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The Shining Hour

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Her legs refuse to stop trembling. Under her hands, her thighs quake, pressed tight together and sticky with cold sweat. Jarvis doesn’t say a word, though Peggy can feel his eyes flicker to her at every stoplight, and when they arrive at Howard’s house, he drives right up to the front door instead of parking in the underground garage.

He turns the key in the ignition; the engine rumbles off and goes silent. “Miss Carter,” he starts. His hands are on the steering wheel, fingers wrapped tight. “I do ask that you let me know if there is any assistance I can provide. Anything.” He looks at her, and Peggy can’t quite meet his eye.

It is, after all, her fault that Wilkes – Jason – is dead; she pulls people in after her like a dying black hole. Can she really continue to involve civilians in this bull-headed mess she’s kicking up?

A beat and a pause, and Jarvis looks away. He cracks open his door and is out and around, opening Peggy’s door, before she really notices. His hand, on hers, is steady; she doesn’t look him in the eye.

Inside, she goes directly upstairs. Jarvis seems ready to follow for a moment, but doesn’t. Her clothes smell odd: of smoke, and her sweat, and something sharp and elusive, a note that meets the others only on the back of her throat, making itself known even as it disappears on her next breath.

She stands still in the center of her bedroom: inhales, exhales. It won’t be caught, not quite, though she concentrates, filters away everything else: the rosy-edged light, just appearing at the corner of the window frame; the scent of her own perfume, worn away and settled into her skin; the lavender crispness of her sheets, washed by Ana’s hands every few days and freshened with linen water in the mornings. It won’t be caught.

“You should sleep.” Ana’s voice cracked through Peggy’s thoughts, and the strange scent – if it was, in fact, a scent, not just a charge in the air – flits away. Ana places a mug of steaming hot chocolate on the bedside table as Peggy turns, and touches her shoulder gently. Her hand is warm; Peggy feels it down to her skin and lets her eyes flicker closed for a moment.

She hadn’t startled when Ana opened the door, nor tensed ready for combat, an instinct long-honed and rarely forgotten even in deep reveries of sleep or distracted, snapping thoughts. Not since 1940 and her first days at the SOE, except in the approaching presence of a few people: Jarvis, increasingly, whose footfall tells her she has backup, and Angie, whose light step means she’s at home. A home made more by Angie’s busy, enveloping presence, warm and light and loving, than by the ostentatious furniture Howard uses to impress his conquests.

Peggy turns her head, brushes her cheek against the back of Ana’s hand. If Angie were here, she would pull Peggy close to her and tuck her chin on Peggy’s shoulder, calming her unruly mind with soft words and soft hands. She isn’t, though; this quick consultation was only supposed to have Peggy away for a weekend. The days unfurl in front of her, now, as the depth of the investigation ahead becomes not more clear but murkier, a dark empty crevice down which she falls.

Ana slips her hand to Peggy’s neck, thumb rubbing up and down the knots of her vertebrae. “You will feel better with sleep,” she says, not adding any platitudes about the guilt that drapes over Peggy’s shoulders and weighs her down. “I will help you.” Her voice is as matter-of-fact as her hands, which move to the zip on the back of Peggy’s dress, and efficiently pull the dress open to slip away from her shoulders.

The room is warm, with the gently settled damp that pervades the Los Angeles air, but Peggy’s skin prickles. Sliding over Peggy’s hips, the dress is secure in Ana’s hands as Peggy steps out of it. She gives it a quick shake and slips it onto a hanger, zipping it back up and settling the shoulders so that the creases of the day won’t find themselves too comfortable and stay. Her hands have the same efficient care and grace as her husband’s.

“I can – manage,” Peggy says, standing there in her knickers, bra, and suspender belt. Her shoes are still on; she toes them off. Under her stockinged toes the carpet is too soft, a plush pile that her heels sink too deeply into.

“Don’t be foolish,” Ana says, placing her hands on Peggy’s shoulders. Glancing up, Peggy can just glimpse her own face and Ana’s behind her in the mirror above the dressing table. Ana waits, hands warm on Peggy’s shoulders, until Peggy gives her a small nod. Her hands move to Peggy’s thighs, where she unsnaps each garter with a quick flick of her thumb.

“Do you do this often for women in Howard’s house?” Peggy says, with a small, nervous laugh. Ana snorts, softly.

“I’m not the one undressing them,” she says in return. “And they’re usually gone too quickly for me to do any laundering.” She catches Peggy’s eye in the mirror again and lifts one eyebrow. Peggy laughs again, feeling it deep in her belly this time as she settles more comfortably into her hips, her heels, some of the cold, frozen tension released.

Ana slides her hands under the band of Peggy’s stocking, the back of one hand so close to Peggy’s knickers that she can feel a whisper of movement flutter across her pubis, and gently eases the stocking down Peggy’s leg. Her hands are kidskin soft – no snags here – and her fingertips just kiss the inner rise of Peggy’s anklebone to ask Peggy to lift her foot. Then the other – the smooth, round tips of her fingernails just skimming the tender underside of her foot, causing a quick, startled tremor – and she places them both on the vanity table.

“I’ll wash them for you,” she says, cutting off Peggy’s protest with a quick, “Nonsense.” This delicate care of her body and its necessities is strange; even another’s hands on her stockings with something beyond lust is unfamiliar.

She’s spent a long time in lonely, small quarters: barracks barren of other women, bedsits and tiny flats. Even rooming with Colleen they lived their separate day-and-night lives, Colleen’s smalls and stockings hanging over their small radiator, just-washed and still damp when Peggy woke, Colleen puttering in the kitchenette to make her morning dinner after the night shift. Anything nice was dried on makeshift racks in one’s own room at the Griffith, not left to be filched from the communal laundry room. Even now, she’s more likely the one to gather up a pile of stockings, left in a corner or on a dressing table over a few days, and give them a rinse in the sink, than Angie.

“Thank you,” Peggy says, allowing the unfamiliar comfort of another’s care. Ana presses against her hip, gently, in acknowledgment, as she unhooks the back of Peggy’s suspender belt, and then the same with her bra, up the long line of hooks following her spine. A deep breath escapes as Peggy’s body shifts back into softness, released from the press of her longline bra, as her breasts settle with the relief and the slight ache of a long day’s confinement. Ana sets the garments aside; they’ll need some airing, damp as she is with the sweat of her evening’s activities.

Finally, her knickers: Ana’s thumbs in the elastic of the waistband, skating them down her hips and off one foot then the other as Peggy lifts them. As she steps away, Peggy feels her absence, cool still air and her skin prickling. She shift, presses her thighs together; a flush rises up her chest as she wonders if the knickers in Ana’s hands are damp between the legs, evidence of the heat in her belly at Jason’s eyes on her, at the uncertain quiver in her muscles at the quick, efficient brush of Ana’s hands against her skin.

