Chapter Text
Peggy should have known better. Steve may be the nicest, kindest man she’s met, but he’s still a man. She’d thought for a moment that he shared an ounce of what she felt for him, but it’s clear she was wrong.
That image of him and Private Lorraine is scorched into her retinas, and oh, how it burns.
This isn’t the first time she's sat in her flat and thought of Steve, not by a long shot. But those thoughts used to make her burn in other, better ways. She is not a woman to sit around moping over a man, and yet, here she is.
For a moment she longs to go back to wanting him, to paint over the image of him and Lorraine with other images, ones where she makes him come undone and claims him as hers. It’s not going back to wanting, though, the wanting has never ceased, much to her chagrin. Even after everything, she still wants him desperately. She is a woman with eyes after all, and he is an unfairly attractive man. It’s only natural for her to still be curious and want to experience it for herself.
There may be no romance between them, but does that mean she has to deny herself the pleasure of his body?
Ordinarily, she would have far too much pride for that. But it's Christmas Eve, another holiday spent on her own in a chilly, dark flat. Absent some emergency, they’ve been granted tomorrow off, leaving her even more time to sit and stew.
There was a time when she loved Christmas. Michael had loved Christmas. Even in his twenties, he had retained his childhood spirit. He approached the holiday with vigour, lighting up every single day in December. Since he left her alone she finds she has no taste for the holiday anymore. Instead of joy, it brings her immense sadness. She misses her brother, but she spent last Christmas mourning him and she's determined not to be so morose this year, if only for his memory's sake.
Unfortunately, turning her mind away from that just leads it back to thoughts of Steve, which is also not productive.
The only way to move it in a more productive direction is to think of the things she likes, of how he looks in his suit, of those steely blue eyes.
But no, no. She is not going to do that either.
If only she had friends to spend the holiday with, but the war has stolen many things from her, and her friends were the first to go. Her work is a solitary venture, and normally she thrives on that, but there is such a thing as too much of a good thing, and if she goes too long without real, human interaction as herself, the solitude becomes too much.
Right now, it is far too much.
And in the dark, all alone, she can admit that all she wants for Christmas is Steve. To have one night not plagued by the horrors of war and the crushing loneliness that has been tormenting her since their flirtation ended. One night to be loved and held, to forget about everything and just be.
It's pathetic and unlike her, but hasn't the war taken enough? Who knows when she will next have the opportunity to just be, or if she ever will. They could all be dead tomorrow, and if so, she doubts she'd regret not going after this out of some warped sense of pride.
She shivers on her bed at the temperature in her flat. She thinks of how hot Steve's chest was against her palm when he came out of that chamber, of how nice it would be to drape herself over him and finally feel warm again.
Blackouts, energy rations and a barely functional furnace make her already lackluster accommodations barely tolerable.
Especially when compared with the alternative.
With a far too attractive Captain who could keep her warm and take her mind off all of this with a combination of that super soldier stamina, astute observations and methodical nature. Could have her reeling with bliss after a bit of instruction.
She knows he’d listen to her, knows he would be eager to learn, that he would prioritize her pleasure over everything else. She has thought a lot about what Steve Rogers would be like in bed, and she knows he’d be damn good given some practice (if he hasn’t already had it).
Regardless of whatever he has been up to, how many beds he has lied in, he has never been in hers, and that is a damn shame.
Up until that morning she’d shot at him, she had always thought them ending up in bed together was inevitable. It was just a question of whether they’d be able to resist until such time as the war was over.
There was never a doubt in her mind that she would get to feel that man, over her, under her, all around her.
She still craves that, still wants to experience the fantasies that made cold nights here bearable.
She wants to know what those lips feel like on hers, wants to know what sets him off, how far she can push him, what will make him cry out her name in ecstasy.
She had wanted it all, but that was silly and the war is no time for any of that. Stolen moments are all she is guaranteed, and tonight there is one ripe for the taking.
She just has to swallow down her pride and walk out that door.
Fuck it, she's doing this.
Christmas on the front lines is not at all what Steve expected—though he never could have anticipated Howard being so… Howard, and most of this comes from Howard.
