Peggys Girl Meet Peggys Man

It was a lovely evening, a lovely dinner, until the radio station stopped playing music and switched to the adventure hour instead. Thrilling adventures with Captain America and Betty. Just the sort of thing to put Peggy in a foul mood that even Angie couldn't quite lift.

It wouldn't be for lack of trying, though.

Peggy kept staring at her plate of spaghetti as Angie got up, not even noticing until Angie was behind her, wrapping her arms under Peggy's armpits and hoisting her up.

"Angie, what on earth—"

"Shush. You can brood on your own time. You know how many weekends I get off this early, goin' straight from slaving over a hot stove at work to slaving over a hot stove here, just so you can have a home-cooked meal?"

Peggy, as always, seemed both fond of and bewildered by Angie's stream of verbiage. "It was a scrumptious meal," she said, brushing Angie's arms away, but not before Angie had successfully deposited her in an armchair looking out from the room's northeast corner. With Peggy seated, Angie leaned over her, hands steepled on the armrests.

"You wanna tell me what's bothering you or should I scare you with how

mysteriously

accurate my guess is?"

Peggy's expression was abashed, a look she only let steal onto her face when she was with Angie. No poker face for the waitress. "Well, if I've ruined dinner, I can at least tell you the truth. The silly, irrational truth."

"Silly and irrational. My specialties."

"It's Steve." Peggy gazed at the radio as if she almost wanted to turn it back on. Sometimes the actor they'd gotten did almost sound like Steve, when his lines weren't too corny. "I can't help feeling sometimes as though I robbed him. Surviving, and having this life, when he had so little—lost so much."

"Hey, you sacrificed plenty, sister." Angie dropped herself in Peggy's lap. "And if he's half the guy you told me about, he'd be just as broken up by you having to go without him as he'd be about... leaving." Angie crossed her legs, putting her knees across the leg of Peggy's she wasn't perched on. She fit neatly atop of Peggy. "I know, I know. You wanted to be the gal sitting on Captain America's lap—"

"That's not what I wanted to do with his lap," Peggy said, before immediately regretting her phrasing. It was something about American English—

everything

had some smutty meaning, as evidenced by how Angie's eyes lit up.

"Getting a little frisky there, are ya, English?" Angie teasingly racked her chin. "Like I was saying, maybe you can't sit on Cap's lap, but I can sit on yours. That ain't so bad, is it?"

"Well... not when you throw in a home-cooked meal," Peggy replied widely.

Angie's smile brightened like the Sunset Strip. "That's what you get for dating an Italian woman. We get you hooked on the food, then you have to put up with us. How my mom got my pop."

"Indeed," Peggy muttered. "Whereas the English just seduce our prey with our sophisticated manners and elegant aesthetic."

"Yeah, I think your aesthetic's just about ready for me," Angie said, already breathing hard, as her hand tucked under Peggy's skirt. She toyed with the trim hair she found there, running her fingers through it to watch just how lustful Peggy's expression could go, then cupping Peggy's labia and squeezing with just barely not enough pressure. "How's that feel?"

"Like your linguini tastes." Peggy allowed herself a smile at her own quip—keep Angie guessing—but suddenly she tensed with a gasp, her knees spreading wider, her back arching almost enough to buck Angie from her interesting position. "Okay, keep doing that," Peggy now urged. "That, I like!"

"Just one more thing you like about me," Angie sighed, playing bored. "There's just no variety with you."

Her fingertips now coated with Peggy's wetness, Angie felt invited,

begged,

to slide them actually inside of Peggy, who wiggled and squirmed with every little bit she took. Angie probed deeply, watching her lover's face—even Peggy seemed surprised by how thoroughly Angie was able to explore with her pussy clenching, squeezing down with every ragged breath she took. Her clit quivered faintly at the crest of her spread thighs; Angie touched it lightly with the nail of her thumb.

Peggy's slender hips twisted, as if they were wrenching out the moan she was releasing. When she closed her eyes, Angie took it as a surrender.

"Here's what I think we should do. I'm gonna make you come. Then I'm gonna take off my clothes. Then we'll get onto the bed and see about you paying me back for that 'scrumptious' meal."

"You waiters—" Peggy moaned. "Always angling for a tip..."

Then she trailed off, a broken sigh as Angie centered her attention on Peggy's clit. Her middle and ring finger were inside Peggy, gently stirring the pot as her forefinger and pinky rubbed at the skin outside Peggy's core. But her thumb did the real work, massaging Peggy's clit until she was drenched with sweat, shuddering uncontrollably. Angie felt like she was touching herself, she was so turned on. As she fingered Peggy, her other hand frantically unbuttoned her dress.

