Work Header

Airing Her Secret

Work Text:

The warm summer air drifted through the open window of the living room, gently ruffling the script in Angie Martinelli’s hand. She’d spent the last hour studying a scene, trying to commit it to memory before her audition next Tuesday, and she was reasonably confident she had her lines down.

At least, more confident than she was the last time.


She sighed. Who was she kidding?

Her last audition had been a total bust, even though she’d gone in feeling good about it. What she really needed was someone to run lines with, but a quick glance at Peggy Carter confirmed her roommate was still occupied with Operation Organization as Angie privately called it, and she knew better than to try to pry the woman away from cleaning. Once Peggy started household chores, it was near impossible to get her to do anything else. Her focus and unbridled enthusiasm for cleanliness were frightening in their intensity, and Angie secretly wondered if Peggy had always been that way or if it was a product of her Army and SSR training.

She peered at Peggy again and squinted, contemplating those choices. After a long moment, she shook her head. Probably both.

Peggy cleared her throat, and Angie jumped, startled out of her reverie.

“Angie, are you staring at me?”

Peggy’s amused question hung in the air, and Angie realized, with embarrassment, that she had indeed been staring at Peggy. She felt her cheeks grow warm.

“Um, maybe?”

Peggy laughed. “Might I ask why?”

“You’re so just… organized?” Angie offered.

Peggy appeared confused. “And that caused you to stare at me?”

“Well,” Angie explained, “I don’t get it. I mean, how can one person be that organized?”

“Military training,” Peggy replied succinctly.

“I knew it!” Angie exclaimed triumphantly.

Peggy gave her a wry smile. “Did you?”

Angie nodded vigorously. “I figured it had to be that. At least, partly.”

“Bravo, Miss Martinelli. Your deductive powers are truly the stuff of legends. Now,” she continued, “would you mind dusting the bookcase?”

Angie, privately pleased at Peggy’s compliment, even if it was in jest, deflated a little at the mundane request and leveled a disbelieving stare at her roommate. “Ya’ want the shortest person in here to dust the tallest piece of furniture?”

Peggy rolled her eyes. “Use a stepladder. Stand on a chair. Be creative.”

“Geez, I hate it when you make reasonable suggestions,” Angie huffed, but she put down the script and walked to the chair sitting in the corner of the room. Dragging it to the bookcase, she turned back to Peggy. “Ya’ got a rag for me to use, or am I supposed to rip off part of my skirt?”

“Hardly,” Peggy responded dryly. She tossed a dishrag across the room and looked faintly impressed when Angie deftly caught it.

Angie pinned her with a triumphant smirk. “Stickball.”

“Well done.”

Laughing, Angie turned back to the bookcase and began running the rag over the shelves, diligently wiping away every trace of dust. Although she might grumble about cleaning, she was a stickler for a job well done, and besides, there was no way she would let Peggy Carter outdo her when it came to housework. If she did, she’d never hear the end of it.

She hummed to herself as she dusted the books that lined the third shelf and then stepped onto the chair to reach the fourth shelf, eyes skimming the classic covers lined side by side.

Howard Stark had quite the eclectic taste in literature – something she’d discovered shortly after moving into the large penthouse. Perusing the titles on a rainy day had led her to some rather startling discoveries, but she hadn’t been able to go back and research more because after she’d told Peggy about them, the books had mysteriously disappeared. It was a shame, really, because some of them had looked somewhat interesting. Not for the first time, she wondered what exactly Peggy had done with them, and she turned around to ask her just that.

However, the words died in her throat when she spied Peggy bent the fireplace, scooping ashes into a metal dustpan. She’d chosen to wear those damn Army trousers of hers today – thank God she’d foregone the tank top because Angie didn’t think she could’ve handled that again – and Angie had to forcibly remind herself to breathe. The green trousers fit snugly against her hips and waist, and Angie could only imagine what it’d be like to watch Peggy slowly shimmy out of them.

Heaven, came the unbidden response.

Whirling back around, Angie quickly resumed her dusting, doing her best to push the distracting thoughts from her mind. She did not need those images in her brain Nope. She had no desire to imagine Peggy stepping out of her trousers. Peggy standing before her in nothing but her stockings. Peggy reaching for Angie’s dress and pulling it over her head until…

Oh my God, Martinelli. Contain yourself.

Swallowing hard, Angie reached for the top shelf, standing on her toes to grasp the wooden lip. The chair beneath began to wobble precariously, and Angie silently cursed when she felt it start to tip backward.