It’s a surprisingly lovely time. Even as a kid, Steve was never big on the holiday. Half the time he was sick, and his mother always sacrificed far too much to be able to give him gifts.
After she passed, he’d had a standing invitation to the Barnes’ for Christmas. But even with how close he is to the family, he always felt like he was intruding when he joined them.
Here though, no one is intruding. They are all away from their homes, their families, but they have a community here. Everyone is banding together to make this a good time.
Howard’s generosity has certainly helped with that. Somehow that man managed to get a hold of a dozen or so turkeys, stuffed and cooked to perfection.
It’s the best meat Steve has had since before the war, and though he could probably eat a whole turkey to himself, he filled himself up on all the other dishes. Some men—notably Gilmore Hodge, who Steve was annoyed to learn is stationed here—selfishly loaded up their plates, but for the most part everyone ensured there would be enough to go around.
He’s outside around a fire that Dugan set up, with Bucky beside him, under one of Howard's new blackout covers. The unenclosed tent sits up quite high, and Howard assured him the material is flame retardant, but the whole thing is a dubious proposition. Thus far this is going better than that flying car, but Steve has a fire extinguisher on hand and is ready to use it.
All the guys are merry, and unconcerned about the risk—he'd endured several rounds of teasing about his concerns and accessory. The guys are passing around a bottle of Bourbon, just what they need to add into the mix.
Dugan had offered to kiss Howard for the bottle, and in the end Howard was promised “the secret to Dugan’s great mustache” which Steve is fairly sure doesn’t actually exist.
Even Bucky seems to be in good spirits, something that has been lacking as of late. He fakes it well for everyone else, but Steve has known him far too long to be fooled by that.
There is no doubt the war has changed them both, Steve’s is externally obvious, where Bucky’s is internal. Steve still isn't sure exactly what has changed, but he is trying not to push.
The bottle makes its way over to their side, and it's clear the fellas have not been savoring it. Steve only takes a small swig, just a taste since he probably can't get drunk, and wouldn't want to anyway.
Bucky takes a swig big enough for them both, and Dugan whoops before taking it back to do the same. With that, the bottle is nearly finished, and Falsworth is muttering while Morita heads off in search of more.
When Morita returns, a bottle of Scotch safely in hand, the conversation quickly becomes more loud and rowdy. It reminds Steve of that night in the pub, all of them around the table celebrating. Different location, but same good spirit.
The only thing missing is Peggy, but that's not a surprise. He has barely seen her since that morning when he ruined everything with his big mouth. She has a remarkable ability to avoid him despite working in the same facility—it’s made him realize how much of their contact before was orchestrated by her.
He tries to take his mind off of her by tuning back into the conversation, but it’s about girls, because of course it is, and that sure isn’t helping.
He does laugh when Morita tells the story of how Dugan got himself slapped then kicked out of the safehouse on their first mission together.
“Little did we know,” Morita goes on, “that that was a blessing in disguise. If I knew what I know now, I woulda slept soundly in the blessed silence.”
“But instead you came and slept under the stars with me,” Dugan reminisces.
“You may have slept, I sure didn’t.”
“So that's how you knew to refuse to bunk with him. You ass, coulda warned a guy,” says Gabe, who had the displeasure of being Dugan’s roommate.
Dugan glares at him. “Hey, I shared my bourbon with you.”
“You mean Stark’s bourbon.”
Peggy's voice rings out, and for a second Steve thinks he’s imagining it, but everyone has turned to look at her. “Do you lot have any of said bourbon left?”
It’s dark enough that the rest of them wouldn’t be able to make out her perfectly done red lips or that she's not in uniform, though her jacket is of a similar cut. Steve had heard her footsteps but wrongly assumed it was one of the other guys. He wishes he had looked as it would have given him time to school the surprise on his face.
As she steps closer, Steve realizes she has on a brown leather jacket, and she looks so damn good he has to force his eyes away from her.
He has never seen a woman wear a leather jacket before, and the way Peggy looks in one should be illegal.
She strides over to Morita, who is currently in possession of the vodka and takes a swig, eliciting various expressions of delight from around the fire.
“What made you change your mind and decide to join us?” Bucky asks, while sliding away from Steve in a far too obvious gesture.
