[ She's breathless and flushed in the aftermath, fingers still curled through his hair and the unbuttoned shirt hanging off his broad shoulders, her forehead pressed to his and lips hovering over his, colour long since kissed off them and smudged at the edge. Can't hear much of anything over the pounding of her heart or the soft groan lost in the gasp of space between them as he lowers her from how she's hitched up around his hips, pinned between him and the wall, knees still shaky even as her bare feet come back down to solid ground. ]
Bloody hell, [ Peggy manages, her voice more laughter and air than anything of substance. She's hyperaware of everything — the serum's like that, and months after she's woken up in this not-so-foreign future she's still getting used to the changes in her own body — but it's no burden. The buzzing nerves, the hot rush of endorphins in the comedown, the way Steve smells of soap and sweat and her lingering perfume clinging to his skin from how they were pressed flush together during their frantic, passionate lovemaking.
Barely even made it to the bed, not three feet away. It's like that, sometimes, how they get carried away with each other, careening through space and time as always until they meet a (literal) brick wall. Her silk blouse is rumpled, trousers caught around her ankles, and she barely notices any of it as she leans up to drag him in for another kiss, languid and shamelessly open. And they carry on like that until her phone buzzes on the dresser.
Peggy moans into his mouth in protest, hand fumbling blindly until she locates the damned thing and hits a couple buttons until it goes silent. (It may ring again, if it's urgent — and she's rebuilding SHIELD in the ashes of the new world, so it may very well be, but for now they have peace and quiet.) ]
Sorry, [ she murmurs, cradling Steve's face between her hands. ] Where were we?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mumbles something about future au idk
Bloody hell, [ Peggy manages, her voice more laughter and air than anything of substance. She's hyperaware of everything — the serum's like that, and months after she's woken up in this not-so-foreign future she's still getting used to the changes in her own body — but it's no burden. The buzzing nerves, the hot rush of endorphins in the comedown, the way Steve smells of soap and sweat and her lingering perfume clinging to his skin from how they were pressed flush together during their frantic, passionate lovemaking.
Barely even made it to the bed, not three feet away. It's like that, sometimes, how they get carried away with each other, careening through space and time as always until they meet a (literal) brick wall. Her silk blouse is rumpled, trousers caught around her ankles, and she barely notices any of it as she leans up to drag him in for another kiss, languid and shamelessly open. And they carry on like that until her phone buzzes on the dresser.
Peggy moans into his mouth in protest, hand fumbling blindly until she locates the damned thing and hits a couple buttons until it goes silent. (It may ring again, if it's urgent — and she's rebuilding SHIELD in the ashes of the new world, so it may very well be, but for now they have peace and quiet.) ]
Sorry, [ she murmurs, cradling Steve's face between her hands. ] Where were we?