As the chair fell away, she instinctively shot her other hand out to grip the shelf, clinging precariously for a moment before the bookcase began to topple forward. She let out a muffled squeak when her hands slipped free, and her body rotated as she rapidly plummeted to the floor. Angie briefly wondered how painful a broken leg or arm would be, but a second later, a solid mass collided with her, pushing the bookcase back against the wall and pinning Angie just above the floor.

“Oompf!” she grunted loudly, feeling her breath rush from her lungs the moment Peggy crashed into her. She felt strong hands clamp around her arms, and then Peggy gently lowered her to the floor, her warm body still pressed against Angie’s.

“Are you all right?” Peggy breathed, worried eyes frantically traveling down her form.

“Did I hurt you? I hit you rather forcefully, but I reacted instinctively, and–”

Angie gave her a shaky smile and inhaled. “I’m fine, Pegs. Really. Ya’ just knocked the wind out of me, but I ain’t complaining!”

That elicited a small smile from Peggy, but she still looked at Angie in concern. “This is my fault,” she continued, and Angie was surprised to find Peggy was actually fretting over her. “I should never have suggested you use a chair.”

“Honestly, Peggy. I’m fine,” Angie repeated.

Peggy stepped back and raised a hand to Angie’s head. “Are you sure? I collided with you rather emphatically.” Her fingers glided across Angie’s scalp, and Angie bit back a moan at the sensation. Between her earlier imaginings, the memory Peggy’s breasts tantalizing pressed against her own thin blouse, and the feel of warm fingers caressing her head… it was too much too handle.

Giving in to the desires she’d harbored for months, Angie stepped closer and turned her head until her lips were just millimeters away from the steady pulse alongside Peggy’s neck. She felt Peggy’s fingers slip against her scalp and tighten in surprise.

You’ve come this far, she thought to herself. Might as well go for broke.

Closing her eyes, Angie leaned toward the softness she’d fantasized about so many nights alone in her bed and rained light kisses upon it. Her lips and tongue caressed the warmth beneath them, tasting the potent combination of skin and perfume that was wholly Peggy. She felt the insistent press of Peggy’s hips against her own, and satisfaction coursed through her when an approving sigh fell from Peggy’s lips, followed by a fervent, “Angie.”

Emboldened by her enthusiasm, Angie parted her lips and sank her teeth into Peggy’s throat, suckling the skin, while her hand worked its way upward to firmly settle on Peggy’s breast. Peggy’s earlier sigh of approval morphed into throaty moans, accompanied by Peggy’s hands insistently tugging Angie’s face up and guiding her mouth to meet Peggy’s for an ardent kiss.

It was Angie’s turn to moan when Peggy deepened the kiss and trailed a hand down until she palmed Angie’s backside, and when that hand began insistently pulling Angie against another area she’d fantasized about many sleepless nights, all coherent thought left Angie’s mind.

All she could focus on was Peggy’s inquisitive tongue dancing with her own and Peggy’s hips moving in time with hers in a fashion that most people would consider positively scandalous.

To hell with propriety, Angie thought. If scandalous is what it took for Peggy to keep doing that to her, sign her up for a scarlet A and add in a few more letters for good measure!

When they finally broke apart - mostly because they needed to breathe - Peggy stared at her, eyes wide with a mixture of shock and desire, her lipstick smeared across her lovely features. Angie struggled to regain control of her breathing, and it was a few moments before either of them spoke. When they did, it was Peggy who broke the silence.

“Well, that was unexpected,” she murmured.

Angie gazed back at her. “Was it?” she softly asked.

To her credit, Peggy didn’t flinch or look away. Instead, she returned Angie’s searching look. When she spoke again, a tone of humor threaded her words.

“Perhaps not,” she conceded. She tugged Angie in for another kiss, this one less frantic than their earlier ones, and Angie allowed herself to relax into the embrace. When they parted, she laid her against Peggy’s shoulder and looped her around the older woman’s waist. She sighed contentedly.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Peggy offered as she gently stroked Angie’s back.

“I was just thinking if this is how we’ll end up, you should ask me to dust the bookcase more often,” Angie giggled.

“I think we could arrange that,” Peggy murmured. “It is rather pleasurable.”

“Absolutely,” Angie agreed.

She smiled when she heard Peggy’s answering chuckle, and opened her mouth to respond, but she never got the chance because Peggy pulled her for another kiss, and then another.

They could talk later, Angie decided. Much later.