Peggy didn't wait. Before Angie had it all the way unbuttoned, her hand was under Angie's skirt, playing the garters of her stockings like violin strings, then going straight for Angie's panties.

"Oh gosh!" Angie exclaimed. With Peggy's finger inside her, she felt like she was all jelly. "Gosh, Peg, you don't kid around..."

"I think we should go to the bed right now," Peggy said, once more in charge. "And then we'll both come."

"That sounds fine..." Angie said dreamily, unable to focus on anything but Peggy's callused finger claiming her sex.

Peggy easily picked her up, hoisting her to the bed, and as Peggy carried her, Angie brought her wet fingers to her mouth. Sucked them dry.

"So," Peggy said. "How does one Margaret Beatrix Carter pair with a serving of spaghetti and meatballs?"

Angie tucked her head against Peggy's shoulder. "You're no white wine, but you'll do."

Peggy sighed. Howard's apartment was going to make a snob of Angie yet.

She stopped at the foot of the bed, Angie still held tightly in her arms, and she gave the girl a firm kiss, something that Angie never minded—though she did get a bit snippy when Peggy was nibbling her ear.

"Not that your lipstick doesn't look good all over my earring, Peg, but we are going to get to the, y'know, 'unmentionables' soon?"

"Well, now that you mention it..." Peggy dumped Angie on the bed, the waitress giving a little shriek as the mattress bounced her. She protested even more shrilly as Peggy pulled her around, orienting her with her head at the foot of the bed and her feet pointed at the pillows.

"You manhandle me more than the men, you know that?"

Even upside-down, Peggy had no problem helping Angie out of her clothes. "It's all the energy your cooking gives me. So much iron I could lift a tank."

Peggy looked down at Angie naked. She loved the gamine body, the coltish limbs that led inexorably to the surprisingly large, sensual breasts that appeared when she dispensed with her conservative brassiere. Peggy leaned over, reaching down to plant her fingertips on Angie's flat belly, than drawing her nails up the perfect skin, raking all of Angie's body all the way to her face, where she lightly touched Angie's lips and closed eyes before finishing with a brush through her soft hair. Angie kept her eyes closed, anticipating another tour of her naked body with a dreamy look on her face.

But Peggy was in no mood for still more foreplay. Angie had heated her up like no one else could, touching her there, and now, though she could force herself to appreciate the wonderful creature she'd ended up with, she also had to

have her.

Quickly removing her panties, but allowing the dress to remain, Peggy crawled onto the bed, parallel to Angie as she padded on all fours down to her friend's bared sex.

"Of everything on the menu tonight," Peggy opined, "I would have to say this has the most appetizing aroma."

Angie groaned. "You know, sometimes English, I think the only romantic bone in your body is having that accent, because otherwise, you can be a grade-A clod!"

"What? Isn't that just what Clark Gable would say? Spread your legs so I can have you."

Angie shuddered. "Oh, you know you don't need to ask to

have me

—"

With both of them on their sides, Peggy nuzzled her head between Angie's thighs, at the same time opening her legs for Angie to burrow into her crotch—though not before Angie felt the need to comment on the dart of Peggy's tongue against her. "God, you know just the right spot!"

Then Angie's head disappeared under Peggy's skirt, mouth finding her wet pussy like they were two magnets. Her moist tongue played at Peggy's slit, repeatedly working her way up to Peggy's quivering clitoris, where she finished the operation with a playful little suck that never failed to make Peggy gasp. Though not as vocally as Angie did.

"Oh, your tongue!" Angie enthused, thrusting her naked hips as desperately into Peggy's face as Peggy licked at her. "Drives me wild, that tongue of yours! Makes me want to—ohhhh!"

"You're not so bad yourself," Peggy replied, her hands around Angie's supple ass. She dug her fingers into the soft cheeks, pulling the woman's throbbing sex even tighter to her tongue. "You taste so good, Ang—even better than you smell..."

As if in response, Angie tightened her firm thighs around Peggy's head, feeling the agent's soft brown locks traipse over Angie's legs as she stabbed her tongue inside. Peggy herself locked Angie's sucking mouth to her cunt, pumping her hips onto the tongue that lashed her with mounting eagerness. But even in the midst of so much pleasure, Angie couldn't resist using her mouth for more than just kissing and sucking, even at Peggy.

