Agent Carter, Avengers 1. Part I

"Agent Carter? Agent Carter?" A soft male voice penetrates the darkness. It feels familiar, but I cannot seem to place it. "She's coming around. Agent Carter, I need you to take a deep breath."

I exhale a breath I was unaware that I had been holding. Inhaling sharply, my throat burns as my lungs feel heavy and full, like they're filled with water. I can't remember drowning.

"That's it. Just keep breathing."

The air catches in my throat, forcing me to choke. Suddenly everything is bright white as I cough and sputter, trying to purge my body from whatever it is that's invading it. I roll to my side and vomit, clear fluid spotted milky white, pours from my stomach and lungs as every muscle in my body contracts in a singular effort to rid it from my body. There is the distinct ring of metal as the liquid splatters to the floor.

I attempt another breath, my lungs finally wanting to comply with the task, and the haze clearing from my mind as it is suddenly flooded with oxygen. The muscle spasms slow as my vision comes together, the lights, colors, and shapes beginning to coalesce into something my brain can process.

"Agent Carter, are you alright?"

Every breath I take feels ragged, as though I've just run a marathon and my body is trying to catch up. Still rolled on my side, I notice the bed I am lying on, white leather with a polished metal frame. The bed is standing on what looks like a giant drain, through which I watch the fluid seep down, disappearing. I raise my head enough to notice the walls are cement, but are so smooth and so shiny I initially think it to be some sort of glass.

"Agent Carter?" That voice…

I pull myself into a seated position, noticing for the first time that I am in a white dress, not unlike those that the nurses wore during the War, though it feels like paper against my skin.

"Agent Carter, are you alright?" The voice echoes through the room, a distinct accent etched into it. Very English. Yet there is no one in the room but me.

I wipe sweat from my brow as my muscles tense once again. My brain rushes to place the voice, both within the room and within my memory.

"I detect extremely high levels of adrenaline, cortisol, and epinephrine."

There is a metal door and a mirror (though I suspect it to be a two-way) directly ahead of me. I muster up every ounce of strength I can find, piercing my gaze at the mirror. If the voice is coming from anywhere, it's there.

"Who are you? Where am I?"

"Agent Carter, my name is Jarvis."

Jarvis.

Suddenly memories come flashing back. Howard, SSR, treason, weapons, Aggie—Jarvis.

"Jarvis?" It comes out in a whisper. I can clearly see the tall, thin, polite butler Howard introduced me to in my mind's eye. It is Jarvis, I am sure of it, yet his voice sounds hollow and not quite right…

"Yes Agent Carter."

"Wha—where are you?" I can feel my resolve slipping, confusion and fear creeping into my consciousness. I struggle to keep myself together, clutching my fists around the edge of the bed, anchoring myself to it. As my head begins to spin, my grip tightens on my anchor.

"Sir, her adrenaline level is becoming dangerously high."

I clench my eyes tightly shut, trying to hold onto something I know is real—the bed beneath me. My fingers curl—"Where am I?" I whisper to myself. "Where am I?" I focus on the way the words seem to form in my mouth and push their way out. "Where am I?"

"Sir, I must insist that-"

But Jarvis' voice is cut off as the metal door smashes open, hammering against the cement wall. I spring to life, my body jumping, startled, with my eyes wide and fearful as my brain tries to register the next few moments. The polished door glints in the cold light as it reverberates off the wall, taking with it a large piece of sparkling cement. A large man steps into the doorframe, silhouetted at first by the much brighter light behind him. I blink and squint, trying to get a better look.

"Who—" But my voice catches in my throat as the man steps into the room. Everything stops—my brain, by heart, my lungs, everything. Time itself seems to have halted as I look at him, his blonde fringe falling into his eyes, his jaw set square and tight. I'd recognize those eyes anywhere.

"Peg?"

I can do nothing but stare as Steve takes a tentative step towards me. "Peg, it's me." I set my jaw, blinking furiously and acutely aware that I am on the verge of tears. _Keep your head together, Carter_, a voice blares at me. _This isn't real. It can't be. Steve is dead_.

