we shift positions?"
Steve's response was a nod and an exhalation that failed to resolve into words. Peggy was about to move off him to change position, but Steve's hands on her hips arrested the motion. He sat up, one arm around her back holding her close against him, and the other keeping one of her legs wrapped around him, to allow them to move without disengaging. Peggy laid her head against his chest and savored the feeling of his arms around her, lifting her up.
He brought them down onto the bed on their sides, still facing one another; one of Steve's arms still held Peggy pressed close to his body. His other hand entwined with one of hers under the pillow where their heads now rested. He was still inside her, with one of Peggy's knees hitched over his hip to give him access. It was his turn now to control the pace of their exertions, and Peggy followed his lead, rolling her hips in time with his thrusts. This was much better: at this angle, that sensitive spot deep within her was stroked every time Steve pressed into her. Soon she felt the tide beginning to rise inside her again, and snaked her free hand down between them to touch herself. The sensations created by her fingers and Steve's cock amplified each other, and in another moment the dam broke and she was carried away by the flood.
Something in her own orgasm seemed to push Steve to the brink as well. His thrusts sped up for a few seconds, and then he buried his face in her shoulder as he plunged into her a final time, the grip of his arm around her waist tightening as he came. They lay together, unmoving, until their breathing evened out and Peggy's heart felt less like an excited hummingbird. When Steve lifted his head to look at her, his hair was charmingly tousled and his eyes were wide. "I… that was…" Then he gave up and kissed her.
She couldn't help grinning through the kiss. "Yes, it really was." Her free hand moved to twine its fingers through his hair, but she stopped herself, remembering what those fingers were covered with. Steve took advantage of her hesitation to capture the hand in his, kissing it. Somehow their post-coital nudity managed not to undermine the gallantry of the act.
"Not bad for a first time?" he asked with a grin of his own.
Peggy slipped her arm around him. "I'm certainly not about to kick you out of bed." She shifted position to curl up closer against him, and Steve withdrew from inside her. He carefully removed the rubber, knotted it, and tossed it in a slow arc into the wastebasket by the desk. Then his arm came back around her.
They remained that way for a while, dozing contentedly in one another's arms. Eventually Peggy stirred, rousing Steve as she slipped out of his embrace enough to sit up. "I'll be right back," she told him, and went to use the toilet. When she returned, Steve was waiting for her, reclining with one arm propped against the pillows. Peggy gave him an amused half-smile. "Did you think I'd get lost coming back from the loo?"
"It's not that. It's just… I want to remember all of this. Our time together. I don't want to miss anything." He took her hand as she sat beside him on the bed, holding it in his.
She scooted closer to him on the mattress, until she was able to lean back against him. There were so many things they still hadn't said to each other, things she ought to say to Steve… Her glance caught the sketchbook still sitting on the nightstand to his side of the bed. "You never showed me the picture you drew, that first night. May I see it?"
"Um, sure," Steve agreed, a little hesitantly. "It isn't done yet, though. I guess I kinda didn't want to finish it, because…" He trailed off, but it was easy for Peggy to fill in the blanks. If he finished the drawing, then I would take it with me when we left here. As long as it's not done, he can forget that will ever happen. Still, he reached for the sketchpad and opened it, paging past a few doodles to show her the drawing.
He had definitely taken more care with this piece than any other Peggy had seen him draw, and it showed. It was a drawing of her, as vividly realized as the image she saw in the mirror each morning, standing at the open door of the TARDIS and gazing down on the planet Earth below. The Peggy in the drawing wore the same dress Steve had found her in when they had met at the Stork Club. A smattering of stars filled in the background behind the time machine.
"It's beautiful." The visual arts had never been one of her gifts; she could produce a roughly scale map, but nothing artistic, and Steve's abilities continued to impress her. "But there's something missing."
Steve peered over her shoulder at the page. "What?"
She turned her head, touching the tip of his nose with her own. "You," she told him. "This is supposed to be a keepsake of you; I'd like you to be in it."