"Your tongue's going so deep!" she moaned. "I can feel it everywhere! My clit, get my clit, make me come with your tongue on my—"

Angie's smell strong in her nostrils, her words loud in her ears, Peggy forced her tongue deep into the trembling woman's sex. Angie's pleasure poured from her, drenching Peggy's lips with its slickness, but that only made Peggy go deeper. She wanted more. Right from the source...

Angie's moans were only growing louder. If they were still in the Griffin, the whole floor would have woken by now. "It won't take much more to make me come!" Her voice was muffled by Peggy's sex. That didn't do much to make it seem any quieter. "Oh cripes, I'm tingling all over!"

Whatever else she had to say was lost in a long moan directed entirely into Peggy's cunt, her thighs pulling taut around Peggy's head, bracing herself as her climax hit her like a train. Her shapely hips gyrated wildly, forcing her pussy into Peggy's face like she wanted to keep it there, feeling this way, forever.

"Oh God, I'm coming my beaver off!" Angie gasped, her whole body rigid, metal, red-hot metal that would never cool. "Suck me, Peg! Suck me while I'm coming!"

Angie squirmed like a livewire, still sucking frantically at Peggy's clit, determined to make Peggy feel just as good. Just as she thought her come couldn't get any better, Peggy stiffened with a sharp cry, digging her nails into Angie's ass, pulling the girl's hips desperately to her face.

"Uhhh!" Angie panted. "Shove your tongue all the way in! Deeper! I want my clit down your throat!"

They pumped their bodies into each other's pleasure with jerky thrusts, each one's mouths pulling wetly at the other's cunt as they squirmed together, wiggled together. Peggy straightened her long legs out behind Angie's head, crossing her knees to squeeze her thighs tightly—forcing Angie to remain on task without the color commentary.

"I love having your mouth on my cunt," she gritted out, making Angie swoon. Something about that sweet voice talking dirty made Angie wetter than all the sex in the world.

After much groaning and thrashing, the two were finally done. They relaxed muscle by muscle, resting their heads on each other's calves without the energy to reorient themselves.

"Nobody's ever eaten me that way, that good," Angie said, cuddling up to Peggy's long, stockinged leg. "You're like a vacuum cleaner or something!"

"I'd like to think I have a little more technique than that," Peggy replied. "But I'm glad you liked it as well."

Besotted as they were with each other, they couldn't help but notice the man who suddenly peeked through the door as if he were investigating a crime scene. He was wearing some sort of uniform, though none either woman was familiar with; it was tattered and torn in a way Peggy was all

too

familiar with. Judging from the pattern of the grit on his face, the costume usually went with a helmet and mask, but not presently. Underneath the grime, he was a tall, well-built man, with crisp blond hair and an expression of utmost disbelief.

"Peggy—" he said, cramming a universe of longing into a single name.

"Steve?" Peggy replied, somehow able to dwarf his pain with her own.

Then he noticed Angie on the bed. She had not yet dressed.

"Are you undercover?" Steve asked, completely bewildered.

"She was about to be, jerk!" Angie yelled.

***

If Peggy didn't pride herself on her control, she at least took it for granted. She simply did not become emotional. Never had. She felt things, certainly, but they tended to have no more effect on her than the moon's gravity. She'd come perilously close to being overwhelmed at times—her mind turning traitor, dragging her into a past she couldn't change instead of letting her stay in the present that she could. But she'd never gone over. Sorrow couldn't do that to her.

Only happiness could. Happiness, disbelief, doubt, relief—it seemed a million different things, a million different ways that she could react to this, and there was no way for her to decide which one.

She defaulted to fact. "You're dead," she told Steve, and he was always looking out for her, protecting her, telling her what had happened because he knew what a comfort it would be.

"The plane went down in the ice, I froze, but my metabolism kept me going in a kind of stasis." He managed a lopsided grin, an acknowledgment of how ridiculous it was to be standing there, saying "When Erskine fixed me up, he wasn't kidding around. They found me, they woke me up—"

"Who? Howard? Did he not

tell me—

" It seemed impossible. He wouldn't lie, not about this. However deceptive he might be, he couldn't keep this to himself.

"No. SHIELD."

"SHIELD? What the hell's that?"

That pried his smile wider. "Trust me. You'll get used to the name. Peggy, they haven't done this—

yet.

They won't until 2012."

"2012?" Angie asked suddenly, and Peggy couldn't be mad at her for interrupting. She doubted Angie could've physically remained silent for any longer. "Like... flying cars and day-trips to the moon?"