He takes another hesitant step towards me, staring directly at me, his eyes clear and blue and earnest and just exactly how I remembered them. "Peg, please," he begs for some acknowledgement. "Peggy, please, for the love of God," he inches his way towards me and while my head screams for me to run, to fight back, to escape, my body continues to be frozen to the bed.

"Breathe."

He reaches the bed with that last word, and everything happens all at once, as if time suddenly realizes how long it has been stopped and is trying to make up for it. I inhale a deep, sharp, and ragged breath, my whole body shaking with the effort and my lungs burning from their lack of use. And it is with the exhale that I realize that I am actually sobbing. The shaking is every sob wracking its way through my body. Understanding floods through me, forcing my mouth open to release itself in a horrific, sobbing, scream. In the same moment, my body disengages from its anchor, falling forward into hard muscle.

Into Steve.

Acceptance rushes through me as his scent engulfs me and I find myself consumed by his presence. His strength, his voice, his feel is all the proof I need. His warm lips graze my forehead, his breathe hot on my skin. As I fold myself into him, his soft, nimble finger tips dance across my back, attempting to quiet my sobs.

"It's OK, Peg. I'm here, I've got you. It's gonna be alright."


	2. Part II

"I told you not to wake her up yet, you selfish, conceited prick." I don't recognize the voice, but I can tell he's American. "Jarvis, why did you let him wake her up?"

"Because he asked me to, Sir."

"Oh well, that's just fabulous."

I open my eyes to find that I am still dressed in the white paper hospital gown, but I am now in a real bed. Steve's bed. I can smell him. And it strikes me as odd, the fact that I am suddenly so acutely aware of his scent. I can't recall being this affected by it during the War. Of course, we were in a war…

"You know exactly why I woke her up!" Steve's voice crashes through. My chest tightens and I am struck by the urge to see him, to touch him, to be absolutely certain that I am with him.

I make a move to sit up, the blood rushing from my head and the room spins for a moment. The corner of my mouth perks up involuntarily as I recognize the feeling, reminding me that I am actually alive, that this body is still me, that there is still blood rushing through my veins.

"I told you not right _now_. I didn't say it was never going to happen. But of course, who am I stop the great 'Captain America'."

"Excuse me, but—"

"Not now, Jarvis."

Pushing myself out of Steve's room, I find myself in a darkened hallway. Following the voices, I shuffle apprehensively down the hall, my feet reveling in the cool, slick feel of that same polished cement as before. I've never had anything quite so smooth beneath my feet before and I stop to wiggle my toes across it, experimenting.

"But I must—"

"I said not right now, Jarvis."

"I'm sorry, Sir but—"

I clear my throat lightly, not knowing how else to break apart the two men staring each other down, attempting to silently battle for alpha male. Both turn immediately, their piercing eyes now on me. Steve's eyes soften the moment he sees it's me.

"Peggy." He's next to me in an instant. "Are you OK? How are you feeling? You really should get some more rest. You haven't been asleep for very long and—"

I cock an eye brow at him, silencing him instantly. "I've think I've slept long enough, thank you." I watch the back of his neck start to flush, running all the way to the tips of his ears. It's the most endearing thing I think I can ever recall seeing.

"Of course, I just—"

"I know, Steve," my expression softens and his shoulders relax a bit. "But I feel fit as a fiddle, so if you want to actually help, I'd really quite enjoy something to eat."

Steve perks up, a pleasant grin spreading across his face. "I can help with that." I smile up at him, feeling like every atom in my body will simply explode from the sheer pleasure of being able to talk to this man again.

"Well then, I'm gonna go before you two start getting all hot and bothered." Steve's blush returns as he looks down at his feet.

Reluctantly, I break my gaze away from Steve, eyeing this other man dubiously. He too seems familiar somehow, but like Jarvis, I cannot seem to place him. Perhaps it is the feeling of irritation towards this man that I find familiar rather than the actual man himself?

"Sorry, where are my manners?" Steve interjects. "Peggy, this is Tony Stark. Tony, this is Special Agent Margaret Carter."

Stark. I cock my head to the right and squint at the man.

Stark!

"You're Howard's son." The shock is evident in my voice, my eyes widening with surprise.