He ducked his head as he took the pad from her, hiding what Peggy suspected was a blush. "Give me a minute," he said, retrieving his pencils from the bedside table, and began to draw himself in where he belonged, beside her.
* * *
"You're going to love this one!" the Doctor announced as Peggy and Steve entered the console room. "You are about to witness the birth of the very first artificial constellation!"
It didn't bother Peggy that this pronouncement made no sense; the Doctor would explain himself given the right prompting – and as expected, Steve paused in mid-stride and asked, "Wait. How can you make a constellation?"
"I'm glad you asked!" The Doctor hopped over to a panel on the main console and tapped some keys to call up an image. "Nebular seeding. You simply find a series of nebulae in the right areas for the image you want to create, plant artificial gravity-generators inside each nebula, and then squish-kaboom, you've got yourself a lovely new custom-designed constellation!"
"What's the shape of this artificial constellation going to be?" Peggy asked.
"Ah," the Doctor replied, holding up one finger, "that's the question, isn't it? The Scientific Ministry of Berossus Prime has been keeping that little detail top-secret until the Grand Implosion, which is scheduled to begin in roughly…" He peered at a readout on the console. "…Five seconds!" With that, he pulled a lever that thrust open the door of the TARDIS.
The three of them crowded into the doorway and out into the street beyond. It was nighttime, and a crowd had assembled in the streets, amid decorations, foodstuffs, and musical instruments (though occasionally it was difficult for Peggy to guess which were what). The scene carried an air of excited anticipation: all eyes in the crowd were turned to the night sky.
"I see something!" Steve exclaimed, pointing. A moment later, Peggy saw it too. As they watched, new stars blossomed in the dark sky, one after another. But as the image became clearer, she felt her brows drawing together in puzzlement. At last, she decided it was her turn to ask the obvious question.
"Why does the constellation say, 'Hello, Sweetie'?"
The Doctor was staring up at the sky, looking stunned. At her question, he turned to look at her, then turned back toward the TARDIS, then turned back around to stare at the sky again, and went on in that vein until he had completed two full revolutions. Then he frowned, and stared at the sky again. "I'm afraid that's for me," he said with chagrin.
"The constellation?" Steve asked.
"It's… well, it's my wife," he explained. "Occasionally she does… things, when she needs to get my attention. I don't ask how she manages it; she's her. Anyway, I need to take this call." He started to turn back toward the TARDIS, but stopped short and looked at the two of them. "You're welcome to tag along, if you like. It will probably be terribly dangerous, but that's half the fun of it!"
Peggy looked at Steve, who had turned to meet her eyes. From his downcast look, his thoughts were of a match for her own: Of course I want to stay – that's the problem. I'll always want to stay, and travel the universe with Steve. The longer we put off going back to our own times, the harder it will be to convince ourselves to return at all. What would it be like after another month of this – or a year? Steve reached out and took her hand in his, which she squeezed tightly. Then she tore her gaze away from Steve's, and the pain she saw there. She turned to the Doctor. "I'm afraid that if we don't go back now, we never will. And we must."
The Doctor's expression grew solemn as well. "If that's what you want."
"It's not," Steve replied immediately, "but that's what we have to do."
He nodded, but then turned to fix his gaze on Peggy. "Are you sure about this?"
She knew exactly what he was thinking, but her answer hadn't changed since that first night they had spoken in the TARDIS. "This is the way it has to be," she said simply.
A deep sadness shone in the old man's eyes – for in that moment, Peggy could see that he was an old man. "Very well, then," he sighed. "Let's get you kids home."
Next Chapter
Characters: Peggy Carter, Steve Rogers, the Eleventh Doctor
Chapter Warnings: Explicit sex (F/M)
Word Count: ~4300
Summary: Steve and Peggy have their dance... and then reality intrudes on their adventures.
Master Post
Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
It was a memory that she would treasure, and revisit every night, until the day she died.