It had surprised her, that quickening in her stomach, in the cradle of her hips, when she met Jason at the Dunbar. She and Angie aren’t – well, they’ve promised not to promise, not yet, perhaps not ever, beyond what they give each other now – but it had been infrequent enough before her to come as a shock. At Jason’s look, at the way his eyes lingered on hers, on her mouth, on the tips of her fingers as she lifted her glass –

She closes her eyes. That’s quite enough.

Cool silk slips against her shoulders as Ana wraps a dressing gown around her. Peggy slides her arms into it, uncertain relief rippling in her stomach. For the first time, Ana’s hands linger longer than necessary as she tucks her body in behind Peggy’s to wrap the belt around her waist and tie it in a large, looped bow. Her hands settle on Peggy’s hips; against her back, Peggy can feel the small swell of Ana’s breasts, the cupped curve of her hipbones, and there again is that quiver.

“You will let me know if there is anything we can do for you,” Ana says, her breath the gentlest touch on Peggy’s ear.

“Yes – yes,” Peggy says, a tremulous breath.

“And now, you should sleep.” Ana presses her lips to Peggy’s temple; Peggy exhales. She wants to close her eyes, to lean back and take this comfort Ana offers – whatever it is. She wants to forget that Ana, and Jarvis, Jason, and Angie are civilians, that they are fragile.

“Yes,” she says again, and steps forward.

The bed is high and piled sumptuously; its layers, light and frothy as a cool shaved ice on a beachfront summer day, fold around her as she tucks her feet under the sheet. Light trickles in from her window; she closes her eyes against it.


It is morning, properly, when she wakes, though the curtains have been pulled tight against the encroaching light. She sits up; the back of her throat is sour and –

In the bathroom, Peggy retches over the toilet, but only a sour, measly stream of water comes up. Standing, she pulls her dressing gown back over her shoulders and ties it tight. A rinse to her mouth and a splash of water leaves her feeling if not better, at least less coated with the past night’s bitter tang.

Ana’s just opening the door as she walks back into the bedroom, and she smiles to see Peggy awake. She lifts a rocks glass with a shallow swallow of amber liquid. “It’s early, I know,” she says, passing the glass to Peggy. Peggy lifts an eyebrow, but takes it and sits by the window. “Edwin suggested tea,” she adds, “but I thought whiskey was more the order of the day.”

Her smile is small, but caring. “Bless you,” Peggy says, reaching for the glass. Howard has exquisite taste in whiskey – all the better to make up for his deplorable taste elsewhere. She sips it; it doesn’t burn, but it tingles, on her lips, her tongue, her throat. The sun, coming in from the window, seems to press all against her skin.

“It seems strange that I’d miss him,” she muses. “I’d only known him a few days, really.” Enough time that the flash of his smile recalls itself again, and again, to her memory; enough time that she feels quite desperate for wanting his hands on her waist again, guiding her in a dance. Enough time to know he didn’t deserve to get mixed up in her, and the SSR, and all of this.

“I don’t think it’s strange at all,” Ana answers. “Edwin had only known me a few weeks before he had forged papers, gone AWOL, stolen a plane, and helped me escape the Third Reich.” She looks down at her hands, then back up again at Peggy. “It doesn’t take long to realize you’ve met someone special.” She leans forward, hand touching Peggy’s knee. “Moments, sometimes,” she says. Her hand is warm through the silk of Peggy’s dressing gown, and her thumb rubs small circles against the bare skin of Peggy’s knee where the gown has slid aside.

Her body flushes with confusion: the soft, growing tingle leading out from the five small pressure points of Ana’s fingers; the twisting anger in her gut working itself out; the prickle of tears in her eyes. “I only wish I’d been able to know him better,” she says, not certain what the words cover up.

“I’m sure he felt the same,” Ana says, squeezing Peggy’s knee. “How could he not?” Peggy catches her eyes, bright and shining and very certain, and feels her breath catch low in her throat. She coughs; turns her head, looks away; wipes her eyes with the back of her thumbs.

Ana gives her one long moment, then stands. Before she leaves, she places her hand on Peggy’s shoulder, just where it curves into her neck and her bare skin shows at the edge of the dressing gown lapel. “I’m very sorry that it hurts,” she says, quiet and sincere, then leaves Peggy to her thoughts, and to her dressing.


She wants to work, to figure out what went wrong and where the zero matter is now, but after taking her statement at SSR HQ, Daniel narrows his eyes at her and tells her to get back home.

“I can work, Daniel, I’m not a child.”

“No, but you’ve yawned half-a-dozen times since you’ve been here and you’re slouching more than I’ve ever seen you.” Peggy sits up straighter and glares at him. Daniel sighs. “How about this: as soon as I clear some of the damaged equipment we bagged I’ll have a few things shipped over to you. Maybe you and Stark can take a look, figure out what they had going on at Isodyne beyond what we already know.”

“Why don’t I stay here and help catalogue them?”

“Samberly’s got them in the lab; you wanna work with him?” Nice trump card; nobody likes Samberly.

“Fine. But I expect them by this afternoon.”

Daniel nods, gives a little mock salute. Peggy tries not to feel dismissed, but isn’t sure it’s worth the effort to keep arguing. She is a little tired, and her shoulder’s a little sore, and her stomach has for the past few minutes been making its hunger known.

Lunch, then, and perhaps a nap, and then back to work.


There’s a spread already on the table when she and Jarvis arrive back, set for three. That’s not unusual; Jarvis insists that they use the dining room every evening – at least those when they’re not staking something out – with full flatware and all. In turn, Peggy won’t eat without Ana and Jarvis joining her: they might be the keepers of this house, but she can’t imagine having them wait on her while she eats alone at the eighteen-foot mahogany behemoth.

Ana bustles in with a tureen of creamy vichyssoise and gestures them to sit. “I thought something that might stick to the ribs,” she says, dishing up bowls for all of them. Peggy tucks into hers gratefully, then eats three cream cheese sandwiches and a full mango, plucked from Howard’s front garden, before settling back into her chair, hands and mouth sticky and sweet. Ana and Jarvis exchange a small smile and Ana pats her hand, giving Peggy a strange, pleased flush.

They’re fussing over her, she knows, and she knows she’s been pushing Jason to the far dark corners of her mind so she doesn’t have to think about why. She’d usually chafe at it, their little glances and Ana’s comforting hand, but over the past year Jarvis has slowly taught her that’s it’s not so bad, trusting someone enough to let them fuss over you. Jarvis fusses with the best of them, after all, but he’s also a steady right hand when she needs it, a calming presence when she’s fuming, and an oft-welcome burst of levity when she’s too deep in her own head.

“We’ve been talking, Peggy dear,” Ana says, nothing but gentle kindness in her voice. “We would like to ask you something.”