Tony eyes me in much the same way I eye him. Now that the connection has been made, I see so much of Howard in him that I cannot take my eyes off him. It explains Jarvis and that oddly familiar brand of irritation. It must be a patented Stark product as well.

"Yeah, well, you probably knew him better than I did." Tony looks away from me, picking at some nonexistent dirt on the metal counter top beside him . "Anyway, Pepper's brought you some clothes," he motions to a pile of folded fabric sitting on the bar next to him.

I look at Steve questioningly. "Pepper's his _assistant_." I nod. Howard had his _assistants_ as well. Clearly the apple does not fall far all from the tree.

"Thank you, Tony." I smile gently at him and it seems to soften him a bit more. "And please, thank Pepper for me as well."

"Yeah, will do." Tony quickly moves across the sitting room to the door. "I'll just leave you two to it then. If you need anything," he turns back to us for a moment, as if debating whether or not to offer his services, "Ask Jarvis."

The door hasn't even latched before Steve is across the room and into the kitchen, his arms perched on the counter, and his fringe brushing across his eye brows. "So, Madame," he grins at me, "What can I make you this fine evening?"

Evening? It's then that I notice the wall of windows and a skyline of city lights scattered, making it look like some impressionistic nightscape. "Oh, wow." I can't think of the last time I saw a city, any city, from this angle.

I look back at Steve running his hand nervously through his hair. "Are we still in New York?"

"Yeah," he nods, looking squarely at me. "Future New York."

I roll my eyes at his obvious statement. "I'd rather gathered that." He grins sheepishly at me. "How far into the future are we talking?"

"It's 2015."

"Oh." Last time I'd checked, it was 1948. Seventy years. More or less.

"You were in a cryosleep of some sort." The memory comes back in flashes. I recall the chamber, sort of like the one that Steve had been in. I recall the injections, some combination of serums that were of some relation to Steve's. I recall Howard trying to talk me out of it…

"I remember now." It comes out as a whisper. It's there, it's all there. S.H.I.E.L.D., the project, everything.

"Peg?" A gentle yet heavy and large hand rests on my shoulder. I swallow hard, not wanting to make a show of myself by breaking down like I had before. _Margaret Carter, you keep that stiff upper lip_.

"I'm going to go change. I'd like to get out of this horrid dress." I avoid looking at Steve as I hurriedly snatch up the clothes and head for Steve's room. If I look at him now, I know I'll break again and I don't think my pride will be capable of handling that twice in one day.

In Steve's room, I unfold the clothing, inspecting it apprehensively: a pair of Levi's, a cotton t-shirt, some undergarments, and some type of cardigan with a hood and zipper. _Is this really what the women of the future wear_? Looking down at the gown I'm currently in, I figure these new clothes are definitely an improvement, so I relent for the time being.

Something catches my eye in my peripheral vision and when I turn to look, I am startled slightly to see my own reflection, though I don't look much like the Margaret Carter that I knew. My hair is matted and flattened in several places and my eyes are small and dark, my face completely void of make-up. I'm surprised Steve even recognized me. I move to the mirror, perched as it is on top of his dresser, and pick up his hairbrush, examining it for a moment and noting all the dark blonde hairs in it, before I begin to pull it roughly through the tangled nest atop my head. Before I know it, my hair is once again smooth, though not particularly shiny or shaped the way I'd like. But it's a start.

I pull the thin, shapeless gown over my head, listening to it crinkle and crunch. After seventy years, I'm surprised I can even still move in this thing without it just falling to pieces around my ankles. Reaching for the underwear, I notice three large circular scars down my arms.

_Howard forces the oversized needles into my arms. My eyes blur from the pain as they start to water and a small amount of blood trickles down, dripping off my wrist. Howard notices and looks down at me. "Are you sure you want to do this?" _

"_It's not so bad," I nod to him, assuring him through gritted teeth. _

"_It's gonna get a lot worse." The metal capsule is sealed shut with a heavy clang and I suddenly feel an aching loneliness. His words echo through my skull as suddenly every square inch of my body feels as though it's being dipped in acid. It's a searing pain that is made worse by the crushing feeling as my lungs are pumped with a clear liquid, swirled with something that is white and rather shimmery. I can't breathe, I can't scream, and the last thing I see is Howard's pain-filled eyes as he watches me go under._

_I start to struggle, but the chamber is too small. My mind is racing, panic striking every nerve as the fire edges closer to my heart. I don't want this. This was a mistake. I open my mouth to scream at Howard to stop_—

"Peggy!"

