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Inside the Room

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Steve tries to catch his breath as he lifts his hand to knock, tentatively, at the door.

"Enter."

Peggy doesn't sound mad. Her voice is as even as ever. Swallowing hard, he turns the knob and steps inside the room.

They've only met here four times, before today, but Steve's already started to think of it as their room, the little refuge from the world that they make together. To the average Joe walking in, there's nothing to say that it's special. It's still bare and empty, standard officers' quarters not currently in use. But Steve can see the small signs of their past nights together: the neat stack of spare blankets in the open cupboard that Steve uses for kneeling on; the two standard-issue ladies' neckties set on the bedside table that Peggy uses to tie Steve's wrists; the loose bobby pin gleaming on the floor, just under the edge of the bed, leftover from one of the times Peggy let Steve take her hair down for her. She said, once, that she would teach him to braid it for her. Right now, he wishes he were already sitting behind her, running his hands through her soft waves, not standing in the doorway and unsure of his welcome.

"Shut the door behind you," Peggy says. She's sitting in the only chair in the room, a hard-backed wooden one meant to go with the small, rickety desk, currently pulled out so it's next to the bed, facing the door. As Steve enters, she doesn't look up from the book she's reading.

Steve shuts the door behind him. He's still out of breath from running across the field to get here. Not that any kind of speed would've been enough, but he hadn't wanted to add another second to his transgression.

"You're late, Private Rogers," Peggy says, flipping a page. Steve nods and comes to attention; if she's using his rank, then it's serious.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he says. He wants to tell her why, tell her that he would never willingly miss a single moment of what they do together, tell her that he would live at her feet if he could. He holds it all in and tries not to fidget.

She looks up from her book, and maybe some of what he's thinking is showing on his face, because her lips twitch upward at the corner just a little.

"Care to tell me why?"

Steve lets out a breath, and feels his heart start to slow down in his chest. He's hers to command, and he would do anything she asked of him, but sometimes she seems to know which orders he really needs to hear.

"I had to wait for the guy in the bunk next to me to fall asleep," Steve explains gratefully. "There's no way he wouldn't have noticed me if I'd snuck out while he was tossing and turning." He takes a breath and adds, "I would never be late if I could help it, ma'am."

"At ease," Peggy says, her tone softening. Steve relaxes into the position. "I suppose there's not much to be done about that. Perhaps in the future you can come to me at the earliest opportunity, rather than waiting for the precise time. I'd rather you be early if anything."

"Yes, ma'am," Steve says, quickly, eagerly.

"However, it does remain that you were – " she glances at her wristwatch – "twenty minutes late, and I have already begun reading my book." She holds it up, and Steve sees the title on the cover: Nightwood.

"Should I go, then, ma'am?" Steve asks, as quietly as he can against the sinking feeling of disappointment taking up residence in his stomach.

"No, I think not," Peggy says, watching him carefully. "Go and fetch the blankets, and make yourself a place to kneel." She taps the floor with her shoe, making a sharp click-click against the concrete. "Right here."

Steve does as she asks, trying to concentrate on the little physical details of the task so that he doesn't have to think about the nervous shaking of his hands or the sweat breaking out at the nape of his neck. He focuses on the pull of muscles in his back as he bends to pick up the blankets, their texture against his hands, the steps he has to take to get back over to where Peggy's sitting, everything but the idea that he might have disappointed her. He arranges a spot for himself carefully, making sure that there are no gaps where his knees might slide off the fabric and come into painful contact with the floor.

When he's done, he can't help himself: he lets his body fall into place, kneeling at her feet.

They've only done this twice before, but it's starting to feel like home, too.

She glances up from the page, and a warm smile lights up her face. She reaches down with one hand and cups his jaw, the first contact between them in days.

"I love your enthusiasm, darling," she says, "but I didn't tell you to kneel yet, did I?"

"No, ma'am," Steve says, pushing up against her hand anyway, so eager for the sensation of her skin against his that he'll take whatever he can get. She indulges him for a moment, then grabs his ear to still him.

"Settle down. Or . . ." Steve sees her pause thoughtfully and bite her lip. "Or are you asking to be punished?" This last in a soft, wondering tone, like she's fascinated to hear his answer. He shivers.

"I – I don't know, ma'am," he says. "I just – I want – I was so worried when I was late to meet you."

"Got yourself all worked up, didn't you," Peggy says. Her grip on his ear relaxes, and her hand caresses down the side of his face.

Steve nods helplessly against her touch.

"And what do you want now, Steve?" She gazes deep into his eyes, and Steve marvels at the warm feeling of her attention on him. It's really something that she should want to use him at all; that she should want to make it good for him too is almost miraculous.