“I know you are – resilient,” Jarvis adds. There’s a spot of color high on both his cheeks as he glances up to catch Peggy’s eye, and then down again. “So do not think we offer this out of pity, but –”

“Just a desire to see you feel better,” Ana finishes. There’s a pause, a beat; Peggy doesn’t know what they’re saying until Ana’s squeezing her hand again and saying, “We would like to make you feel good.” Ana’s thumb traces Peggy’s palm as she holds her gaze, eyes bright and wide.

Ana licks her lower lip, and her meaning settles into place in Peggy’s mind.

“You – both of you?” She looks at Jarvis, who drags his gaze up with effort, cheeks brilliant now, but holds his chin steady as he looks at her.

“If you’ll have us,” Ana says, and Jarvis adds, in a murmur, “It would be our honor.” And, oh, that sends a funny little spark down Peggy’s spine, that quiet, serious tone and the way Jarvis’s eyes are darkened, looking at her like she’s something precious.

“I –” Peggy says, and falters. She thinks of Ana’s hands on her thighs last night, of Jarvis’s quiet, sure, chaste touches when they’re out on a mission. This – sex – changes things, she knows.

“You need not consider it a permanent arrangement,” Jarvis adds, speaking a little too quickly. Ana touches his forearm; he slows down. “We don’t wish to interfere with your arrangement with Miss Martinelli, nor any other attachment you have or wish to have. We only –”

“We would like to show you how we care,” Ana says, “and to give you some comfort on a difficult day.”

It sounds so – so sweet, like that, like tea and being tucked into bed, but Ana’s thumb still lingers in the tender curve of Peggy’s palm, warm and touching so lightly that it sends sparks up Peggy’s wrist. That touch on her neck, on her breasts, on her cunt: suddenly she wants it very much.

“Yes,” Peggy says. “Yes, I think yes.”


They undress her together. Standing in the middle of the room, Peggy lifts her arms to let Ana tug her blouse out from the waistband of her skirt and up over her head. A shiver passes down her neck as it is briefly bared to the air, before her hair settles again. Jarvis doesn’t touch her at all, until she looks up at him and catches his eye, nods. His eyes are quite wide, but his hands, when he touches her waist, are steady.

He takes a step closer, his foot just between hers, and reaches around her waist, fingertips skimming along the bare skin around her ribcage. She gasps; it’s caught somewhere against his shoulder as he moves close enough for her mouth to brush against his jumper. His breath ruffles her hair, and then she hears the soft, tender smack as he and Ana kiss over her shoulder.

Then they’re all moving quite a bit more quickly: Jarvis deftly unbuttons the waistband of her skirt and draws the zip down while Ana gathers Peggy’s hair back and brings her mouth to the join of Peggy’s neck. Heat spreads from the hot little press of Ana’s mouth outwards, across her shoulders and down her chest, firing sharply in her ribcage.

Her skirt falls to the floor; Jarvis unhooks her bra; Ana kisses up her neck and across her jawline and Peggy’s knees quiver. She could just lean back, fall against Ana’s hands on her waist, against Ana’s lips soft at her fluttering pulse. Ana’s fingertips run up the keys of her ribcage, like a quick piano trill, and cup under her bare breasts.

“Open your eyes,” she murmurs against Peggy’s jawline; Peggy hadn’t realized they were closed. A warm thrum of pleasure falls through her body as she follows Ana’s command, glancing back to look at her.

She doesn’t often – follow commands, that is. Angie is happy to ask, or cajole, or tease Peggy into doing what she wants, but she doesn’t often demand. And it’s been longer since she’s had someone she’d trust to tell her right, to read her body and guide her in all the ways she already wanted. She wouldn’t be standing here if she wasn’t fond, but as she opens her eyes to see Ana looking at her with such pleased wonder, with a tiny, private, wry twist to her mouth, she realizes that she also trusts.

Ana kisses her, just at the corner of her mouth, where Peggy’s twisting her neck to see her, and then gently guides her to face forward again.

Jarvis’s hands are at her waist again, but that is the only place he touches her. Instead, he looks at her with – with hunger, she realizes, his face flushed and tie askew, eyes on Peggy’s mouth. She’s panting, mouth open, and she licks her lower lip, liking the way his fingertips dig a little deeper. She looks down; his trousers are tellingly bulging.

“Look at her tits, my love,” Ana says, her voice thrumming against Peggy’s jaw. The word is sharp but not surprising in her mouth. Jarvis drops his eyes, and Peggy does too: Ana’s hands cup her breasts and lift them up, an offering. Her nipples are hard, and flushed rosy pink.

“Touch them,” she says, “please.” Jarvis brings his hands to Ana’s, holds them around hers for a brief moment, and then slips them upwards, skating his thumbs over her nipples. “Oh,” she says, and then, “Oh, oh,” again as he rubs them, a light touch that has her leaning into their hands, wanting more.

“Can he suck them?” Just as Ana asks, Jarvis flicks his thumbs harder over her nipples and Peggy cries out.

“Yes,” she says, “yes, god.”

“Go ahead,” Ana says, and Jarvis bends his head, takes one nipple between his lips. A flood of warmth hits Peggy’s cunt and her ankle rocks as she tries to lean into him. She’s still wearing her heels, her stockings, suspender belt and knickers, and she presses her thighs together tightly. “Good girl,” Ana says; Peggy can feel her skin flush at her words, an unexpected rush of pleasure, and she knows Ana notices.

Jarvis pays mind to both her nipples: thumb flicking across one while he gently sucks the other, and Ana drops her hands away from Peggy’s breasts. She’s close enough that Peggy can feel the buttons of her dress against her back, the soft press of her breasts, the cradle of Ana’s hips snug against her arse. The hot rush in her stomach has just the smallest bit to do with remembering Ana’s body against hers the night before, the teasing uncertain desire she felt then bursting into eager, desperate want.

Her hands come to Peggy’s waist again, and Peggy thinks she might be ready to finish undressing her, to slide down her stockings just like she did last night, to take off her knickers and leave Peggy standing there, bare and open, while they were both still buttoned and tied. She’s not sure if she wants that or not: she does want, very much, to see Ana’s narrow body free of her pretty floral dress, to cup her hands around Ana’s hips and pull them close to hers. She’s thought so more than once.

And now, too, she wants to take Jarvis’s tie in her hand and loosen it, to see his pale, slim muscles emerge as his suit jacket and waistcoat and shirt slip off: all those proper British layers. She’s felt them against her more than once, sparring or getting a lift up to crawl through a window or staking out a tight space, but she hasn’t really thought about him, like this, his hair disheveled a bit and his mouth hot and wet on her breast and his cock pressing against his fly. Not until Ana brought him into the room, and waited for Peggy to say yes.

Ana doesn’t take off Peggy’s stockings, though, not yet. Wrapping one arm around Peggy’s hip, she presses her hand against Peggy’s abdomen, her pubic bone, against the silk of her knickers, and curls her fingers downward until Peggy moves her feet wider, silent assent.