For the second time I find myself completely consumed by Steve. He cradles me to his chest, is arms like vice grips around my body, pulling me back from my memory.

My hand is clutched around my arm, attempting to stop the pain. I'm crying again too. _How did you get to be so weak, Margaret_? I bite my lip in a vain attempt to quiet my gasping breaths, but I find it to be of little use, so I force myself to relent and attempt to ride it out.

Steve's voice is soothing in my ear as he rocks me back and forth, doing his best to comfort me, though he has absolutely no idea how. But his lips press to the side of my neck, his warm words ghosting across my skin and though he has no notion of what he's doing, I find myself sinking into him, soothed by his presence.

"Thank you, Steve." My voice is cracking and rough, a mere shadow of the persuasive seductress that Steve once knew. I stroke his arm, feeling the juxtaposition between his soft skin and rough hair. It's the most wonderful thing I can think of in that moment.

"Of course." He kisses my neck again, gently. I become keenly aware of every inch of him, wrapped around my body. My very _naked_ body. I shift and feel him, hard beneath the button of his trousers.

The hairs on the back of my neck rise, my body knowing before even I do. "Steve…" I breathe his name, skimming it across the tanned skin of his arm. My nails dig lightly, a silent plea.

Something snaps him out of it. Suddenly my body is left cold, an empty space on my back where his chest had been. I turn, watching him clench his fists near the door. "I'm sorry, Peg. I wasn't thinking. Here you are and then in I come, and I only wanted to help a—"

His words catch as I stand to my feet. His eyes widen at the sight and I smirk at the tendon straining in his neck, his ears turning red again. He gets an eye full before he remembers his manners, tearing his gaze from me. He refuses to look at me as I make my way to him, slowly, deliberately. My hips sway lazily and I watch the tendon twitch.

"Look at me," I urge, standing directly in front of him.

He shakes his head, refusing to remove his stare from his feet. "I don't want you to get the wrong impression."

"Steve, look at me." He refuses. "That's an order, Rogers." His head shoots up and looks me square in the eye. "That's right, you heard me." The corner of his mouth perks slightly and his eyes shine a bit brighter. Exhilaration rushes through me at the thought that, even stripped of everything, I still have the ability to command this man, Captain America.

"I have waited seventy years for this moment, Rogers, and no one, not even you, is going to delay it any longer than it has to be." The sheer tenacity in my voice surprises me, considering the emotional puddle I had been moments before. It seems to have surprised Steve too, because he looks at me questioningly, still unsure as to whether or not I'm in the right frame of mind.

"Are you sure? I don't want you thinking that I'm-"

"Steven Rogers, if you do not make love to me this instant, I will get back in that capsule, go back to 1948 and you will never—" That got him.


	3. Part III

He is everywhere at once, sending my brain into sensory overload. I feel him beneath me, above me, behind me, in front of me, yet not, I vocalize with a frustrated groan, inside me. Every part of me aches to have him, my fingers desperately clawing at the fabric surrounding his body. I can tell I'm leaving red welts beneath the cotton from the sheer ferocity of my desire for this singular human being.

I push him back against the door, yanking the hem of his t-shirt from his trousers. There is a low rip as my hands begin to separate the collar from the actual shirt. Steve's hands come to rest on my arms, holding them still as his eyes meet mine.

"Slow down there, Peg."

I bite my lip, meeting his gaze through heavy eye lashes. His eyes glaze over for a moment and I seize the opportunity, easing my hands away from his grip. I rake my nails lightly down his chest, reveling in each bump of hard muscle, until I reach the button of his trousers.

Steve's Adam's apple bobs ever so slightly as he struggles to swallow. I note his breathing has stopped.

