[ The quip at Howard’s expense startles a laugh out him and loosens any leftover rigidity from his shoulders. Only a different sort of tension coils in his chest, as his gaze follows her head back, to the crinkles at the inner corners of her eyes, and then focuses in on the faded red of her lipstick. He feels like the a record skipping, caught on a minute groove, or maybe that’s simply the oh in his head, a recursive chorus whenever the light catches Peggy Carter just so. He fans his fingers out on her waist. The look on his face is at once surprised and soft. Oh. ]
Wouldn’t know.
[ A little roguish (insomuch as he can be, scruff and all) and a lot wry. He applied to bloody SHIELD Academy and took a field assignment with Jemma long before he jumped into quarantine wards and foreign conflicts and strange planets.
Two epic loves is more than most people get, even if they both ended in tragedy. And Fitz has managed to make a life here, far-flung from all he knew and loved. Not much to risk, is there then? Besides the one thing —
It’s a snap decision. Has to be, or he wouldn’t see it through. He cants his head forward, closing the distance between them to press a fervent kiss to her mouth. ]
[ It's her job to see things coming and she certainly sees a great deal. But this — the split-second between breaths, that minute inward shift in his gaze — she doesn't see it so much as feel it, some quiet corner at the back of her mind that sends her heartbeat into a gentle uptick before the rest of her catches up on why. When did it start? A month, two, three months ago? When did this circle into something else, bolstered by long nights not unlike this one? Did this sneak up on him just as much as it has her?
He kisses her and they sway to a stop and the afterimage of his expression flickers across her eyelids as they flutter closed and as she rises up into him and the heat of his mouth, she thinks — yes. Oh, yes, this snuck up on him too.
Her hand is still held in his and she brings both to settle in the gasp of space between them, caught between two pounding hearts; the other at his shoulder slides around to cup his face because there is nothing chaste about this kiss, no matter how tender the music on the wireless, because she didn't see it coming but God, now that it's happening, she can't imagine how she could have missed something so achingly obvious. ]
[ He should've known that despite her poise, Peggy Carter doesn't go easy, not for anything, even his soft attempts at — well, at flirtation, he supposes. Scrappy as anything in the field, with a right hook like a freight train (which he's well-aware of, after their messy first meeting, when the monolith spat him out). Why wouldn't she be bold in this, too? Once their connection sparks into something more, her hand slides across his chest, cups his face, brings them into perfect alignment. And without hesitation, he follows her lead. Might be that he's willing to follow her into anything, after all these months circling each other.
Guided by the warmth of her touch and his own instincts to deepen the kiss, he opens his mouth. Oh. At her waist, his hands first tighten, then slide up, pulling her flush with pressure at the small of her back. A step or two forward, pushing, moving.
Fitz hasn't kissed anyone like this in quite some time. ]
Years, maybe, since the last whirlwind of anything half as meaningful (and the last thing crashed and burned long ago in the wake of duty) and here she is swept up in another. It's probably a terrible idea, getting tangled up in someone who doesn't belong here, who will inevitably leave all this and her behind for where he's meant to be — but she's weathered that storm before and she needn't think any farther than the present. Peggy spends her days trying to think ten steps ahead of the world but she can leave it at the door for a night, can't she, and allow herself this? This small, fervent piece of someone else's life.
He steers this kiss from hunger to passion in a heartbeat and she breathes into it, him, the heat of his mouth, his hands through the fabric of her dress; and as he moves, so does she, walking back blindly until her shoulder meets the mantle piece. Their momentum doesn't slow there — she knows a quarter turn will take her to the gap on the wall between fireplace and end table so she does it, lips parting to his with a soft noise and careless of the colour smearing across them; because it has been a while, a long bloody while, and she doesn't mind him knowing it. ]
[ It's the noise of appreciation that makes him short circuit, breath catching in his throat when she gets him against the wall, delaying any productive reaction by seconds. Even after the Framework, Fitz remains expressive at the worst of times, and this is — better, the best.
Carter finds the only gap in the wall of his bloody apartment, as it happens, a clever maneuver that doesn't go unnoticed or unappreciated, even if he has better things to do with his mouth than gawk at her. Fitz angles to the side, catching the corner of her lips, further smudging the redness there, and kissing across her jaw. Can't let her outdo him like it's nothing, yeah? Hands still firm at her back (not budging despite the reversal of positions), he ducks to trail his mouth along the hollow of her throat.