At the first press of Ana’s fingers between her legs, Peggy can feel how wet she’s gotten, can feel the way she soaks the silk of her knickers, leaving it sodden against Ana’s fingertips. “Oh,” Ana exhales, her breath hot on Peggy’s neck. “Oh, you good girl.” She rubs Peggy lightly, just quick, but enough to make Peggy whimper. “Edwin, darling, feel how wet she is.”

Jarvis pulls away; Peggy’s nipple stands up hard and almost painful in the sharp chill of his mouth’s absence. He looks at her, asking, always asking, and she nods. He skims one hand up her inner thigh, then under the elastic leg of her knickers, until his bare fingertips are slipping easily between her lips. Pulling away too quickly, he lifts his hand. Wetness glistens on his fingertips, and he brings them to Ana’s mouth. She sucks it away, just out of Peggy’s eyesight, wet, smacking sounds close to her ear.

“I want to taste you more,” Ana says; the words are frank, a statement rather than a leading question. “What do you want?” For a moment, their hands and mouths are still. She can feel them both looking at her, can feel the way her skin flushes pink and hot where they’ve touched her.

“I want to see you both,” Peggy says. “To see your bodies.”

“Yes,” Ana says, but stays still. “And what after that?”

Peggy’s not certain; her body’s wants pull her in so many ways, but she says, without letting herself think too much, “I want to be fucked.”

To be fucked: left vague enough to suggest what she needs: to be spread open and filled, touched all over and pulled tight and close and hard against another body.

“Yes,” Ana says, so much pleasure in her voice. “Yes, we will fuck you.”

In the center of the room, they hold her still, brackets around her near-trembling body. No one moves for three long breaths. Under her breastbone, Peggy can feel the wild beat of her heart, working itself up to action. She’s – she’s hardly unfamiliar with lovemaking, with men and with women, but as much as she’s now used to Jarvis’s rhythms and instincts when they’re on a case, he moves differently like this. No – they move together, the pair of them, and feeling their eyes catch over her shoulder sends a piercing sting to somewhere deep in her gut.

She wants that. She should have it, by now, should have had it with Steve – all the time in the world to develop a way of looking and knowing.

Well. She can have it tonight, in another way.

Turning, Peggy lifts her hands not to Ana’s dress but to her hair; her fingertips seek out the narrow hairpins that hold her plaits in place and tug them free. Instinct has her gather them up in her hand, neat little dark lines, as the ropes of Ana’s hair fall free, and once they’re out Jarvis covers her palm with his own and scoops them out, leaving Peggy free to slowly work the plaits out.

Worked loose, Ana’s hair spreads across her shoulders, glinting golden and red. Her lashes cast a half-moon shadow across her cheeks as she watches Peggy’s hands smooth out the ropes of her hair, spreading the fine strands between her fingers. Lifting a lock, Peggy presses it to her lips, and then her lips to Ana’s neck.

Ana doesn’t gasp, not quite, but by the way her breath comes quick and short Peggy knows she’s holding herself quite deliberately still as Peggy works her way across her collarbone, sucking softly on the little hollow of her throat. Her pulse flutters against Peggy’s lips. “You beauty,” she murmurs into Ana’s skin, which pinks under the heat of her lips.

Underneath her hands, Ana’s waist is narrow, firm. She’s what the casting agents out here would call willowy. As she pulls her closer, Ana does sigh, a soft little susurration of breath that ruffles Peggy’s hair, and she does lean into Peggy’s hands, Peggy’s chest for a moment.

And then she twists, lightly and quickly, and is out of Peggy’s hands and already walking toward the door. “Entertain yourselves,” she says, with a fluttering wink. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

The door snicks quietly closed behind her; Peggy blinks. “She will return,” Jarvis says, from behind her. His voice has that waver, the one he gets when he’s uncertain of a plan she’s brashly concocted, now that it’s just the two of them. She turns.

She’s still nearly naked, and flushed pink; her nipples are soft, but she knows just the slightest touch will send them hard and tender again. Between her thighs, her knickers stick wetly to her skin. Her cunt aches.

Between them there’s a foot of crackling air.

“She did say to keep ourselves entertained,” Peggy says, and steps across that space, and brings her hand to Jarvis’s collar to tug his tie all the way loose.

“Yes,” he says, hands settling at her hips. His smile curls up, just a bit, and she’s knocked by such a wave of fondness for him – for this absurd man whom she’d kill for – die for – who cares for her in more ways than any partner-in-arms she’s ever been able to have, excepting maybe Steve – so she pushes up on her toes and kisses him.

Jarvis kisses with care. Not gentleness, precisely, but with a tender warmth that has Peggy leaning up closer, tightening her fingers in his lapels, wool crumpling in her fists. She shoves his jacket off, lips still together; he makes a small protesting huff as it falls to the floor. Pulling his tie all the way off, she drops it as well, then slips her hands between them to unbutton his waistcoat.

She’s making quick work: waistcoat, then his shirttails pulled free, cuffs undone, front unbuttoned. Tucking the cufflinks into his palm, she eases his shirt off his shoulders and then his undershirt up over his head so he’s as bare as her on top and presses their bodies together. His chest is warm against her breasts; his collarbone fits very neatly under her mouth.

Against her hipbone, she can feel his cock; she palms it, smooth wool of his trousers spreading heat to her hand. The trouser button takes a moment’s work, but she gets it open along with his flies and pushes his trousers down. He’s still wearing his shoes, though; he tries to kick the trousers away without pulling their bodies apart, but stumbles ungracefully.

Hand on his elbow, Peggy steadies him as he toes off his shoes, wincing gently. He’d clearly much rather neatly unlace them and place them heels together to the side, hanging his suit, but she kisses him once more to distract him.

He looks only the smallest bit ridiculous, standing there in his shorts, trouser socks, and sock garters: a man so usually tightly buttoned and tucked. But she won’t think so uncharitably of him, not when his hand is so obligingly on her breast, fingertips working her nipple into a hard, tender point, and his mouth on hers once more.

His other hand plays at her waist, thumb slipping under the band of her knickers. It feels shockingly chaste, until he pushes further, working them down her hips. His hand skims down the curve of her arse as he pulls her knickers down, letting them drop off her thighs.

Jarvis pulls back, leaving her bottom lip wet and swollen. “You are stunning, Miss Carter.” She flushes under his gaze and yet finds herself opening her stance a little, spreading her thighs, hoping he can see how soaking she is there, the clinging wet curls of her pubic hair giving away just how much she’s enjoying herself.

Behind them, the door opens again. Ana’s wearing her dressing gown, peach-colored silk with pale flowers spread across it, and Peggy feels a sharp flare of annoyance. She’d wanted to unbutton her, to slip her fingertips up under the band of her bra, to drag one nail down her thigh, next to a suspender strap.