I slowly slide the button open, easing myself onto my toes in the process so that, while my hands remain in position, my lips just graze his ear lobe. "You're over dressed, Captain." I lave my tongue across his ear, and we are so close that I can feel the muscles in his jaw tighten as he fights to remain in control of himself.

"But if you want to go slow…" My fingers find his zipper, easing it down at an agonizing pace and I make sure that my knuckles brush against him. At the contact, my eyes roll back. He's so hard, and it's been so long, and it's Steve, and I just…

Steve's large hands are at my neck, cradling my face in his secure grip. His eyes are so dark, I barely recognize them. "You're right," he murmurs, holding me still so that I am forced to meet his penetrating stare. "To hell with slow."

His lips crash into mine once more, leaving my entire body breathless. Every cell in my body screams for me to take a breath, but I cannot stand to have my mouth leave his even for a moment. I have waited for this for far too long.

Steve drags himself from my mouth, kissing and tasting his way across my jaw to my neck. His hands are everywhere, trying to touch and memorize every square inch of me. My head lulls back, his tongue running over every line of my skin. It's heaven as I snake my fingers into his blonde waves, my nails grazing across his scalp as I clutch him to me.

I gasp as his hands slide underneath me, pulling my thighs around his waist, lifting me off my feet. Instinctively, my ankles lock behind him, fingers curling for a better grip on his skin. I am latched around pure muscle and the feel of it proves to be the most erotic thing I can ever recall. "Steve…" It comes out as a moan. My back eases onto the bed, the down comforter crinkling from the weight. I sense the gentle tug of Steve being pulled away from me and my eyes burst open, my limbs refusing to release. Steve chuckles down at me.

"You're gonna have to let go of me sometime." He looks down at me, his eyes brimming with amusement at my desperation.

I shake my head no, sure that I resemble something close to a petulant child. But he leans over me, placing a light kiss on my nose. "But I'm overdressed, remember?" I slide one leg up and down his body, actually realizing for the first time that there is still that layer of cotton. I smirk as Steve groans at my movement.

"I suppose that's fair," I sigh, unbinding my body from his. I feel the chuckle, low in his chest, hearty and genuine, and oh-so-Steve. My heart breaks slightly at the sound of it.

I pull myself to the head of the bed, my bare back resting against the firm feather pillows. I get momentarily distracted by how soft the sheets are. I hadn't noticed before, but this is probably the softest bed I've ever had the pleasure of sleeping in. Or doing anything else in… The cotton slides between my fingertips, mimicking the motion of silk. I find it fascinating.

But my attention is quickly reclaimed by Steve as he pulls that confounded white t-shirt over his head. Inhaling sharply, I stare unabashedly at the smooth and sculpted planes of his chest. He looks like The David and my brain seems incapable of being able to process anything else. I have lost the ability to breathe. And Steve notices my heavy stare, that fantastic blush creeping across his neck again, though I notice that it also extends down past his clavicle. He looks at the floor, slipping his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers and in one swift movement, he is standing completely naked in front of me. My own personal Greek sculpture. Except that he's Steve and the moment his eyes look up and find mine—I am undone.

"Get over here." It sounds like a rasping version of my voice, but I cannot remember ever having produced those sounds. "Now." I don't have to tell the man twice, thank God, pouncing on me in an instant. He kisses me briefly, his tongue attempting to invade every corner of my mouth, but all too soon, his lips are moving on to other pursuits. He nips lightly at my breasts, forcing groans from me one moment, then soothing my skin with his tongue, forcing breathy sighs from me in the next. It is absolute torture in the most exhilarating way possible.

I never even felt him move that far down. But his hot breath is between my legs and before I even have time to register his intent, his lips are gently pulling, one hand running up and down my stomach while the other slowly pushes into me. I can't. He gets two full pumps in before I shatter, my back sliding down the bed, arching into him, every muscle in my body seeming to contract, then proceeding to explode at an atomic level.

I haven't even caught my breath yet when I feel him loom over me. My eyes flutter open, taking in everything about the way he looks in this single moment: his hair, disheveled and sticking up at odd angles, his fringe swaying and sticking in places to his damp forehead. His face is flushed, just across the bridge of his nose as he takes deep and heavy breaths. His eyes are a dark blue, like the sea during a storm, dangerous and thrilling. His lips are full, thoroughly kissed and swollen, with just a hint of my sex glistening on his bottom lip. It's positively vulgar and I adore it.