Surprisingly, Peggy starts to make her way over. “Decided I couldn’t let you boys have all the fun.”
“That the only reason?” Bucky presses and Steve wishes he could hit him without drawing attention.
“The only one I’m sharing with you.”
Bucky shrugs and gets up, heading off into the dark.
Peggy is looking at Steve, really looking at him, like she hasn’t in weeks and he has to fight against his nerves to get out a lame, “Merry Christmas, Peggy.”
Somehow she makes her own, “Merry Christmas, Steve,” sound sexy, and he swallows hard.
It feels like before, and he wants it to be like before, but he doesn’t know what caused this change of heart and he doesn’t want to take advantage.
“Peggy, about that day, I’m sor—”
Peggy puts her hand on his thigh to stop him as she shakes her head. “Don’t, I don’t want to think about any of that, not tonight.”
“But…”
“Not tonight.”
He finds himself nodding, he can give her that, he would give her anything she asked her, and this really is the least he could do.
“There should be some of Howard’s feast left,” he says, gesturing over to the general area. “Can I get you anything?”
“I think I can handle myself,” Peggy says with a grin, “But if you’d like to lead the way, I guess I could let you hold my plate.”
Steve jumps up, happy to have the opportunity.
“So,” Steve starts, “What, uh, brought you here?”
He wants to take it back as the words are leaving his mouth. They aren’t in a place to trade secrets anymore, whatever her reasons are they are her business and he shouldn’t pry.
She lets out a soft contemplative “mmm,” and he rushes to reassure.
“I, you don’t have to… I shouldn’t have asked.”
At that she smiles. “Honestly, spending Christmas all alone is a rather sad proposition. I could have continued sitting there feeling sorry for myself, but I availed myself of the better option.”
“Your family isn’t…” He’s not really sure where he is going with that, but thankfully she comes to his aid once again.
“It’s just my mother, and last I heard she’s over in Oxford, as safe as one can be. I haven’t seen her since… well, since I broke off my engagement to join the SOE. She told me that if I left she would never forgive me for it. I guess I haven’t had the heart to find out if that’s true.”
He has several questions, so of course, he says the dumbest thing. “She really said that?”
Peggy nods. “To her credit, we’d just lost Michael, that was likely the grief talking. But I’m not the same person who left that day, and she was never happy with who I was to begin with. Lord knows I’ve only gotten farther away from her ideals.”
There is so much Steve wants to say, but all he says is, “I’m sorry," because they have arrived, and he doesn't want to push her to open up more if she doesn't want to.
What’s left at the table is mere scraps, but still Peggy’s eyes widen. Howard’s scraps will always beat rations.
He’s pleased to find a small amount of turkey still left, hidden amidst the wreckage. He might not be able to do anything to help her with her family and loss, but this he can do. He gathers all that is left for her, delighting in the way it makes her smile. Between the two of them, they manage to assemble a decent plate.
Peggy passes him her plate, then heads off the wrong way; he follows with furrowed brows.
It’s only when they approach Howard that Steve understands her aim. Howard is thrilled to see her, no surprise there. What is a surprise is how warmly Peggy greets him. There is a genuine care in the interaction. Theirs is a relationship Steve doesn’t think he will ever understand, but he doesn’t have to. He knows now that it is not at all romantic, no matter how much Howard tries.
“Say, Peg. When did you two make up?” Howard asks, gesturing to Steve.
Peggy asks, “What gave you the absurd idea there was something the matter between us?”
Howard raises his brows. “Besides all those shots in the lab?”
“You mean the demonstration of what that shield can do. Just because others weren’t familiar with its intricacies doesn’t mean that I wasn’t.”
Howard looks doubtful. “That and what Steve was seeking advice on.”
Steve wants to melt into the floor, he was really hoping that wouldn’t come up.
When Peggy turns to him her expression isn’t hard like he expected, instead she arches a brow and advises, “In the future, it’s best not to consult Howard on anything to do with women, or general communication. As you’ve realized he tends to get the wrong impression, something you two share.”
“Hey—” Howard grumbles at the same time as Steve’s stuttered, “I… Yes, noted. Thank you.”
Peggy grins, then turns back to Howard. “If you wanted to curry my favour, I wouldn’t say no to your finest bottle.”