The Doctor hadn't told them precisely where they were going, but something in her heart had recognized England the moment the door of the TARDIS opened. Still, it wasn't the England she remembered. It was getting on toward evening on a chill February day – only four days shy of the Feast of Saint Valentine, as it turned out – and though the layers she was swathed in kept her mostly warm, she was glad of the wrap that clung to her bare shoulders. When they stepped out of the TARDIS and onto the lawn, she gasped (rather, she tried to gasp, but she was corseted within an inch of her life) when she saw where they were.
Buckingham Palace.
"Come along, you two," the Doctor had said, leading the way forward with a twirl of the cane he had picked up from somewhere, and they headed toward the main gate.
There was a line in the receiving area where couples in elaborate gowns and suits stood waiting to be presented and announced. As they waited their turn, she fussed with Steve's ascot and brushed at a few bits of lint clinging to his tailcoat. The top hat made him look even taller, and she couldn't help but think he presented a rather dashing figure.
Steve had smiled indulgently at her nervousness. It was easy enough for him; Buckingham Palace was as alien a realm to him as that fortieth-century space station! He wouldn't be so composed if we had gone back to meet Abraham Lincoln, she thought with bruised dignity.
Then it was their turn. The Doctor presented a wallet with a piece of blank paper in it to the man charged with announcing the new arrivals, and whispered their names to him. "Doctor Smith and guests, Captain Steven Rogers and Lady Margaret Carter!" They stepped forward together, and Peggy found herself face-to-face with Queen Victoria and her new husband, Prince Albert. Her face suddenly red, Peggy curtseyed deeply, as Steve bowed beside her. The maneuver was only slightly awkward in the wide-skirted gown, but she was proud of herself for managing it neatly.
"Welcome, my dears," the Queen told them. She was positively beaming, and kept exchanging adoring glances with the Prince between greeting guests. They look so happy, Peggy thought, as she was hurried off to the side to make room for the next set of invitees to be announced. I know how she feels...
Thankfully, there was no catastrophe to avert at the wedding celebration, for that was what it was. She led Steve into a quiet corner and taught him the steps to a simple waltz, glancing occasionally at other couples dancing to pick up any period-appropriate variations from the version she knew. He was a quick study and the serum had done wonders for his physical coordination, which was just as well; she didn't think her delicate dancing slippers would survive much clumsiness on his part.
When the musicians took up their instruments again, she and Steve joined the other celebrants out on the floor, and they danced. Steve held her right hand in his left, with his right arm curled gently about her corseted waist, and whirled her lightly across the floor. The perfection of the moment managed to eclipse even the awe she felt for their surroundings; Buckingham Palace seemed to fade away, leaving only her, Steve, and the music. Judging by the look in his eyes as he gazed down at her, he was just as lost in their dance as she was. They moved together as one, with no thought for anything but one another, talking softly about whatever passed through their minds or silently savoring each other's company, until the music stopped again.
Standing there under the faintly flickering gas lamps of the ballroom, waiting for the musicians to resume their duties, Peggy realized something: she was in love with Steve Rogers.
It took Peggy a moment to fit her skirts through the door to their bedroom in the TARDIS, both of them still laughing at something Steve had said. She felt a little tipsy and giggly, though she hadn't drunk enough champagne at the palace for it to have gone to her head – she had not relished the notion of needing to use the toilet while dressed in this rig-out. Speaking of which... "Steve, give me a hand out of this thing, would you?"
She glanced over her shoulder and noted his startled look. As much as she intended for this evening to end a certain way, that wasn't the intention behind her request. "These gowns were designed with the idea that a lady had a maid to help her off with them. If I try to do it myself, I'll ruin it, and it's too lovely for that. Please?"
Finally, he seemed to remember that their last few weeks in this room hadn't been exactly chaste, and stepped in close to help her out of the dress, corset, and petticoats. She carefully hung up the garments to keep them from getting wrinkled, and then turned to face Steve wearing only her soft silk under-gown. Steve smiled and took a step to close the distance between them, resting his hands on her hips as he leaned down to kiss her.