"Can I?" It's an interesting contrast, the innocence of his question, with the low, gravelly, sex-driven voice of a fully grown man straining to maintain control. It's so terribly like Steve, and it makes me ache even more for him.

My hands reach up, pushing his fringe from his face, stroking his cheeks. "Of course." It's not a whisper, barely a breath, and yet it's all it takes.

In the next moment, I am filled so completely that I am left exhaling his name, desperate for air. Desperate for him. I have waited over seventy years for this exact moment and it does not fail to disappoint. I am totally consumed by him in that moment, as he finally moves inside me, deliberate and forceful; his lips moving back to my breasts where he twirls first one nipple, then the other along his tongue. One thrust in particular turns out to be exceptional.

"Oh fuck." Suddenly I realize he's stopped. My eyes snap open, boring holes into the man above me. I am frustrated beyond recognition. "What?"

"Are you OK?"

"If you ask me that one more time, I swear to Christ—" But Steve cuts me off, kissing me hard, and I can feel the laughter in the back of his throat.

He moves again, this time drawing small circles with his hips and it feels like he is hitting every last inch of me. It is absolutely glorious. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, just below my ear, so I can hear his mutterings, his chants, as though he were worshiping in a temple. It slurs into a mix of my name, vulgarities, and guttural moans. I cannot stand it.

My back begins to curl off the bed once more, my nails clawing as his back, attempting to get a grip through the sheen of sweat. I need him deeper, closer, faster. I pull my heels in, digging them into his backside, attempting to pull him in as far as possible; my muscles coil, awaiting release. It is in this moment that I hear his words dance across my jawline:

I love you, Peggy Carter.

Everything implodes, crushing itself like a black hole into a singularity. Nothing else exists outside of the single entity that this man and I have become. We are all of time and space combined, having waited long enough for both. I feel him shake within me, his fingers digging into my skin, attempting to hold on to me as long as he can, the entire universe having seemingly shrunk down to nothing more than the flesh and bone and muscle that we consist of. And I do the same, tensing every muscle in my body, clutching every inch of him I can reach to me and in me, because I cannot lose him again. I refuse to allow it.

I cannot be without Steve again.


	4. Part IIII

"Wow." Steve's head flops back onto the pillow, his chest rising and falling in a manic rhythm as he attempts to catch his breath. I run my fingers through my hair, pulling it away from my dewy face and neck.

"No kidding." I prop myself up on one arm and look down at him, drinking in every last inch of the way he looks, solid and masculine and satisfied. Our eyes meet, a grin jumping across his face. Suddenly we're both laughing uncontrollably, though I have no idea as to why. I cannot help but feel at ease, the likes of which I cannot ever recall feeling before, even when he was still with me during the War. I feel safe.

I collapse onto his chest, my laughter ebbing away in random gasps of air and when I finally manage to look back up at Steve, his gaze is so intense I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. It makes me nervous, so instinctively, I pull my bottom lip between my teeth. It's a nasty habit that I thought I had been properly rid of in finishing school. But I feel his palm glide its way along my jaw line, tangling his fingers into the roots of my hair, gently massaging the spots beneath his fingertips.

"God you're beautiful." I feel the blush deepen. I break our gaze, finding it difficult to compose myself while having him stare at me like that. I know that I'm beautiful, that's never been much of a secret to me, but I'm also no Rita Hayworth either. "I missed you so much, Peg." My breath comes hard and shaky into my lungs as I finally look back at him.

"I missed you too." My voice sounds low and I notice goose bumps rising along Steve where my breathy words have danced up his skin. Slowly, I place a kiss on his chest, moving my way up. Some are light and fleeting, others, wet and heavy and lasting. I feel his hands begin to move their way to my hips, making me sit up, firmly grasping his hands in the process. I move them away, placing them on the bed with a firm push.

"Stay."