Spies tend to have a thing about that, confirmed by his own interests and experience of others. A little danger has appeal. ]
[ A little danger, a little surprise has appeal — she isn't often blindsided so the novelty is something she relishes (when it doesn't involve bullets), a thrilling little shiver down her spine all the while. Although it does feel a little bit like a gunshot for how precisely he turns the tables and she bares her throat to the wandering warmth of his kisses before she even realises it, lashes fluttering like her wild pulse. ]
Oh, bloody hell.
[ Soft, more breath than voice, because he catches on a spot that honest-to-God makes her knees a little weak — she'd blame the bourbon but please, she can lie to others, not herself — and her hand on his cheek finds purchase in his hair, curling through it and holding on as if to stop him, to keep him there, to drag him back up for another urgent kiss. She's breathless with it, with waiting for a slip of tongue or the nip of his teeth, with being torn on asking for it because all that she manages on a trembling exhale is — ]
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Wouldn’t know.
[ A little roguish (insomuch as he can be, scruff and all) and a lot wry. He applied to bloody SHIELD Academy and took a field assignment with Jemma long before he jumped into quarantine wards and foreign conflicts and strange planets.
Two epic loves is more than most people get, even if they both ended in tragedy. And Fitz has managed to make a life here, far-flung from all he knew and loved. Not much to risk, is there then? Besides the one thing —
It’s a snap decision. Has to be, or he wouldn’t see it through. He cants his head forward, closing the distance between them to press a fervent kiss to her mouth. ]
no subject
He kisses her and they sway to a stop and the afterimage of his expression flickers across her eyelids as they flutter closed and as she rises up into him and the heat of his mouth, she thinks — yes. Oh, yes, this snuck up on him too.
Her hand is still held in his and she brings both to settle in the gasp of space between them, caught between two pounding hearts; the other at his shoulder slides around to cup his face because there is nothing chaste about this kiss, no matter how tender the music on the wireless, because she didn't see it coming but God, now that it's happening, she can't imagine how she could have missed something so achingly obvious. ]
makes this my 1,000th fitz tag
Guided by the warmth of her touch and his own instincts to deepen the kiss, he opens his mouth. Oh. At her waist, his hands first tighten, then slide up, pulling her flush with pressure at the small of her back. A step or two forward, pushing, moving.
Fitz hasn't kissed anyone like this in quite some time. ]
YELLS
Years, maybe, since the last whirlwind of anything half as meaningful (and the last thing crashed and burned long ago in the wake of duty) and here she is swept up in another. It's probably a terrible idea, getting tangled up in someone who doesn't belong here, who will inevitably leave all this and her behind for where he's meant to be — but she's weathered that storm before and she needn't think any farther than the present. Peggy spends her days trying to think ten steps ahead of the world but she can leave it at the door for a night, can't she, and allow herself this? This small, fervent piece of someone else's life.
He steers this kiss from hunger to passion in a heartbeat and she breathes into it, him, the heat of his mouth, his hands through the fabric of her dress; and as he moves, so does she, walking back blindly until her shoulder meets the mantle piece. Their momentum doesn't slow there — she knows a quarter turn will take her to the gap on the wall between fireplace and end table so she does it, lips parting to his with a soft noise and careless of the colour smearing across them; because it has been a while, a long bloody while, and she doesn't mind him knowing it. ]
🔥
Carter finds the only gap in the wall of his bloody apartment, as it happens, a clever maneuver that doesn't go unnoticed or unappreciated, even if he has better things to do with his mouth than gawk at her. Fitz angles to the side, catching the corner of her lips, further smudging the redness there, and kissing across her jaw. Can't let her outdo him like it's nothing, yeah? Hands still firm at her back (not budging despite the reversal of positions), he ducks to trail his mouth along the hollow of her throat.
Spies tend to have a thing about that, confirmed by his own interests and experience of others. A little danger has appeal. ]
no subject
Oh, bloody hell.
[ Soft, more breath than voice, because he catches on a spot that honest-to-God makes her knees a little weak — she'd blame the bourbon but please, she can lie to others, not herself — and her hand on his cheek finds purchase in his hair, curling through it and holding on as if to stop him, to keep him there, to drag him back up for another urgent kiss. She's breathless with it, with waiting for a slip of tongue or the nip of his teeth, with being torn on asking for it because all that she manages on a trembling exhale is — ]
Leo.