Peggy tilted her head up and opened herself to the kiss for a few long, lingering moments before pulling away. "As dapper as you look in that outfit, soldier, my plans for this evening don't involve you wearing it all night." Hiding a smirk at the way his ears reddened at that, she leaned against the wardrobe door and watched with languid interest as Steve unbuttoned his waistcoat and began removing his own clothing.
By mutual, unspoken consent, they had been taking their intimate exploration of one another slowly, though whether it was out of deference to Steve's inexperience or her own desire to draw out the act of sharing themselves with one another, she couldn't say. But it seemed that tonight, they had both decided that there would be no holding back. As Steve shucked the last of his garb, Peggy reached up and unlaced the gathered neckline of her under-dress, letting it slip off her shoulders and over her hips, pooling at her feet.
She couldn't remember the last time she had been this open, this exposed, with another person, but being with Steve didn't make her feel vulnerable. He respected her as well as desired her – but the worshipful expression in those blue eyes would have to go. With a small smile, she moved to fill the little distance between them, put her hands on his shoulders, hitched one leg around his hip, and pulled herself up his body, closing her mouth over his in a deep kiss.
Steve suddenly found himself with an armful of Peggy wrapped around him, jolting rather neatly out of his reverence. This was no untouchable goddess; she was his equal, his match, and very touchable indeed, as he'd had ample opportunity to discover of late. His arms wrapped around her, cupping the firm flesh of her back and rear and pressing her closer to him, as he gave himself over to her kiss. Peggy had slipped one hand behind his head and twined the fingers of her fist in the short hair just above the nape of his neck. Her other hand cradled his face as though it were something dear and precious, her thumb tracing soft caresses along his cheek.
Breaking the kiss, Peggy's mouth wandered along the line of Steve's jaw to his ear; she nibbled lightly on his ear. Before she could suggest that they move to the bed, he seemed to anticipate her thought, turning to lay her gently down on the sheets. He covered her mouth again with his as he knelt over her, but his kisses soon drifted from her lips down her throat. Peggy smiled; Steve may not have had much experience with women when she met him, but he was a fast learner. One of his hands found the curve of her breast, and he gently rolled the stiffening nipple between his thumb and forefinger; her back arched up toward him, pushing her body into his touch.
He was nibbling lightly at the side of her neck now, just above the place where it joined her shoulder. Ever since he'd discovered how sensitive her neck was during an innocent shoulder rub, Steve had barely been able to keep away from it – much to her satisfaction, truth be told. Now, the gentle play of his teeth and tongue across skin eager and primed for his touch made her practically melt into the bedsheets. She thought she might have murmured something, but couldn't have said what.
Still lower his attentions traveled, as he traced the line of her collarbone with his tongue. Then he moved down the swell of her breast, nosing lightly into the valley between them as he continued his line of kisses, and found her free nipple with his lips. The soft, warm sensation was just too firm a touch to be ticklish, and it sent ripples of stimulation down into her belly. A few moments later she felt the touch draw away, and opened her eyes to discover a wide blue gaze looking up at her. "Is this okay? Not too hard?" he asked.
Affection curled her lips up into a smile. So many people who had only ever known the super-soldier in him would never believe that Steve could be uncertain or hesitant about anything. Peggy brought her hand up to twine her fingers lightly in his hair. "It's wonderful," she breathed, "don't stop."
Peggy had never paid a great deal of attention to her breasts; she thought they looked quite nice, but in terms of sensation, she was used to thinking of them as an area that a beau would get more enjoyment out of than she did. With Steve, though, something was different. Maybe it was the careful way he watched her reactions, adjusting the pressure of his touch until he saw her gasp, taking it slowly to let the sensation build as if he had all the time and patience in the world. Whatever it was, Peggy could already feel the heat rising between her legs, and she was torn between wanting Steve never to stop what he was doing, and needing him to move lower, to the source of that flame.