"I want whatever you want from me, Peg," Steve says. His voice scratches in his throat at the admission.

Her smile widens and she bends suddenly, dropping a kiss onto Steve's forehead. "You are lovely," she sighs. "All right. What I want is to finish reading this chapter. Stand up and strip."

He blushes as he begins, his skin warming at her straightforward command, at his own eager reaction to it. She's seen him naked plenty by now, but it still seems strange that she would want to.

As he hastens to unbutton his trousers, she interrupts him. "Go slower."

He looks up at her, his blush burning furiously in his cheeks, and meets her eyes. She's still holding her book in one hand, but her other hand is on her breast, fingers stroking her nipple to hardness through her blouse.

He goes slower. Her gaze on him makes him feel bold. "Didn't know that I'd be needing fancy underthings," he says, grinning, breathless, as he exposes the plain, Army-issue shorts beneath his trousers. Peggy's gaze darkens.

"Perhaps you'd like to borrow some of mine someday."

That idea – Peggy's fine silk and lace panties covering his prick – makes a hot flare of desire run through him like wildfire. He's never – but some of the fairies used to, down in the bars by the docks, and he could – there'd be nobody to know, here in this room with him and Peggy. And Peggy would want that, might even like that, him dressed up all girly.

"Yes, ma'am," he manages, because if he thinks of it as an order, then it's something he can want. His hands are shaking as he undoes the last button on his shirt and shrugs it off. Peggy's fingers are still rubbing lazily over her nipple as she watches him.

"And the rest," she says. He skins off his undershirt, baring his chest to the warm air. "Yes, lovely. There you are."

He has to skip awkwardly to take off his socks, which makes Peggy giggle and Steve grin. Then his shorts last, letting her see his half-hard cock, his skinny thighs, the sparse dark-blond hair leading down from his belly. He lays all the clothes neatly over the edge of the desk, so that they won't be wrinkled when he has to put them on again.

"Good. Now come and kneel here."

He does, facing Peggy's stocking-covered knees. He expects her to open her thighs for him, to let him fall down into her and lick her until she comes, but she crosses her legs instead, sliding one calf slowly against the other.

"Can you go down on your hands and knees, darling?" She points to where she wants him. "This way."

Steve follows her directions, so that he's facing the bed with Peggy sitting to his right, balanced on his hands and knees. He tries not to frown; this isn't what he was expecting. He wants to please her, but doesn't know how he can from this angle. He shifts, trying to surreptitiously look up at her.

"Shhhh," Peggy says. "Now unless you're uncomfortable or need to stop, I want you to stay still and quiet for me."

Steve bites his lip.

"It may be easier to close your eyes as well," she suggests, so Steve does, wondering if she's going to punish him now, if it's going to hurt. He'd take any blow she wanted to give.

He hears a soft thunk, followed by another – Peggy's shoes hitting the floor, he realizes – and then it's not pain he feels, but the soft warm press of her stocking feet against his skin.

Steve opens his eyes in shock – she didn't tell him he had to keep them closed, after all – and looks over his shoulder at her. She's sliding her feet slowly over his naked side, then up over his ribs, until her heels come to rest in the small of his back.

And then she picks up her book and continues reading.

After a moment, Steve turns back and lets his head hang down between his arms, closing his eyes again. Without his vision his whole world narrows down to what he can hear and feel: the soft sounds of Peggy's breathing, the rustle as she turns a page, the scratchy blankets against his palms, the pain in his wrists and knees from holding himself up . . . and, above all, the soft weight of her feet against his back.

He tries to concentrate on that sensation, the soft slick feel of her stockings, the press of her heels, the warmth of her skin. He stays as still as he can, being the thing she needs him to be, even if it's only a flat surface to put her feet on.

Even if it's only her footstool.

He wants, so badly, to be more than that, to do more for her. He tries to tell himself that this is what she asked him for, even if it's hard to keep from moving.

He doesn't know how long they spend like that. He keeps count of the pages turning, at first, anxious to be done so he can touch her again, but after a while he finds himself relaxing, breathing more slowly, and he loses track, the numbers slipping away from his mind. He has to shift position now and again, to keep from hurting his joints, but eventually even the pain starts to feel distant; eventually, the only part of him that feels present at all is the place in the dip of his lower back where Peggy Carter is making use of him.

Peggy shifts position, too, every now and again, crossing her ankles, uncrossing them, drawing one knee up so that she can brace her foot against his side. Every motion she makes feels huge, tectonic, like the recreation of his entire world; every inconsequential little stretch of her toes or roll of her ankle changes the landscape of his known universe. At one point, she starts rubbing her foot up and down against his side, maybe without even knowing she's doing it, just rubbing against him the way she might if he really were nothing more than a piece of furniture. It feels so good that Steve would press into it if he weren't so busy accepting it, would arch and moan against it if he weren't a quiet, motionless object whose only job is to exist.