Howard offers up a selection of three different alcohols, a whiskey, a red wine, and something with a label in a language Steve can’t read. Steve laughs when Peggy pilfers both the wine and the whiskey, a choice that is about to make her even more a hit with the guys.
As they head back Steve asks, “Are you alright?”
Peggy’s eyes narrow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Setting aside the two bottles, the holidays can be tough. Is this the first since… your loss?”
Peggy sighs. “No, it’s not… You're right, of course, the holidays are hard, this one especially." She pauses and Steve gives her the space to keep going. Eventually she does. "Micheal, my brother, he loved Christmas. I was never quite the fan he was, but he had this way of drawing you in. If Michael was excited then everyone was excited. I took that for…"
Peggy blinks, subtly shaking her head and Steve knows before she speaks that the moment is gone. "Anyway, it’s a bit maudlin for what’s supposed to be a nice time. And I know he would want it to be a nice time.”
“He sounds lovely.”
“He was. But enough on that. I can assure you that I am not intending on drinking both of these. I may not have brought any gifts, but Howard’s generosity can always be counted on.”
“Where does he even find this stuff?”
Peggy shrugs. “When you have that kind of money it’s much easier to do. Besides, it’s not Howard who is procuring this, we have some incredible staffer to thank for that. Howard devotes his energy to other pursuits…”
Steve laughs. “I'm aware. Have you seen his latest idea for my suit? He wants to build in a flamethrower as if that wouldn’t just end up with my clothes burned off.”
She arches a brow. “Maybe that’s what he’s going for.”
“I don’t think running into a Hydra blockade naked is going to bring us any advantage.”
“It would certainly catch them off guard. And I do think it would be quite the distraction.”
“Oh?”
Peggy looks him up and down smirking. “I was referring to a naked man generally, but your form specifically would certainly add to that.”
Steve blushes. “I… thank you?”
Peggy chuckles. “Some things never change, do they?”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
She eyes him. “That was rather my point.”
He doesn’t like being in the dark like this. From her tone he doesn’t think she’s making fun of him, but he would really know what is going on.
“That’s not an answer.”
“I am tempted to point out that there was no question posed. But I won’t leave you flat footed for the sake of semantics, this time anyway…" Peggy lets that dangle for so long that he wonders if he ought to comment. "However, I was referring to your inability to take a compliment.”
Well, he can’t deny that.
Steve grins and leans in to tell her, “Well, I am tempted to point out that saying those words pointed it out.”
She directs another brilliant smile at him. “Touché.”
Dugan’s loud voice draws her gaze from him, and Steve shakes his head at the sound of Dugan waving them over, as if that wasn’t where they were heading.
“So Cap, what’dya bring us back?”
Steve shrugs. “Me, nothing. This is Peggy’s plate, Peggy on the other hand…”
Peggy shows off her pilfered wares, earning a volume of whistling and cheers that tells Steve the guys really don’t need these bottles. But who is he to judge, just because he can’t get drunk doesn’t mean the guys shouldn’t have their fun.
Steve waits for Peggy to finish, feeling foolish as he hovers holding her plate.
Eventually they settle on the ground, Peggy taking the plate from him as she digs in with surprising relish. But then, when was the last time she had a meal like this. Fresh food like this is near impossible to come by (he would have said impossible prior to this feast). The food served here normally, while slightly better than K-rations, is nothing to write home about. While she has her own place off site, not only are groceries rationed, but she works most of the time the stores are open. It should be no surprise then that she moans as she bites into the buttery potatoes and yet, the sound reverberates into his gut, stirring a longing he tries desperately to ignore.
When the whiskey bottle makes its way back to them, it’s already half gone.
Peggy raises a brow when he holds it up to show her. “That is rather impressive, but do hang on to that, I was hoping to have more than a single sip of it.”
He asked around this before, so now he asks directly, “Are you trying to get drunk tonight?”
It doesn't get him a better answer.
Peggy frowns, muttering cryptically, “Not in the way you are thinking. I’ll have you know I can hold my liquor better than most men, even delinquents like these.”
Bucky laughs, “Glad to know how we merit in your book, Carter. Now, c’mon, sharing is caring.”