As though he sensed her conflict, Steve let the hand on her breast come away and ghost down her side, the calluses on his fingers dragging lightly across her smooth flesh. He toyed with the soft ridge of her hipbone for a moment, and Peggy shivered with the sensation made all the more intense by bone so close to the skin. Then he followed the crease of her thigh down and down, stroking his thumb along the surface of her lips before sliding between them.
His thumb teased the entrance of her vagina only briefly, coating itself in the wetness there before slipping forward again toward the burning core of her arousal. His tongue and lips still danced across her areola and swirled around her nipple. It seemed his attentions flowed between the two loci of pleasure: whenever the sensation became almost too intense at her breast, he would ease off there and redouble his efforts on her clitoris, and when she felt nearly overtaken by the heat between her legs, his concentration would rock back to her nipple. He kept her caught between the two for longer than she could guess, and only when he noticed that she was bucking against his hand more than she was arching into his mouth did he withdraw from her breast to kneel between her legs.
As much as Peggy looked forward to what he planned next, she missed the warmth of his body stretched out above hers; perhaps because of the serum, Steve ran a little hotter than average. The room wasn't uncomfortably cool by any means, but the heat radiating from Steve was a pleasant little reminder of him.
The shift in position had brought a short pause to his efforts between her legs, and feeling Steve's tongue slide into the place where his thumb had been moments before sent a shock of pleasure through her. His arms had curled around her thighs, holding her close to him and helping him maintain the proper angle to do his good work. He found the strong, steady rhythm that she had told him worked best for her, and quickly she found herself at the precipice. She hung there for a moment, and then another touch of Steve's tongue sent her hurtling over the edge.
She arched and strained against him as the orgasm seized her, but its gradual ebb left her a boneless rag-doll in the face of the lingering pleasure. Her lassitude did not last long, though; while she felt nothing but purring contentment from her clitoris, a place deeper inside her body ached with an emptiness that demanded to be filled.
Steve looked up at her from his perch between her knees, with an expression poised between adoration and smugness, and a mouth and chin that glistened with the evidence of his efforts. He began to crawl up the length of her body to kiss her, but Peggy had other ideas in mind; when he had moved up far enough that his hands bracketed her waist, she brought her legs up fast and locked them around his body, throwing her hips to one side to send him crashing to the mattress. She knew she wouldn't have been able to manage the move if he'd sincerely resisted, but the amused surprise and anticipation on his face clearly stated that resisting her advances was the last thing on the mind of Steve Rogers.
He got his kiss then, as she leaned over him – long and deep and utterly heedless of the sex smeared across his face, and brimming with the emotion that still hung unspoken between them. Then Peggy's attention shifted to the small table standing beside the bed, and more specifically, the little box in its uppermost drawer.
One fact that Peggy had discovered in the weeks they had traveled with the Doctor was that any conversation touching on personal or private matters became either breezily frank or intensely awkward when the Doctor was involved. The brief exchange in which he had taken Peggy aside and warned her that children conceived by a couple living in the TARDIS would likely end up part Time Lord had been an almost painfully uncomfortable discussion, but it had led to her acquire a pack of rubbers the next time they had visited twentieth-century Earth.
She withdrew one of these from its box in the nightstand and tore open its foil packet. It unrolled easily down the length of Steve's erection, and she knelt over his hips to position herself above him. Slowly she pushed herself down onto him, spreading her knees apart by degrees as she descended and felt him gradually filling her. Her eyes remained locked on Steve's face as his expression grew more unrestrained each time she pressed down against him.
When he was fully inside her, she paused for a moment, adjusting to the slightly stretched feeling and waiting for the last twinges of discomfort to subside. Then she began to move, gripping the bed's headboard to brace against as she pulled up and thrust back down onto Steve. Soon he was moving with her, his hips straining up against her in time with her undulations. His hands wandered across her body, trailing caresses up her legs, along her sides, across her stomach and around to her lower back.