There's a new sound, the book closing, but Steve doesn't really understand it until Peggy's feet are drawing away from him, sliding away over his back until they're no longer touching him at all. He misses them immediately, their weight and their warmth against his skin, and wonders how he'll live without them. An object with no job to do.

But then he feels the air being displaced next to him, and smells Peggy's perfume up close, and by the time it occurs to him to open his eyes Peggy is kneeling beside him, has his face in her hands and is smiling at him softly.

"Good book?" Steve manages, after a long moment passes. Peggy laughs softly.

"Yes, quite," she says. "There's a butch lesbian trapeze artist character whom I especially enjoy."

"Wow," Steve says, because he's never read a book like that. He starts to wonder where she got it, and whether it's the saucy kind or not, but his mind is working so slowly that he doesn't get far in his thinking before she speaks again.

"How are you feeling?" She urges him up to a kneeling position, so that they're both kneeling together on the blankets. Her palms cup his elbows.

"Real good," he sighs, smiling at her. He's coming up out of it now, but he still feels heavy, and slow, and easy, like nothing exists in the world besides the two of them.

"I can see that. God, you're gorgeous like this." She leans in, then, and takes his slack mouth with hers. Steve opens for her, relishing the feeling of her tongue inside him, letting his weight rest against her strong arms as she kisses him.

"You'd do anything I wanted right now, wouldn't you, Steve," Peggy whispers, against his mouth. "You'd obey any command."

"Yes, ma'am," Steve breathes. He trusts her. He knows she'll only give him the commands he needs to hear.

She kisses him again, hot and desperate. Steve melts into it, wishes he could melt right into her.

"Do you know, you remind me of a horse I had when I was a girl," Peggy says softly. "A sweet little Thoroughbred called Tom."

Steve shivers at the idea. He hasn't seen many horses, other than the ones the cops used back home, but he can imagine Peggy on one of those big English country estates like he's seen in books, riding astride like a man, horse working hard between her thighs, her hair flowing out behind her in the wind.

He collapses down into her arms, and she lets him fall against her, until he's cradled in the warm circle of her embrace and leaning back with his head on her breasts.

"Tom, huh," he says.

Peggy's arms squeeze him tight for a moment before her embrace loosens again. "Well, his proper name was Tomorrow's Desire, but we called him Tom for short."

"Was he a good horse?" Steve asks. After a pause, Peggy starts stroking his hair, starting at the crown of his head and petting him all the way down to his shoulder.

"A very good horse," she replies. "But eager. So eager to work. When I went out to the paddock he would be dancing with energy, too excited to mind me."

"But you made him mind you," Steve supplies.

"I did," she agrees, "though it took some doing. Carrot and crop, over and over, until the pressure of my knees was all he needed to know what to do." She pauses again, but keeps stroking his hair. "Are you a good horse, Steve?"

He arches back against her so that he can look her in the eye. She's smiling down at him. "Maybe not much of one. M'not very strong, or very tall." It's a nice idea, being hers in the way a horse could be, but his service isn't worth all that much.

"You're lucky that's not what I look for in an animal, then," she says. "I like them small and fiery."

He leans up as far as he can, just barely close enough to kiss her chin, her jaw, her cheek, soft fluttering grateful kisses. "All your fellas little like me, then?" He had thought that it was just convenience, her picking him from among all the men; that she wanted a respectful young man who wouldn't go blabbing to the other guys, and Steve was the package that came with. But now he wonders if she might like him for more than that.

She furrows her brow for a moment, and glances over at the book she's left on the bedside table. Then, taking a deep breath, she says, "Yes. All my fellas. And my young ladies, as well."

Turning in her arms, Steve looks up at her, and sees her uncertainty. He kisses her again, softly, on the mouth. "Really?" he asks, breathing hard. He can imagine it, Peggy doing these same things but with a sweet soft girl instead, Peggy holding her tight, Peggy taking her mouth, Peggy's hands buried in her hair, Peggy arching back against her clever mouth.

"Really," she replies, more confident now.

"Is there – do you have a young lady?" Steve doesn't know how he would feel about it if she did, but Peggy shakes her head.

"Right now, darling, I only have you." Steve releases the breath he was holding. "But as a result of knowing several . . . inventive young ladies, I do happen to be in possession of something I thought you might enjoy."

Steve raises his eyebrows, wondering what it could be. "A present?" he asks. "That's real sweet of you."