Peggy takes a large swig, dulying passing it to Bucky. “I want that back.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When she’s finished with her food, Peggy takes another swig from the bottle, then stands up, giving it to Dugan of all people.
“You are never getting that back,” Steve warns, as the guys crowd around Dugan.
Peggy winks at him. “That’s fine, my actions had the desired effect.”
“Which was?”
“Distraction, now come on.”
Steve isn’t sure why that was needed, but he follows blindly. In the darkness, he is free to stare at the sashay of her hips as she strides toward the food.
Ah, they’ll be foraging for scraps again. Perhaps she was worried the guys would follow suit looking for a drunken snack. He could have allayed that concern as nothing takes them away from their alcohol, but he is happy to be a part of anything with her.
Steve nearly trips when Peggy turns and reaches back for him, linking their hands. Hers is surprisingly delicate considering the punch she can pack, and the warmth of it, of her, radiates through him. She leads him away from the table, still clasping his hand in hers.
He starts to ask, “Where are we going?” but she shh’s him. She leads them toward the barracks, rounding a tank, leaving them firmly out of view.
“Peggy, what’s—” this time it’s a hand on his chest that stops him. Her eyes bore into his and he wonders briefly what she can see of him with this lack of light.
She leans in and his heart thuds in his chest. Slinging her arms around his neck, she breathes a soft “May I?” that he can only nod to in response to. He’s drunk on anticipation and she must know it because she hovers, her lips a mere breath away, staring up at him with wide eyes.
He wants to be the one to close the distance between them, but he can’t seem to move, can’t do anything but stare and listen to their ragged breathing.
She bites at her lower lip, and he wants to be the one doing that for her.
Her hand caresses his face as she whispers, “Steve, you’re trembling.”
He swallows and nods, instinctively chasing her hand as it falls away. “I can’t seem to stop.”
He full on shivers when she presses her body into his and asks, “Better?”
And god, she is so so close, he can feel her breath on him, and he can’t breathe, he can’t think, he wants, he wants…
“Please,” is all he manages to stammer out, but it’s enough.
She finally closes the distance, pressing her lips to his. His brain short circuits, her mouth is warm, soft, and so lovely against his. He's glad for the solid surface behind him—without it he’s not sure he’d be able to stay standing. He knows that he should be responding, should be doing something, anything, but he can’t seem to make his limbs move. Can’t do anything but bask in the feeling of her lips on his. He never wants this moment to end.
Peggy starts to pull back, eyeing him cautiously and it breaks the spell. He leans in, kissing her now, and she melts into him, going even softer when he brings a hand to her back.
As she responds to his kiss, he learns how to respond. Her nose is nuzzling against him as she samples his mouth and they are connected in so many places, it almost makes him dizzy. She is warm and soft nearly everywhere and it's intoxicating.
Steve chases her lips as she starts to pull away, never wanting to stop.
Peggy smiles, breathing heavily. “Not all of us have your lung capacity, Captain.”
“Sorry,” he breathes, as he brings a hand to her back, the other pushing a stray lock of hair out of her face, gazing into her beautiful eyes, alight with satisfaction and heat.
This time when she kisses him, it’s rougher, deeper, and she bites at his lower lip, something he did not know could be this alluring.
Then she’s kissing him with tongue and her hands are roving down his back, her body plastered to his front and all thoughts leave him. He loses track of how long they stay like that, heat rising in his gut as she continues to kiss him fiercely. He tries to give it back as good as he’s getting it, and if the sounds she’s making are anything to go by, he’s doing alright.
When she starts to nip down his neck, he can't hold back anymore. The erection he had barely been keeping at bay springs to life. There is no way she can’t feel it with how close she is, but he’s thankful when she doesn’t mention it. He’s not a leche and he doesn't want her to get the wrong idea about this. He's enjoying himself, how could he not be, but he is in no way pushing her for more. He would never.
She returns her mouth to his, and presses herself firmly into where he is hard for her. The sound that comes out of him can only be described as a squeak; somehow it doesn’t entirely kill the mood.
Instead she cranks it up tenfold by whispering, “Steve,” into his ear, then fries his brain with, “Take me to bed.”