Steve glanced at her. "Something like that. Could you... be wearing something? That's a little distracting."

"What's the matter, you ain't no fan of the female form?"

Steve forced himself to focus on Peggy. "We were raiding a HYDRA lab while they were in the middle of an experiment on time-dilation. Something went wrong when Stark blasted it, I got sent back here—"

"Howard's there too?" If Howard was actually going to live another sixty years with his lifestyle, there was a lack of justice in the universe sterling enough to disprove God.

"No. His son."

"Stark has a

kid

?" Angie demanded, giving voice to an inner monologue Peggy was too polite to let out. "How's

that

a good idea?"

"You've met him?" Steve asked Angie. "Of course you have, you're naked—"

"Hey, this was a private party before you crashed!"

And then Peggy realized, with an uncharacteristic horror that could only be owed to the circumstances, what this looked like—what this was. "Steve, you have to understand, Angie and I—"

Steve seemed to realize in the same instant the source of her panic. "Don't worry, you've already told me about her—you're kinda a bisexual icon now."

"I'm still alive in 2012?" Well, Peggy supposed it was good to know that dealing with the men of the SSR would

not

cause her head to explode any time soon. Her mind still seemed not her own, though—misfiring rather than treating any of this as real. "How have I aged?"

"Great."

"And me?" Angie asked.

"You die of pneumonia," Steve told her, "probably from never wearing any clothes."

Peggy found herself finally able to move. She forced herself up off the bed, examining Steve from a new angle. It was him. That dry, almost frustrated sense of humor—who else could it be?

She picked up a tissue from the nightstand, licked it, went to him. Wiped at the smut that dirtied his face. His hair was cut differently. There was a tiny scar beside the orbit of his eye. And his eyes—they seemed to match hers. No longer innocent things, but with the longing, the regret that she'd found herself.

He wasn't

her

Steve—the one she found in her dreams, the one she remembered. He was his own man, but he was here, with her. As impossible as the whole thing was—a trip to the future to pal around with Howard Stark's son—it had to be what had happened. What she was feeling couldn't be a lie.

"You're here."

"I'm here," Steve told her. Promised her.

Abruptly, Angie was behind her, pulling Peggy's dress free of her with practiced ease. Just as suddenly as Steve had arrived, Peggy was in her brassiere and stockings, her lack of panties from Angie's earlier attentions now wholly evident.

"Angie!"

"What?" Angie asked, drawing away to hang the dress up in deference to Peggy's fastidiousness. "He's seen me naked. Only fair you have to put up with it too."

"

You wouldn't get dressed,"

Peggy reminded her, even as she felt Steve's eyes on her. He'd never seen her naked, and correcting the oversight felt wonderful for both of them. Under his watchful eye, Peggy undid her brassiere, giving that sight over to him as well. "You're alive," she said, as if that explained everything.

It was funny—while this was one of the turning points in her relationship with Steve, it wasn't a defining moment. Looking back on it, Peggy would remember more Angie's reaction, how she handled it with such aplomb. Most people would write Angie off as the hysterical type, to become flustered and useless in an emergency, but crises just made Angie get a firmer handle on the situation. She saw how Steve cared about Peggy and how Peggy cared about him, and quickly came to a decision.

"Hey!" she said, coming up to Steve as if he weren't half a foot taller than her and maybe half again as wide. "I get it, you want to start things up again with Peggy.

My

Peg. Well, that's fine with me. I'm not gonna break her heart by saying the two of you can't be together. But the two of

us

are a package deal!" Angie wrapped an arm around Peggy and pulled her close. Peggy made a soft noise at feeling her skin against Angie's. "You want her, you're getting me too! If you see her naked, you see me naked!"

"That's..." Peggy hesitated. "Actually not a half-bad idea. I'm sure such arrangements are quite common in the future."

"Yes," Steve said slowly. Well, he thought Tony had mentioned something like that once. And Thor, as well. Asgard counted as the future, right?

"Then... all three of us?" Peggy asked, suddenly a little unclear on the concept. Wanting them all on the same page. "All at once?"

Angie nodded. "It is really unfair that he's seen the two of us naked, and we haven't seen so much as his shirt off."

"Oh, it's wonderful..." Peggy breathed. And she began to show Angie, pulling at the tunic of his uniform. It was slow-going, puzzling out how the costume worked, especially when they wouldn't let him help, but between the two of them, she and Angie soon had it off.