"Well, it ought to have been a present for a good boy who showed up when he was meant to," Peggy chides, grinning. "I'm not sure that you've earned it."

The challenge lights Steve up inside. "I'll earn it, ma'am. Whatever you want."

"Hmm. No harm in letting you try, I suppose. Very well. How about I let you do all the work of making me feel good?"

"Yes, ma'am," Steve breathes. "Sure thing."

She takes off her jacket and wristwatch, but nothing else, lying down on the bed with one knee drawn up, watching him intensely to see what he'll do.

Steve squares his shoulders and sets his jaw and dives in, telling himself to go slow and do it right.

Make me feel good, Peggy had said, the kind of order that says she trusts him to know what that is. To do right by her.

She trusts him, more and more, and Steve wants very badly to be worthy of it.

He undoes the buttons on her blouse, slowly, and bends his head each time to kiss the skin he's just revealed: at her collarbone, between her breasts, over the scratchy lace of her brassiere, then down her belly to her waist. She strokes his hair lightly, watching him.

"You were touching yourself, before," Steve says, remembering. "When you were watching me."

"Mmmm," Peggy agrees, pulling her arms out of the sleeves of the blouse.

So Steve skims his fingertips over her breast, touching her through the brassiere, and finds the hard nub of her nipple. Peggy makes a quiet throaty noise of pleasure, so Steve repeats the action, harder, and is rewarded with her satisfied smile.

"That's lovely, darling," she says.

"Is it – should I take this off? Or is it better to leave it on?" he asks, without stopping the motion of his thumbs over her nipples.

Peggy sits up on her elbows. "I gave you a mission, soldier," Peggy says, grinning up at him. "Now it's your job to carry it out to my satisfaction."

"Yes, ma'am," Steve laughs, and bends his head to kiss her neck. She arches back to allow him access, and while they're so close, Steve twines his arms behind her and undoes the hook closures so that the brassiere falls away from her chest. His clever artist's fingers are good for something, after all.

He goes on kissing her, the hard lines of her collarbones, the soft skin on the slopes of her breasts. He's kissed her before, but never for such a long time, or in so many places; he feels suddenly powerful, using his mouth on her and listening to her soft throaty groans beneath him. He gets bolder with his kisses, opening his mouth, daring to use his tongue, daring to suck and to bite. Steve listens carefully as Peggy's approving noises get louder and more frequent, and he follows her pleasure as best he can. Sometimes she laughs, or jerks away from him, and he backs away from the ticklish, sensitive places and works on getting her moaning again.

When he dares to put his mouth on her nipple, her gasp is shockingly loud, and her hands come up to cradle his head. Steve doesn't stop, still kissing and lipping at her, but he does manage to look up and meet her gaze. She's looking down at him, too, fondness and heat in her eyes, and she nods at him.

"Keep doing that, sweetheart, I love it."

Steve's body thrills at this encouragement, warm and tingling all over. He braces his hands against her sides and sucks harder, rubbing the flat of his tongue against her nipple, even grazing his teeth over it. Peggy moans. Steve, restless, eager for more, moves his mouth to her other breast and sucks there, too, drawing out another moan. He wants to do this forever: wants to take her body inside his mouth and pleasure her, wants to open up for her and let her enter him. His lips are starting to feel sore and tender, bruised by repeated contact with her skin; Steve revels in the feeling, that his open mouth could be a tool for her service. He doesn't care about his prick, half-hard between his legs, or his own body at all: he wants to be nothing more than his mouth, his hands, the parts of him that please her best.

Lifting her hips, Peggy reaches behind herself and undoes the zipper for her skirt; once it's loose around her hips, Steve takes the hint and pulls it gently down and off. His heart races a little faster at the sight of her strong thighs and round hips, for all that he's seen her naked before. It still feels like a gift, every time, to be allowed to look at her.

It doesn't take him long to notice, though, that something's a little different from usual.

Steve trails his hand up her leg, following one of her garter straps, to the crease where her thigh meets her sex. She's not wearing any panties.

"I had entertained notions of grabbing you as soon as you came in the door," Peggy explains, as Steve runs his fingers through her curls and down to her wet lips. "Hiking up my skirt and getting your mouth on me in two seconds flat."

"I can't say I'd mind that one bit, ma'am," Steve replies, smiling. She spreads her thighs for him, giving his fingers better access.

"No? Tell me what you'd like about it."

Steve blushes; it's one thing for her to say this stuff, but he finds it hard to get the words out. "I – you know," he stammers. He dips his fingers past her outer lips and starts to stroke, down to her hole and up to her nub, back and forth, the way he's learned that she likes it.

She reaches down to grasp his wrist. His hand stills.