After a minute or two, her movements slowed a little. It felt good, yes, but something wasn't quite working. Once or twice she felt Steve just brush against something inside her that ached for more attention. "Can we shift positions?"
Steve's response was a nod and an exhalation that failed to resolve into words. Peggy was about to move off him to change position, but Steve's hands on her hips arrested the motion. He sat up, one arm around her back holding her close against him, and the other keeping one of her legs wrapped around him, to allow them to move without disengaging. Peggy laid her head against his chest and savored the feeling of his arms around her, lifting her up.
He brought them down onto the bed on their sides, still facing one another; one of Steve's arms still held Peggy pressed close to his body. His other hand entwined with one of hers under the pillow where their heads now rested. He was still inside her, with one of Peggy's knees hitched over his hip to give him access. It was his turn now to control the pace of their exertions, and Peggy followed his lead, rolling her hips in time with his thrusts. This was much better: at this angle, that sensitive spot deep within her was stroked every time Steve pressed into her. Soon she felt the tide beginning to rise inside her again, and snaked her free hand down between them to touch herself. The sensations created by her fingers and Steve's cock amplified each other, and in another moment the dam broke and she was carried away by the flood.
Something in her own orgasm seemed to push Steve to the brink as well. His thrusts sped up for a few seconds, and then he buried his face in her shoulder as he plunged into her a final time, the grip of his arm around her waist tightening as he came. They lay together, unmoving, until their breathing evened out and Peggy's heart felt less like an excited hummingbird. When Steve lifted his head to look at her, his hair was charmingly tousled and his eyes were wide. "I… that was…" Then he gave up and kissed her.
She couldn't help grinning through the kiss. "Yes, it really was." Her free hand moved to twine its fingers through his hair, but she stopped herself, remembering what those fingers were covered with. Steve took advantage of her hesitation to capture the hand in his, kissing it. Somehow their post-coital nudity managed not to undermine the gallantry of the act.
"Not bad for a first time?" he asked with a grin of his own.
Peggy slipped her arm around him. "I'm certainly not about to kick you out of bed." She shifted position to curl up closer against him, and Steve withdrew from inside her. He carefully removed the rubber, knotted it, and tossed it in a slow arc into the wastebasket by the desk. Then his arm came back around her.
They remained that way for a while, dozing contentedly in one another's arms. Eventually Peggy stirred, rousing Steve as she slipped out of his embrace enough to sit up. "I'll be right back," she told him, and went to use the toilet. When she returned, Steve was waiting for her, reclining with one arm propped against the pillows. Peggy gave him an amused half-smile. "Did you think I'd get lost coming back from the loo?"
"It's not that. It's just… I want to remember all of this. Our time together. I don't want to miss anything." He took her hand as she sat beside him on the bed, holding it in his.
She scooted closer to him on the mattress, until she was able to lean back against him. There were so many things they still hadn't said to each other, things she ought to say to Steve… Her glance caught the sketchbook still sitting on the nightstand to his side of the bed. "You never showed me the picture you drew, that first night. May I see it?"
"Um, sure," Steve agreed, a little hesitantly. "It isn't done yet, though. I guess I kinda didn't want to finish it, because…" He trailed off, but it was easy for Peggy to fill in the blanks. If he finished the drawing, then I would take it with me when we left here. As long as it's not done, he can forget that will ever happen. Still, he reached for the sketchpad and opened it, paging past a few doodles to show her the drawing.
He had definitely taken more care with this piece than any other Peggy had seen him draw, and it showed. It was a drawing of her, as vividly realized as the image she saw in the mirror each morning, standing at the open door of the TARDIS and gazing down on the planet Earth below. The Peggy in the drawing wore the same dress Steve had found her in when they had met at the Stork Club. A smattering of stars filled in the background behind the time machine.