I look him squarely in the eye, his breath stopping for a moment. Instantly I lean over him, my hair falling to one side as I work my lips up along his neck. I linger on his pulse point, feeling the light thrum of the blood in his veins beneath my tongue and when I finally decide to move on, I notice a dark red spot from my ministrations. _Good girl, Peg. Mark your territory_.

I drag my mouth up to his, my tongue just barely grazing his lower lip, just enough to taste myself on him, and it electrifies my entire body, heating it up once more. "I missed you, very, _very_ much," each word emphasized with a deep kiss. And as I slide my hips down his body, stretching my entire length along his, I feel him already hard and willing, pressing between my thighs.

"Crikey," I cock my eyebrow up at him, "That was fast." Steve blushes uncontrollably at my remark.

"You don't have to-" he begins to pulls himself out from under me but I refuse to let him move, pressing my palms into his shoulders, my legs holding steady.

"I told you to stay." My words come out harsher than I had intended and I watch his eyes widen in surprise. I reel myself back into the moment, a smile curving across my lips. I lean down, my warm breath dancing across his ear as I whisper, "I can take care of that for you." I place a gentle kiss on his temple before I move down his body, admiring every hard plane, angle, and curve that even Michelangelo himself could not have sculpted more perfectly. I also take note of every spot and scar that juts across his skin, keeping meticulous track with my tongue and lips.

I meet Steve's eye as I work my way down, slithering down his stomach until I stop between his thighs. I smirk slightly at his response—he looks a bit terrified. I grip him in my hand, pausing for a moment to watch him swallow hard. _Oh, he's going to love this_.

Let it be known that Steve Rogers is the most fantastic man to perform fellatio on, because the instant I take the dive, he lets out the most satisfyingly satisfied groan I have ever heard in my life. And as I continue to move, pulling and releasing, laving and grazing, his groans turn into my name and I've never been more pleased with myself. I raise my eyes to watch him, taking in every flex, every release of muscle. His large hands ball the sheets, as he struggles to maintain control. I notice a slight furrow in his brow and I take it as a sign that he's close.

"Come for me, Steve," my voice a low whisper blowing across his heated skin.

And that's all it takes. Another skilled swipe of my tongue over his tip is all that it takes to send him over the edge, and he falls willingly, practically howling my name. And I drink him in in all his glory, absolutely glowing with the knowledge that it is my name that he cries out when he becomes completely undone at the seams.

I eye him as he slowly comes back to me, his chest falling heavy once again.

"Jesus Christ, Peg," he runs a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. I catch the remnants of the wildness in his gaze as he brings himself back under control. "Where on Earth did you learn to do that?"

I sit up, resting myself on the tops of his thighs, with a pleased smile on my face. "A girl picks up a few things at university." He looks up at me with an incredulous stare. "Don't—" But I am cut off by my stomach making an angry, gurgling sound. It reminds us both that I haven't eaten anything in about seventy-five years.

Having composed himself enough, Steve pulls himself up to me, placing his hands securely on my hips. "I suppose that means that you need to eat something?" he chuckles.

"As much as I adore you, _real_ food would be greatly appreciated," I wink at him. The smile and laughter never leaves his face, but I feel his fingers tighten into my skin in response implying a dangerous edge. He is a fast learner. I cradle his head between my hands, giving him a languid kiss before I pull away and move off the bed. His fingers leave white lines across my skin where he refuses to let go of me entirely.

"Is there anything you're wanting in particular?" Steve stands, pulling on his boxers and his now slightly torn t-shirt.

"Whatever your specialty is. I'm not particular at the moment," I pull the knickers Pepper brought me over my hips and I am pleased to find that they fit and are quite comfortable. The same can be said for the bra as well. I am impressed with this Pepper woman, whoever she is. I look down at the rest of the clothing dubiously.

"Fashion is a bit different," Steve comments, moving up behind me. I sigh, turning to look at him.

"Evidently," I pick up the zippered, hooded sweater, my brow knotted slightly.

"I'll get started on food then and leave you it." Steve places a light kiss on my head.

"Thank you, darling," I smile back at him, waiting until he leaves the room to continue contemplating modern clothing style.


End file.

Agent Carter, Avengers, Angst, Romance