"Tell me," she says, "I want to hear you say it."

Swallowing, Steve nods, and she lets go of him so he can begin stroking her again. He brings in his other hand and starts to work two fingers up inside of her, slowly, rubbing and spreading her wetness as he goes.

"I'd like – well, it's how you said it. You grabbing hold of me. Maybe pushing me up against the wall. Pushing me down to my knees."

"Mmmm," Peggy agrees, canting her hips up a bit to meet Steve's fingers.

"And I love how you taste," he adds, trying to clear his throat as his voice cracks. It's such a filthy thing to say, but he feels driven to push on and tell her all of it. "I love how you get so hot and wet for me, Peg. I always feel – feel surrounded by you. Safe."

It sounds silly, but Peggy doesn't seem to mind one bit; she reaches up, twining her hand into Steve's hair, and pulls him down towards her body. He goes.

"Do it now," she says. "Put your mouth on me, Steve."

He doesn't wait for another order, bending his head and pressing soft kisses to her outer lips before spreading her open with his fingers and starting up in earnest. He doesn't think he's ever going to get tired of this, the heat and pressure of her thighs wrapped around him, the smell and taste of her, the way he gets to sink inside her and make her feel good.

He puts his tongue up inside of her, and presses his nose to her pearl, and sucks on her lips, and when she gets closer he uses his fingers again, curling them up into her while he busies his mouth elsewhere. She comes, clenching down on his fingers, arching against his mouth, crying out softly, but she doesn't tell him to stop, so Steve redoubles his efforts, licking and kissing and stroking her as sweet as he can.

He eats her out for a long time, bringing her off again and again, until his lips are tingling and his tongue is sore. He doesn't stop until she tugs on his ear to get his attention, and it's only then that he lifts his dripping face from her body.

"That'll do for now," she pants. She flails at him weakly, and as he crawls up her body he marvels at the sight of her, rosy and flushed, chest rising and falling, gleaming with sweat, hair plastered to her temples.

Steve wipes his face with a flannel cloth Peggy left by the bedside, then slots himself in next to her, propped up on his side so he can watch her get her breath back.

"You really did take to that like a fish to water," Peggy exclaims, and Steve giggles.

"I told you I like it," Steve says. Peggy spares him a glance.

"Well, I can certainly believe it. Now you've ruined me. I'm going to want your pretty mouth on me all the time." She turns her head to kiss him, taking her taste back from his tongue.

"Me too," Steve says quietly. If only the world were different, and he could do nothing else with his life but pleasure her. If only there weren't an Army base outside this room, this little sanctuary they've created.

Peggy kisses him again, briefly. "And I'd definitely say you've earned your reward," she says, her lips brushing against his as she speaks. Steve shivers.

"Can I ask what it is now, ma'am?" Steve asks. He slides a hand over her belly, then bends to kiss there, too, as sweetly as he can. He looks up at her under his lashes and sees her raise her eyebrow at him. He kisses her belly again, and bats his lashes, too for good measure. Peggy laughs softly, and Steve grins up at her, pleased to hear it.

"All right, since you're irresistible when you're doe-eyed," she says, still laughing. She rolls up to a sitting position and plants her feet on the floor. "Come and take my stockings off, darling."

Steve scrambles up and goes around to the other side of the bed to do it, unclipping each fastening until he can roll the stockings, one by one, down and off her legs. He touches her calves, her ankles, all the way down to run his fingers over the arches of her feet and her round toes. He kisses her knee as he takes off her garter belt.

"Much better," Peggy sighs. Then she stands up and walks naked over to the desk where she left her things. There's a wooden box there that Steve didn't notice before. Peggy opens it, draws out what's inside, and then turns and tosses it on the bed next to Steve, where it lands with a heavy thud.

Steve's heart starts to race. On the bed next to him, amid a tangle of soft leather straps, is a long, curved cock. It looks to be made of rubber.

He forces himself to take a few deep breaths to slow his heartbeat down; the last thing he needs is to collapse into a dead faint at the sight of such a thing. Peggy'd tease him forever.

She comes over to sit next to him on the bed. "Have you ever seen one before?" she asks. Steve shakes his head no. "Would you like to touch it?"

He does; it's slippery and cool, and doesn't feel anything like a real cock. It's shaped to look like one, though, with its rounded, flaring head. Steve lets his finger trail along it.

"Do you like it, darling?" Peggy whispers in his ear, kissing his neck. Steve swallows.

"Yeah," Steve says, unable to help himself. He can see how the straps would work, and just the thought of it – Peggy with a hard prick curving up from between her thighs – is enough to make him start to get hard again. "But – Peg, I can't see what it'll do for you."