Jarvis must feel her shift of annoyance; he strokes the back of his hand up her arm. “Just wait, Miss Carter,” he says. His breath is warm against her ear.

“I think,” she says, “under the circumstances, you could perhaps call me Peggy.” Ana smiles as she steps closer, tracing the fingertips of one hand up Peggy’s bare arm.

“If you wish,” Jarvis says, “Peggy.”

“Edwin,” she says in return; it feels a bit strange on her lips, but she likes the way he colors up, pinking all along his cheekbones.

“We are all getting along,” Ana says, with some amusement. “But Edwin, you’re still very formal.” She plucks at the waistband of his shorts, tugging them down a bit. He steps back before she can work them all the way off, bending first to take down his socks and suspenders before dropping his shorts.

His cock bobs up gently; it’s thin, and growing hard. Reaching across Peggy, Ana runs her hand down his chest to take his cock gently in her hand. Jarvis exhales, his breath hot on Peggy’s cheek. Ana strokes up and down loosely; Jarvis cups Peggy’s breast as if anchoring himself. They both press in on her, closer and closer, and though their eyes are held together Peggy doesn’t feel at all forgotten, Jarvis’s fingertips brushing across her nipple, a little clumsy with distraction, and Ana’s hand resting on the small of her back, warm.

“Oh, you good boy,” Ana says, and by the way Jarvis jerks against her, Peggy can tell he likes that just the same as she does. His thumb moves roughly over her nipple; Peggy reaches out for purchase, fingers twisting in the silk of Ana’s dressing gown, and tries not to moan. “Do that again,” Ana says to Jarvis, who does, and Peggy gives a little, trembling gasp.

“Good girl,” Ana says, stroking her fingertips across the rise of Peggy’s shoulders to rest at the base of her neck. She doesn’t seem to mind using it liberally, now that she knows how Peggy will respond: with a whimpered gasp and her body leaning into Ana’s touch.

Ana releases her husband’s cock; he gives a small, protesting gasp. One hand still holding Peggy close, Ana traces her fingertip down the center of Peggy’s lips.

She can feel the shocking spark of the touch down to her cunt.

“We promised to fuck you, didn’t we?” Ana says, the word sharp and bright in her mouth.

Peggy nods, not caring how eager she looks. Her thighs are sticky, her mouth wet. “We did,” Jarvis agrees, holding Peggy’s hip. They cradle her, together, naked skin on one side and silk on the other.

She feels safe.

“I – I want it,” she says. She thinks she might do anything Ana asks, would bend over and spread herself open, would prop up her knees and bury her face in a pillow. Would bare herself.

“Yes, darling,” Ana says, stepping back just enough to untie the sash of her dressing gown and let it drop away from her body. Slipping off her shoulders, the dressing gown falls in a silken puddle at her feet. Underneath, she’s naked – or nearly. Around her slim hips, the straps of a harness belt are braced down tight, holding in place a slim, curved dildo. Peggy’s seen such things before, has used one once or twice herself, but not quite like this.

For one thing, it’s luridly pink.

Ana shrugs one shoulder. “Howard was experimenting with new silicone polymers, and I borrowed some.”

Peggy huffs a small laugh, but – “It suits you,” she says, and Ana flushes just the same pink. Reaching one hand down, Peggy touches it. It’s firm, but gives just a bit under the press of her fingers, and the surface is soft, nearly like flesh. “What was he trying to make?” she asks, wonderingly.

“It seemed safer not to ask,” Jarvis says. “Let’s say I don’t think this was too far from its original intent.”

Peggy snorts; not for the first time, she tries to avoid thinking of Howard’s proclivities with any precision. Instead, she circles her fingers around Ana’s cock, like she’s going to toss it off, and Ana rolls her hips up, fucking it through Peggy’s grip. “Oh,” Peggy says, surprised.

“You have a choice,” Ana says, leaning in a little closer. She presses her mouth to Peggy’s neck, hot and wet. Into her ear, she whispers, “Who would you like to fuck you first?”

Peggy’s breath catches, a stuttering little gasp. Her cunt throbs; she could come soon, hand between her legs, rutting against her palm. But she wants to be filled, to be stretched in every way.

“You, first,” she says against Ana’s cheek. Pressing their mouths together, she slides her glance sidelong to Jarvis, who watches with rapt, hungry attention. She pulls away with a wet smack. “And then both of you,” she adds, “in my cunt and in my arse.”

Jarvis’s exhaled breath is loud and shaky, and Ana give a delighted little gasp. “That sounds delightful,” Ana says, somehow able to make the word sound wonderfully filthy. “Edwin, darling, why don’t you help Peggy get ready for me?” With a nod, Jarvis steps away, to the bed.

He plumps the pillows, arranging a substantial pile at the head of the bed, and pushes the coverlet off the end, leaving the smooth, creamy white sheets. Climbing onto the bed, he props himself against the pillows and spreads his legs, drawing his knees up. His cock bobs up, against his abdomen. “Here you are, Miss – Peggy,” he says, gesturing between his legs, and she understands, climbing onto the bed to tuck herself between his spread thighs, back to his chest.

His skin is warm against her as he runs his hands up her thighs, positioning her. His fingers press into the undersides of her thighs, soft flesh yielding, and guide her knees open until they press against his own, a double set of curved, open brackets. As her inner thighs part with a damp, sticky smack, cool air rushes over her cunt, sending tender prickles right down inside of her. Jarvis’s hands move to the tops of her thighs, sliding up to her knees; he pulls her legs open just a little more so she can feel the stretch in her muscles.

She thinks she might want him to pull harder, to spread her open until she’s trembling just from the effort, her muscles aching. He doesn’t; he knows to push her just there and then no more, and as he does his feet flex, their soft bare soles tucked up around the curves of her ankle. Her back settles to his chest, his thighs hold her hips steady and firm, his cock tucks into the small of her back, hard but not yet insistent.

Before them, Ana still stands planted, moving just her hand as she rocks the base of the dildo against the rise of her pubis, palm encircling its girth. Peggy lifts her eyes to Ana’s and gives a jerky, stuttering nod. A slow, curling smile breaks Ana’s face as she takes a step forward.

The bed dips under her weight as she kneels on it. She touches Peggy’s feet, her ankles, her calves; Jarvis lifts his palms to tuck them over Ana’s and hold them to Peggy’s knees as Ana moves forward. The warmth of their hands together is steady, heavy, and Jarvis rubs his thumbs against the inside of Peggy’s knees.

“Peggy,” Ana says. Her knees just touch the crease of Peggy’s arse as Ana tucks herself between Peggy’s legs. “Do you want this?” Ana is good at this, this checking in; the way she asks, with a steady, calm voice, leaves Peggy dropping her knees against Jarvis’s, legs gone jelly with the surety of her want.