"It's beautiful." The visual arts had never been one of her gifts; she could produce a roughly scale map, but nothing artistic, and Steve's abilities continued to impress her. "But there's something missing."
Steve peered over her shoulder at the page. "What?"
She turned her head, touching the tip of his nose with her own. "You," she told him. "This is supposed to be a keepsake of you; I'd like you to be in it."
He ducked his head as he took the pad from her, hiding what Peggy suspected was a blush. "Give me a minute," he said, retrieving his pencils from the bedside table, and began to draw himself in where he belonged, beside her.
"You're going to love this one!" the Doctor announced as Peggy and Steve entered the console room. "You are about to witness the birth of the very first artificial constellation!"
It didn't bother Peggy that this pronouncement made no sense; the Doctor would explain himself given the right prompting – and as expected, Steve paused in mid-stride and asked, "Wait. How can you make a constellation?"
"I'm glad you asked!" The Doctor hopped over to a panel on the main console and tapped some keys to call up an image. "Nebular seeding. You simply find a series of nebulae in the right areas for the image you want to create, plant artificial gravity-generators inside each nebula, and then squish-kaboom, you've got yourself a lovely new custom-designed constellation!"
"What's the shape of this artificial constellation going to be?" Peggy asked.
"Ah," the Doctor replied, holding up one finger, "that's the question, isn't it? The Scientific Ministry of Berossus Prime has been keeping that little detail top-secret until the Grand Implosion, which is scheduled to begin in roughly…" He peered at a readout on the console. "…Five seconds!" With that, he pulled a lever that thrust open the door of the TARDIS.
The three of them crowded into the doorway and out into the street beyond. It was nighttime, and a crowd had assembled in the streets, amid decorations, foodstuffs, and musical instruments (though occasionally it was difficult for Peggy to guess which were what). The scene carried an air of excited anticipation: all eyes in the crowd were turned to the night sky.
"I see something!" Steve exclaimed, pointing. A moment later, Peggy saw it too. As they watched, new stars blossomed in the dark sky, one after another. But as the image became clearer, she felt her brows drawing together in puzzlement. At last, she decided it was her turn to ask the obvious question.
"Why does the constellation say, 'Hello, Sweetie'?"
The Doctor was staring up at the sky, looking stunned. At her question, he turned to look at her, then turned back toward the TARDIS, then turned back around to stare at the sky again, and went on in that vein until he had completed two full revolutions. Then he frowned, and stared at the sky again. "I'm afraid that's for me," he said with chagrin.
"The constellation?" Steve asked.
"It's… well, it's my wife," he explained. "Occasionally she does… things, when she needs to get my attention. I don't ask how she manages it; she's her. Anyway, I need to take this call." He started to turn back toward the TARDIS, but stopped short and looked at the two of them. "You're welcome to tag along, if you like. It will probably be terribly dangerous, but that's half the fun of it!"
Peggy looked at Steve, who had turned to meet her eyes. From his downcast look, his thoughts were of a match for her own: Of course I want to stay – that's the problem. I'll always want to stay, and travel the universe with Steve. The longer we put off going back to our own times, the harder it will be to convince ourselves to return at all. What would it be like after another month of this – or a year? Steve reached out and took her hand in his, which she squeezed tightly. Then she tore her gaze away from Steve's, and the pain she saw there. She turned to the Doctor. "I'm afraid that if we don't go back now, we never will. And we must."
The Doctor's expression grew solemn as well. "If that's what you want."
"It's not," Steve replied immediately, "but that's what we have to do."
He nodded, but then turned to fix his gaze on Peggy. "Are you sure about this?"
She knew exactly what he was thinking, but her answer hadn't changed since that first night they had spoken in the TARDIS. "This is the way it has to be," she said simply.
A deep sadness shone in the old man's eyes – for in that moment, Peggy could see that he was an old man. "Very well, then," he sighed. "Let's get you kids home."
Next Chapter