Peggy laughs. "Trust me, Steve," she says, "it'll do plenty." She runs her hand along his jaw, a signal that he should turn his head toward her, so he does, meeting her eyes. "Especially since you and your clever little cunt-licking tongue just sucked me off so brilliantly," she adds, in a low voice.

She kisses his mouth, holding him in place so she can do it just how she wants, and her tongue against his lips feels like a sign of what's to come.

Steve opens his lips for her, and moans. "Are you going to fuck me with it, ma'am?" Steve pants, when they pull apart, resting his forehead against hers. "Is that my present?"

"If it's what you want," Peggy drawls, smiling wickedly at him. "Do you want it? Want to feel my cock inside you?"

He flushes, caught between shame and desire, but he lifts his eyes to meet hers, steady and sure. "I want it, Peggy. Please."

"Very good," she says, petting his hair. "Now, shall I put you on your back or on your hands and knees?"

Steve closes his eyes briefly, trying to decide. He's been on his hands and knees a lot tonight already, but the other way is bound to hurt his back. He knew a guy who used to do him on his side, and he figures he could ask Peggy for that, but it's not what he wants.

"On my hands and knees, please, ma'am," he says. It'll be worth the pain, to feel Peggy on top of him like that. "So long as you're sure you . . . you want to."

Peggy stands up and picks up the harness, stepping into it and pulling it up her hips. She doesn't answer Steve's implied question, just turns to him and holds out the ends of the straps. Wordlessly, he does up the buckle, but she shakes her head at him.

"Tighter, darling," she says.

Steve pulls the leather tighter around her, then buckles it again, and she nods. "Should work," she says. Glancing back over her shoulder at him, she frowns a little. "I ought to mention that I've never done this with a man before."

She turns, then, and Steve gets a good look at the dick bobbing up from her body, the contrast of the dark leather straps against her pale skin, the way the rubber moves when she does, stepping in closer to him. Steve, still sitting on the bed, is eye to eye with it, so to speak.

He looks up at her face. "You want I should show you the ropes, ma'am?" he asks, and Peggy chuckles.

"Please do," she replies. Steve shuffles forward on the bed a few inches, wondering how far she might want to take this. How much she might want to see. She watches him while he hesitates, and after a few seconds he decides to throw caution to the wind: he wraps his hand around the shaft and takes the head in his mouth.

It's pretty big, and the way it stretches out his lips and forces him to drop his jaw is deeply familiar. The thick rubber smell, though, keeps him from imagining any of the other cocks he's sucked, on his knees in back alleys or in cheap rented rooms: this is no one else but Peggy Carter sliding over his tongue.

"Oh," Peggy gasps, just as if it really were her cock, and runs a hand through his hair. "Oh, that is a pretty sight." As Steve continues to suck, getting the rubber as wet as he can, she runs a thumb along his upper lip and says, "Look at your beautiful mouth."

Steve pulls back after a minute, a little embarrassed after the fact to have let Peggy see him like that. But Peggy doesn't give him any time to feel embarrassed. Instead, she urges him up and then onto his hands and knees on the bed. "Get comfortable, darling," she says, and Steve does his best, finding positions for his knees that don't hurt too bad.

"I – it's better if you have something slick," he says, quietly. "Makes it easier."

"So I've heard," Peggy says, and Steve sees motion in his peripheral vision as she digs something out of the pocket of her jacket, still lying on the desk. "I brought some Vaseline."

Steve nods, feeling strange and embarrassed again. The thought of Peggy fucking him had been such a powerful fantasy that he'd forgotten the steps it would take to get there. The exposure of waiting here for her with his ass in the air. The need for her to . . . get her hands dirty. He squirms and fidgets and tries to breathe slowly.

Peggy's hand lands gently on the small of his back, just where she put her feet before, and he feels a little of the tension drain out of him.

"What is it, Steve?" she asks. "Do you not want to – "

"I do, I want to," Steve babbles. "It's only that . . . this is for me, and you shouldn't have to . . . to do all this."

"Well," Peggy says, slowly, "then let me ask you this, Steve. Is it your job to decide what I should want to do?"

Staring down at the sheets, Steve shakes his head hard. "No, ma'am. I thought that – "

"What is your job, Steve?" she asks, speaking over him. There's a long silence between them while Steve struggles with the words.

"To do what you want," he manages, eventually.

"Very good," Peggy says, soothing her hand over his back. "And I want to see you like this, Steve, all vulnerable and ready, waiting for my touch." She comes closer, kissing his bony shoulder. "I want to make you scream."

Steve shudders and closes his eyes; when he does, he hears the sound of her opening the tin of Vaseline, and waits for her to come back to him.