“Yes,” she says, “yes, my god, yes.” Ana catches her lip underneath her teeth and leans in; the tip of her cock bumps against Peggy’s abdomen, and she wants to giggle before Ana brings their mouths together and swallows it down.

“Yes, what?” Jarvis says; she can feel the tremor of his body as he speaks, his hot breath against her ear. Ana pulls back, pressing the heel of one palm against Peggy’s nipple.

Peggy gasps.

Ana grasps her cock in one hand, rubs the tip up Peggy’s cunt, spreading the lips around the tip and stuttering up quickly over her clit.

“Tell us, Miss Carter,” Jarvis says, over Peggy’s tremulous breaths. Peggy doesn’t correct him, because she knows from the dropped-low heat in his voice that he’s said it on purpose. Ana’s cock rests against her clit as Ana kneels, stock-still, between Peggy and Jarvis’s spread-wide thighs.

“Fuck me,” Peggy says, with impatience. She shoves her hips up; Ana grins; Jarvis digs his fingers into her knees.

“My pleasure, Miss Carter,” Ana says, wry little smile turning up her mouth as she rocks her hips forward and pushes the tip of her cock into Peggy.

The head is wide, and it has been a while; Jarvis matches his breath to hers as she inhales, exhales, lets her body go loose and soft and willing. The head slips in. Her voice breaks on a gasp. Ana rocks her hips with a delicacy that comes as absolutely no surprise, a gentle little fineness that has Peggy at once infuriated at a world and a war that would try to break that out of her and feeling quite blunt and lumbersome in comparison. Ana’s hands, braced on the bed next to Peggy’s hips, are fine-boned, the sweep of her lashes when her eyes close a sweet little flutter. But then, her narrow little mouth finds Peggy’s and gives her a stinging little bite on her lower lip.

Ana laughs as she pulls away, and oh, Peggy can feel each tremor of her body deep inside, Ana’s cock rocking into her at the shakes of Ana’s body. “Oh,” she says, to the air between them. “Oh, do that again.”

She does, rocks into her with short, irregular little thrusts and watches Peggy, wide-eyed, as each leaves Peggy’s mouth a little more slack, her eyes a little more hazy. Behind her, Jarvis is a solid presence, his shoulder cradling her head and the long, narrow line of his chest, the embrace of his arms, a cocoon.

Her heel kick-stutters against the back of Ana’s thigh; she wants her in, in, deeper, wants to feel them both press all against her borders, envelope her from within and without. Jarvis grips her hips tight with his thighs, sliding stickily against her, their skin, where it presses hard and close, swampy with sweat.

“I – oh, oh –” Jarvis pinches her nipple with the soft vee between his fingers, gripping her breast hard and tight. The blunt edges of his clean-trimmed nails dig in; she arches into the sting, crashes her lips against Ana’s. Between their bodies, Peggy fumbles for her clit, feeling raw and close and heavy with the grinding pressure of Ana’s pelvic bone against hers on each thrust and needing more. Her hand is nearly crushed between them, but she hooks it around her pubis and rubs, hard and frantic and clumsy.

Inside, she twists, clenches hard; drops her head back to fall on Jarvis’s shoulder; grabs his leg to hold her tight; feels the world narrow and center and fall.

Panting, her chest is heaving, raw deep breaths that don’t quite meet the thrusts Ana still make against her, into her, hard against her tender flesh. “Ana, darling,” Jarvis says, stroking down Peggy’s neck, then down Ana’s, “I think you might stop now.”

“No – I –” Peggy protests; each thrust sends harsh little sparks through her cunt, her arse, but she can’t fathom being empty now, being pulled apart from the tangled human circuit they make.

Ana does slow, though, lets her knees get a little purchase again, and kisses Peggy’s cheek, her neck. She’s breathing in short little breaths, and her hair sticks to her temples and under her chin, her soft tiny curls gone frizzy and awry. “Darling, you’re marvelous,” she says, mouth to Peggy’s shoulder. “Can you keep going? Or shall we try something else?”

“I – um –” All’s a bit fuzzy, her mind too attentive to the sparking awareness spread all across her skin, of ever place she’s touched right now, of all the ways her body is held, to think beyond the moment. Ana pulls back, enough to drag her cock over the rough inside of Peggy’s cunt, and it’s too much, it’s too – she bucks her hips up, chasing after that rough-hard-press. Ana laughs, gives it to her again, watches with obvious pleasure as Peggy’s abdominal muscles clench.

“More?” Ana asks. “Or more, more?” And then both of you, Peggy thinks, grabbing Jarvis’s thigh.

“Yes,” she says, “yes, please, god, please, I want you both in me.” Craning her neck, she crushes her mouth to Jarvis’s; he bucks his hips up, futile in the small space between them, his cock hard against the small of her back.

Ana pulls back a little more, a wicked grin as she slips out of Peggy. But then, her hands are on Peggy’s cunt, holding her open, wide, gaping, and her mouth is covering Peggy’s hole, tongue up inside and nose pressed up next to her clit. She licks at her, hard and hungry, but pulls back too quickly. Her mouth is red and shiny, her chin soaked.

“How, darling?” Ana keeps her hands spreading Peggy open as she waits for her answer; bloody distracting. Peggy squirms under the fixing stare of her hungry gaze.

She – she can’t give up Jarvis’s solid weight at her back, backup and support; though she doesn’t know for sure, the sharp, gasping reaction he gave to her pronouncement, earlier, suggests that he won’t mind taking her arse. “Just – over, all of us,” she says, managing to demonstrate until she has Ana spread below her, hips pinned between her knees and wet, pink cock stiff and tall between them.

“Will you – will you start, Jarvis – Edwin,” she asks; he presses a hot kiss to the back of her neck and gets up briefly. Between them, Ana grasps her cock and rocks it, rubbing pressure against her clit. Peggy drops her head, watching raptly as Ana fucks herself like that, the tip of her cock just barely brushing against Peggy’s hipbone. “Can you, like that?” she asks. Ana grins.

“Would you like me to?” Peggy nods, eagerly. “Edwin, darling, Peggy would like to see me orgasm while you prepare her. Is that amenable to you?” Even while her hair sticks damply to her pink-flushed skin, as her breath lifts her chest rapidly, Ana sounds perfectly composed, and Peggy wants her to never stop, to fuck herself and talk in precise sentences, to look at Peggy with those lust-shaded eyes and ask her again and again what she wants.

“Perfectly,” Jarvis answers, kneeling on the bed behind Peggy. Like Peggy, he straddles Ana’s legs, knees coming up close enough to Peggy’s that she has to spread herself wider, lean forward to hold her balance.

Ana rocks the base of the cock harder. The straps that disappear between her thighs must be pressed tight against her cunt, putting pressure on her clit. Peggy wants to drop down between her legs, slip her mouth up underneath that brilliantly pink cock and find Ana’s center, wet and open, underneath the straps. As she lowers her head, though, Jarvis strokes down her spine, down, down to the top of her arse, and then his thumb slides down her crack, just pressing against her tight hole before continuing to the soft skin between her arse and cunt.