"Steve, darling," she says, kissing his temple. "Do you want to keep saying yes?"

He opens his eyes at that; she hasn't asked him so directly since their first time together. He turns his head to meet her gaze, and sees her worry and care. He loves her so intensely in that moment, like the bright blooming of spring inside his chest, that he can't bear to let her worry any more. He has to tell her the truth, let her know how badly he wants her inside of him.

"Yes," he says, and kisses her eagerly, letting her have his mouth, his breath, his body. She kisses him back, fiercely, and when she's done with his mouth she moves away, down his body, and slides her fingers into his asshole.

He clenches at first, but makes himself relax as best he can.

"So tight, sweetheart," Peggy says, rocking her fingers in gently, gently. "I can't wait to get you opened up for me."

She takes her time with him, and it feels so decadent, so wrong to be asking this of her, but she keeps up a low commentary the whole time, telling him that he's lovely, that his ass is opening up beautifully, that she loves doing this to him, and Steve grips the sheets tighter and lets himself have it.

Her fingers inside him feel incredibly good, and Steve can't help rocking back against her, desperate for more. It's a feeling he didn't even know he missed, that sensation of stretching around someone, of being loved from the inside.

"How are you doing, Steve?" Peggy asks, after a minute.

"G-good," Steve stutters, and she chuckles.

"Remember what I want, darling. What did I say I wanted?"

"To, uh. To make me scream, ma'am." Steve's cock is getting hard between his legs, and his whole body feels lit up like a beacon, and it's easier, in this position, to say those kinds of things to her.

"That's right. So tell me what I ought to do to make that happen, Steve." Her fingers are sliding in and out of him now, moving easily, fucking him in short thrusts.

"You – there's – you can curl your f-fingers down," Steve manages, eventually. "There's a spot that feels really good."

"Oh ho," Peggy says. "That's familiar enough. Tell me when I find it."

Steve doesn't have to tell her, because when she finds it he cries out involuntarily, his fingers clenching against the sheets.

"Gorgeous," Peggy murmurs. "Now beg me for more, darling. Tell me how much you want it."

"Please," Steve says, on the rush of an exhaled breath, "please, please, please, ma'am, please touch me like that, I want it so bad – "

"Good boy," Peggy says, and curls her fingers inside him, again and again, until he's lost in it, pushing back against her shamelessly, pleading helplessly, open and eager beneath her hands.

"Will you – please, ma'am, will you put it in me," Steve pants, when he can find the breath for it. "Please, put it inside me now."

"God yes," Peggy breathes. "I am going to fuck you so hard, darling, I'm going to make it so good for you, just wait a moment for me."

She takes her fingers out of him and starts pressing in with her cock instead, spreading him open wider and filling him up. She goes slow, agonizingly slow, and Steve groans.

"Please," he sobs. Her free hand starts stroking him again, on his ass, on the small of his back, down his thigh, as if to keep him from spooking.

"Shhh," she says. "Be patient. My beautiful little horse. Did you think I wasn't going to ride you?"

Steve cries out again, and when he does she slips all the way into him, her hot skin seated tight against him. He can feel the leather straps against his ass.

Peggy laughs, delight and accomplishment. Her breath ghosts over his back. She stays still, and Steve can't bear it anymore. He wants to get ridden hard.

"Please, please," he begs. "I want that so much, Peg, please."

"Oh, I am going to ride you so hard," she says. "I am going to work you until you're exhausted."

"Just, just, let me," Steve says, and moves his hands so that he's braced a little better, so his arms won't give way under the pounding he knows he's about to get. Peggy waits, and pulls the loose sheet away from his hands so that he won't slide too much.

"All right," she says. "Ready, darling?"

Steve nods. "Please, ma'am," he says.

"Gorgeous boy," she says, and Steve can hear that she's grinning. Then she pulls out and shoves back into him, hard and fast.

Steve was expecting to get fucked, but he never dreamed that it would be like this, this teeth-rattling fucking that Peggy is giving him. She's rough and she's powerful and she's taking him, making him feel taken, his whole body open and eager for her cock. Peggy wraps an arm around his chest to hold him in place, and where her breasts press against his back he can feel her hard, tight nipples; where her lips graze his shoulder he can feel heat of her breath, speeding up as she fucks him, uses him, grinds down into him.

Steve comes with Peggy buried deep inside him, just as she pauses between strokes, comes hard and spills helplessly as he shakes all over, and he isn't sure but he does think he screams. Peggy keeps on fucking him, though, grunting with the effort of snapping her hips forward again and again, and after a while Steve comes again, his hard cock spurting against his belly, making even more of a mess of him.

"I can keep this up forever, Steve," Peggy whispers into his ear. "I can ride you until you're utterly ruined. Do you want me to keep going?"

"Yes," Steve sobs, "yes, yes, yes, please, yes," and he spreads his legs further and urges her on.

"Oh, oh, God," Peggy is groaning behind him. He feels her shift, and one of her hands disappears from his body; he thinks she's worked it under the harness so that she can touch herself. "God, you'll push yourself all the way to the edge, won't you. Lovely boy."

She fucks him until she comes, her strokes stuttering and stalling out for a moment, and then she fucks him some more, slower, sliding in and out of him until he doesn't know anything but her anymore, until his whole body is one aching site of pleasure, made to sing by her cock and her hands and her mouth on his skin.

She doesn't stop until he comes a third time – or, thinks he does, his whole body flashing white with pleasure while his cock jerks between his legs. It's then that his wrists and knees give out and he collapses down onto the bed, smearing his come all over his body and burying his head against the crumpled sheets. He laughs, helplessly, and Peggy laughs too as she draws out of him, slapping him once on the ass and dismounting easily. She gets shakily to her feet and starts unbuckling the harness; Steve wants to move to help her, but isn't sure any of his muscles are working anymore.

Instead, she puts the harness and rubber cock back into the box they came from, then comes back over to sit next to Steve. She draws his head into her lap, which is how he sees the angry red mark on her waist, left behind by one of the leather straps.

"Hey, you're hurt," Steve manages, tracing the air above the little wound with a finger. It looks painful.

"Mmmm," Peggy agrees, not seeming to care, and tugs him closer so that his head is pillowed on her thigh. Steve turns his face so that he can look up at her.

"Please, Peggy, I don't want to hurt you," he says, brow furrowing. Smiling, she bends and kisses his forehead.

"Sweetheart. You didn't. The harness doesn't fit perfectly. I made that choice."

He frowns; she did, but it still feels like something she did for him.

"And the next time I bring my harness, and tell you to get down on your knees so I can fuck your arse from behind, I'll expect you to do it, even if you think I might get a little friction burn. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am." He swallows hard; he wants her to understand. "It's only that I worry about you. Like you worry about me." Peggy has always taken care of him, in this room, making sure that he's comfortable and not hurt in the slightest from what they do together. It makes him feel like a cad that he's not doing the same for her.

She sighs. "Will it make you feel better to put some Vaseline on it for me?"

Steve nods eagerly. "Thank you, ma'am." He finds the tin on the bedside table where Peggy left it, and digs out enough to do the job. Peggy bends sideways to give him better access, and he drapes himself along her body, skin to skin, so that he can lightly rub it over the abrasion.

Peggy hisses as he does it. Steve grins.

"You're not so tough after all," he says. "And here all the men are afraid of you."

"Hey," she protests, grabbing hold of him by the hair and shaking him lightly. "I'm plenty tough enough to handle you." She is, bigger and broader and stronger than him by a mile. Steve loves it.

She pauses, and Steve looks up at her, searching her face. After a moment she speaks again. "Next time I put on the harness and tell you to bend over and take a pounding, what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to do what you say, ma'am," Steve murmurs. She smiles, and her tight fist loosens, releasing Steve's hair. Taking advantage of his opportunity, he bends his head and kisses her hip, right next to the place where she's hurt. "And I'm going to take care of you afterwards, too."

Her hands are on him again, but she's not grabbing or manhandling him; instead she's gentle, and tentative, drawing him up to her with the lightest touches, then kissing him softly, lingeringly, on the lips.

"I really shouldn't be falling in love with you," she says, afterwards. "It's an entirely bad plan."

"I can't speak for you, ma'am," Steve says, heart thudding in his chest, "but for me, it's a little late to be thinking of that." More than he should say, maybe, but she brought it up, and he doesn't think he could've kept it behind his teeth for much longer anyhow. Peggy's like the sun, shining bright and hot for all the world to see, and the moment he fell into her orbit he was lost. Not much use in not admitting it.

"I see," Peggy says, softly. "Well, then. My darling. My love. What shall we do next?" She wraps her arms around Steve's shoulders, and Steve shifts so that he's sitting in her lap, his legs spread on either side of her waist.

Steve doesn't think about the week he has left in basic training, or the scientific program he's apparently being evaluated for, or the Infantry regiment that's waiting for the rest of them who don't get selected. All the forces that will conspire to pull them apart, someday soon. Instead he kisses Peggy as sweet as he knows how, puts all of everything he's feeling into it, and then smiles for her.

"I'll sneak out earlier tomorrow, ma'am. If you'll have me."

She nods, and strokes his hair. He leans into the petting. "I'll have you," she promises. "As long as I can."