She trembles. “Yes,” she says, and Ana grins up at her. “Please, Edwin, please.”

His voice is less composed than his wife’s when he says, “Please, what, Peggy?”

“Fuck me, god, open me up.” She spreads her knees wider, drops to her elbows, braced around Ana’s head.

Ana turns her chin to catch Peggy in a kiss and murmurs, “You good girl, you splendid girl.” Her cock bumps more insistently against Peggy’s abdomen as Ana rocks it harder, and as Jarvis spreads Peggy’s arse open and presses a cold, slick finger to her hole Peggy kisses Ana hard, wanting to swallow Ana’s cries as her hand becomes more frantic. Ana grinds the cock against her, pulling up so the straps will pull tight and hard against her cunt, and bucks her hips up.

Just as Ana’s breath turns hard and panting, Jarvis pushes a second finger into Peggy, who brings her mouth down on Ana’s neck, a wordless cry and a harsh, scraping bite together. Ana cries out and comes, shaking against Peggy’s body, teeth gritted hard together as she throws her head back.

Her hair spreads over the bedsheets, tangled and twisted like flickering flames, and her eyes flutter as Peggy kisses her: her mouth, her cheeks, her jawline. Flushed and glinting with sweat, she’s beautiful. Beautiful, and here, and safe, and fierce: Peggy kisses her again, and once more, and Ana slides her hand between Peggy’s legs.

“Still enjoying yourself,” she says, checking in. Her eyes are hazy with pleasure, now, and her voice drawn out, rough. She slips two fingers up inside Peggy and rubs against her back wall, pressing against Jarvis’s fingers; Peggy keens, slippery hot pressure demanding all her attention.

“Oh,” she exhales, against Ana’s skin. “Yes, yes.” It’s an answer, a desire, and an imploration all at once: more, her body cries, more. Ana cups her hand around Peggy’s pubic bone, two fingers slowly stroking inside and palm rubbing slickly against her cunt. Peggy wriggles; Jarvis has stretched her open plenty, and she wants him inside, more.

He doesn’t fuck her, yet, though. Instead, he drops his knees wider, spreading Peggy’s legs even just a little more, and lowers his mouth and – god – brings his tongue to meet his fingers, to tease at the ridge of her hole and leave her grasping the bedsheets, breathing hard against Ana’s neck.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Ana murmurs into her hair. Peggy thinks of Ana spread open like this, dripping and shoving back onto Jarvis’s mouth, or reaching behind her to hold him in place, and she moans, jerking her hips. “You’re so wet, darling,” Ana continues. “It’s all over my wrist and my arm, you good girl, you want it so bad.” Wordlessly, Peggy nods her head against Ana’s neck. “Perhaps we should,” Ana says to Jarvis, over Peggy’s shoulder.

With a wet, smacking suck to Peggy’s arsehole, Jarvis pulls back. “Do you think so, dear?” he asks, voice just a little strained. Peggy wishes she could crane her neck around enough to see him, flushed and disheveled and red-mouthed. He flexes his fingertips inside her, and she groans.

“I suppose so,” Ana says, softly amused. “I think you’d better start,” she adds. His voice is perhaps a little strained when he agrees, and Peggy wonders how close he is to going off, and the thought makes her wriggle her hips backwards, chasing his fingers as he pulls out of her.

He smacks her arse cheek; she jerks. Jarvis sounds almost surprised with himself when he says, “Do hold still now, Miss Carter.” Usually, she’d sass him back or wiggle away, but then he’s spreading her open with one hand and pressing bluntly at her hole with the head of his cock, and instead she gives a great exhale and tries to open her body to him.

Going rather slowly, he holds one hip as he enters her. A breath in, a breath out, as she gives her body into the stretch, as she gives way. Jarvis strokes her hip; his hand is sticky, wet. Between her legs, Ana’s hand has stilled, but then with a twist she’s rubbing Peggy’s inner wall again, feeling Jarvis through Peggy’s very flesh.

“Oh, darling, he’s nearly there,” Ana says, her voice hoarse, suddenly, and it’s the sound of wonder in it that makes Peggy’s breath catch, raw in her throat. He is: his thighs bump against hers, his fingertips flex on her hip in an irregular cadence.

Inhale, exhale: Jarvis’s breath is much more measured than her own, sharp in through his nose, out between his teeth: he’s holding tight to his pleasure, must be, and Ana can tell as well. “Okay, Edwin, darling, just stay still.” His hips curve snugly around Peggy’s arse; she is full up with him, stretched and taut as a wire.

Ana slips her fingers from Peggy’s cunt, a rushing loss she feels immediately, and grasps her hips, bringing her down lower just a bit. Peggy spreads her legs and Jarvis with her as Ana guides her cock to Peggy’s cunt, lifting her hips up and grabbing a pillow to put under them.

Peggy lowers her hips as much as she can without pulling away from Jarvis, enough to feel Ana’s cock drag up her cunt to bump, slickly, against her clit. A shock, a spark: she clenches her hips, gives a tiny whimper that is matched by Jarvis, whose fingers flex harsh against her hipbone.

Turning her head, Ana whispers against Peggy’s hair, “I don’t think he’ll last long. Shall I join him, now?” She rolls her hips, head of her cock teasing at Peggy’s cunt.

Peggy nods, chin bumping Ana’s shoulders in her haste, and manages to say, “Yes, please, yes.” Ana shifts her hips, and pulls Peggy in, and thrusts up, and she’s inside her, again, and everything is too hard, too heavy, too full.

“Can you?” Ana murmurs, and Peggy grits her teeth. Breathe in, breathe out. She nods.

“Okay, okay,” Ana says, hands stroking up Peggy’s sides, as she rolls her hips. Pulling her head up, Peggy swallows hard and then leans into Ana thrusts, pulling slightly away from Jarvis. “Oh, you clever dear,” Ana says, fond and heavy, as she and Jarvis pick up her motions, cocks dragging together through the fine membrane of her body as they alternate slow, pressing thrusts.

Their hands meet together at Peggy’s hips, holding the cradle of her pelvis in their shared grips like she is precious, to be cherished. She can’t – she won’t think of their fragile, fleeting hands on her skin, her flesh still bruised from the explosion, from Jason’s death, from all the danger she hunts and hounds like it’s her lifesblood.

Her thighs tremble. Slowing her movements, she drops her head to the crook of Ana’s shoulder, lets herself feel the slow, tandem thrusts filling her up, the drag against her flesh. Ana brings her hands up around her, one at Peggy’s hip and one at Jarvis’s, and Jarvis leans into Peggy’s back.

And they, together, they hold her, keep her; all around her she feels the hot-wet press of them and more, an overwhelming more. All of her surfaces are touched at once, it seems, pressure on her skin, her mouth, the tender tips of her fingers and all her mucous membranes, pressing in closer and closer to that dark, hollow knot below her breastbone.

Breathe in, breathe out; she gasps. Her face, buried against the tender skin of Ana’s neck, Ana’s hair stuck to her lips and in her mouth, is wet before she realizes she’s sobbing, harsh, wracking gasps that shake her body, and they have both stopped moving.

“Peggy, darling?” Ana says to her wet cheek just as Jarvis fumblingly strokes her hip and says, “Miss Carter?”

“Please don’t stop,” Peggy gasps, “please.” Her eyes are stinging, her mouth tastes of salt and copper, and she wants them to stretch her open, to pull her orgasm from her body until it wrings her of her tears. A long beat; they must be sharing one of those glances that speak without language.

Her chest heaves; one of Ana’s hands strokes down her side, gentling her. “You will say, if it’s too much,” she says, and Jarvis adds, “The instant.”

She nods against Ana’s shoulder. Her breathing has steadied, but she can’t stop crying, tears hot and burning. Ana waits, fingers stroking down her ribs. Peggy trembles; her shoulders ache. Nodding again, she murmurs, “Yes,” voice raw, and then again, louder, “Yes, I will.” Ana’s hand flexes against her ribcage, and Jarvis pets down the long line of her back.

“Okay, okay,” Ana says, and rolls her hips up. Her cock drags against Peggy’s insides, too hard and too sharp, sending a tight little tremor through Peggy’s gut that she has to calm with a deep, wet breath. Ana waits.

Peggy flexes her hips, rolling enough to shift back against Jarvis; she can feel her body start to open up again, the sticky-hot burn of him in her arse blooming once more into a tingle that spreads the length of her back. She rocks back, and Ana rocks up. Behind her, she can hear his sharp gasp, surprised and half-strangled as he squeezed her hips tight. He had softened a little in his concern, but he’s hard, again, inside her, a heavy press against all the inner edges of her.

The move together – like a dance, she thinks a bit giddily, pushing into each other’s space, one moving forward, one back – and she feels touched all over by them both, their skin kissing hers, their hands holding her steady.

Turning her head, she finds Ana’s mouth, crushing their lips together. Kissing her, Ana reaches up one hand to entangle it in Peggy’s, arm stretching along Peggy’s where she leans, elbows and forearms on the mattress. Their arms twist together; Ana’s pulse thrums under her skin and Peggy thinks she can maybe just feel it. Alive, and not so fragile, not now with Peggy’s thighs trembling hard against her hips as she fucks up into her.

Their pace falters, Jarvis’s thrusts turning erratic and quick. Against Peggy’s mouth, Ana says, “I think Edwin is ready, darling, can he?” Jarvis’s fingertips dig had into the tender rise at the inner corner of her hip bones.

“Yes,” she says, “please, god.” She’s so full, so heavy, so – her skin thrums, her cunt slick and aching. She wants to shove one hand between her legs, to finger her clit hard as Jarvis rolls his hips against her, but she’s afraid she might fall right over. “Please, Ana. Touch me.” She flutters her eyes open enough to see the wide, pleased look Ana gives her as she thrusts her hips up, hard, and wrangles her free hand between them.

Her hand stutters and skates on Peggy’s too-slick flesh, struggling to find a pace, but her fingertips shove against Peggy’s clit enough that Peggy can feel heat rise up in her, blood to her surface. Her cunt flutters, clutches; Jarvis cries out, thrusting hard against her, filling her up, her arse hot and full with the pulsing of his spending. He doesn’t pull out but holds her hips hard as Ana shoves up into her, rubs her hard.

Everything goes tense: her whole body, holding itself hard and tight like she does before a fight, and then she’s falling, wet heat pulsing in her cunt and spreading its way down her thighs, through her gut. She drops her head, panting. Ana doesn’t stop touching her, and the harsh rub of her fingertips sends jagged little throbs through her cunt until she murmurs, “Okay, okay,” against Ana’s neck.

Pulling her hand away, Ana pets down her side. Sitting back on his heels, Jarvis pulls out slowly – achingly – and she can feel her arsehole spasm and wink, empty but for the come that drips wetly down to her cunt. His hands leave her hips, and the bed dips then steadies as he climbs off.

Rolling her hips back, she lets Ana’s cock slip out of her before sliding down to rest at Ana’s side, leg slung over Ana’s thigh. Between her legs, everything is sticky, wet: a mess. “Would you like –” she cranes her head around; behind her, Jarvis holds up a damp hand towel. His cock, gone soft and pink, is clean, though a sheen of sweat still covers his chest.

“Not just yet,” she says, wriggling her hips around. “I like feeling you in me.” Jarvis flushes most of the way down his neck and drops the towel. He slides into the bed behind her, chest to her back and one arm slung over her waist.

Peggy rolls her head back; Ana looks at them with undisguised fondness, then leans in, gives Peggy the softest kiss. “Are we quite finished with this?” Peggy asks, fingering the head of Ana’s brilliant pink cock.

“For now, I suppose,” Ana says, biting her lower lip as she looks over Peggy’s shoulder. Jarvis lets out a soft, muffled little groan, and, oh, she would like to see that.

For now, though, she wants to see Ana fully, finally. Plucking at the buckles of Ana’s harness, she gets one strap pulled out as Ana does the other side, lifting her hips enough to pull it away and drop it on the mattress next to her. A sparse tangle of reddish hair spreads across her mons, and lower down to her thighs, where it is darkened by sweat and come.

Peggy rests her hand there, at first, feeling the heat coming off Ana and the tacky tangle of her hair. Then, with two fingers, she spreads Ana’s lips open, sliding her fingertips up the valleys of her cunt. Ana breathes out, watches her.

Ana is soaking: wet and slick all down her thighs. Her clit, under Peggy’s fingertips, is hard and swollen. She rubs, with her first two fingers, and is pleased to feel Ana rolls her hips up, trying to get her to press harder. Peggy kisses Ana’s shoulder. “Shall I be quick?” she asks; Ana already looks nearly as tired as her, but if she wants it slow, Peggy will oblige. But Ana nods, with a quiet grin, so Peggy sets to strumming her fingertips, petting Ana’s clit, wet and slick and evasive under Peggy’s hand, until Ana’s rocking her hips up and catching her lip with her teeth.

She falls back; Peggy licks her fingers, enjoying the soft groan Jarvis gives, then the press of his mouth to the nape of her neck. His legs curl around hers; he’s tucked around her body, her arse pressing against his abdomen, his skin warm against her back.

She settles in closer to both of them, her thigh spread across Ana’s, her arm entangled with Jarvis’s, both of them tucked across Ana’s waist. Her chin tucks up against Ana’s shoulder; Jarvis’s forehead rests against the back of her neck. She breathes in, breathes out; settles.