#dark ways

I.

Peggy takes a sip of the gin and tonic and checks her phone.  Hill again.  She finally switches it off.  It’s another ten minutes before he slides onto the barstool next to her.  She doesn’t acknowledge him.  The bartender comes over and gives him a blinding smile.  He returns it along with that wholesome American charm he honed so well.  He orders a beer.

“I wasn’t sure you’d show up,” she says idly, taking another sip of her drink.  “I thought you might have plans.”

He shrugs.  “I’ve never felt any particular loyalty to Schmidt’s dynasty.  You know that.”

She looks over at him, still so handsome, with a guileless smile that fooled everyone.  She does, indeed, know he was never particularly complicit with Schmidt.  Only so much as Schmidt’s agenda intersected with his own.  He doesn’t give a fuck about Hydra ideology.  She’s not sure what’s in it for him.  The joy of chaos?  A base desire to hurt and maim?

“What about you?” he asks.  “Why are you here?  You’ll leave your teammates to fight their battle alone?”

“Perhaps.”

“What does that mean?”

She gives him a hard look.  “It means that I will sleep with you on one condition, that you stay the entire night.”

She wonders if he will laugh or demean her, but he doesn’t.  He gives her a long, appraising look, full of hunger.  She may not understand what motivates him, but she does know that he wants her.  He’s always wanted her.  She wouldn’t put it past him to use force, but it’s clear that’s not his preference.  He wants her surrender.  He wants her to want him, and hate herself for it.  

On those two counts, he has already won.

She turns away, downing what’s left of her drink in one long swallow.  The team is waiting on her.  They have solid intel that the attack will happen tonight.  It’s a rare chance to really strike a blow at Hydra, to try and claw back some of what they lost in that debacle at the Triskellion three months ago.  They need her.  She’s an integral part of the team.

But Peggy understands that she can be of more use to the cause simply by keeping Steve out of the fight.

She pushes herself off the barstool and shrugs into her jacket.  Without a word, Steve rises too.  He puts cash next to the half full drinks.  When she heads outside, he follows.  The bar isn’t far from her place, that’s why she chose it.  A ten minute walk, in silence, and then four flights of stairs.  

She tosses her keys down on the counter, but doesn’t bother with the light.  The apartment sucks, she knows, but she hasn’t had the time or desire to look for something better.  If Steve is disappointed, he doesn’t say anything.  She has no idea where he stays, or if he even has a home base.  For all she knows, he roams.  It’s fairly obvious he wouldn’t have a hard time finding companionship for the night.

It’s almost as if he senses the dark turn her thoughts have taken and he wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her to him.  She sucks in a breath and looks at him in the dim light filtering through the blinds on the lone window.  Carefully, she reaches up and touches the side of his face.  His eyes flutter shut and he turns into her touch.

The last time she touched him like this, it was before the serum.  It was when he was still her Steve, and not this ... whatever he is now.

He leans in, nuzzling against her jaw and her breath catches in what might be the beginning of a sob.  He ducks his head, kissing her.  It isn’t an assault.  It isn’t what she expects from the man who almost single handedly destroyed SHIELD.  His lips are gentle, tentative, a question more than a demand.

She does sob this time, but she’s the one who deepens the kiss, who pushes him back against the locked door.  She should be out there, with the team, fighting Hydra.  And instead she’s here, touching the demon who wears the mask of the man she once loved.  She knows that tactically, it’s the right decision.  With Steve out of the fray, the team can make real headway at dismantling Hydra.  But she hates herself for it.  Because she knows she’d be here even if it wasn’t a benefit to the team.

He betrayed them.  He betrayed them all so profoundly.  They’d all believed, all bought his act, which was so much more of a performance than the Star Spangled Man had ever given.  

But they hadn’t all bought it, had they?

Peggy suspected.  From the first day.  From the moment he tracked Heinz Kruger through the streets of Brooklyn, she suspected that the man who emerged from Howard’s pod was different - damaged - dangerous.  He wasn’t her Steve.  Not anymore.

But there had never been quite enough evidence to raise the alarm.  And once they gave him free rein his results were simply too good to argue with.  There were always problems.  Always things that couldn’t be explained.  Hydra always had intel there they shouldn’t have possessed.  But it could never definitively be traced back to Steve.

And she’d still wanted him, even then.  She still loved the way his eyes followed her, the way she commanded his attention in a manner no other woman could.

When she finally found the courage to voice her suspicions to Phillips, she did it slowly, carefully.  So carefully she never actually said Steve’s name.  But Phillips agreed, and she was so relieved, so grateful.  Until she realized that Phillips suspected Barnes.  Peggy wanted to believe Phillips was right.  It made sense.  Barnes had been at Zola’s mercy for months.  

But she knew the truth, in her heart.

It wasn’t until the very last moment, when she jumped aboard the Valkyrie with Steve, that she’d known for certain how completely he betrayed them all.  Betrayed humanity.  He struck a devil’s bargain with Schmidt.  Honestly, Peggy isn’t certain which of them was the bigger demon.  Schmidt was clearly mad.  But Steve was more nefarious, more insidious.  The demon with the face of an angel, the wolf who could walk freely amongst the sheep.

She’d managed to stop them, to crash the Valkyrie after Schmidt disappeared with that damn cube.

When she woke seventy years later, it was already too late.  Her first words upon waking were “Rogers is - “

“Evil,” Fury had finished for her.  “We know.  Figured it out the hard way.”

Steve, having received the perfected serum, the one that changed his physical form, giving him superhuman strength, recovered faster than she did.  He woke weeks before her.  The fact that Erskine used her as a test subject was never publicized.  And truthfully, the benefits she received were minimal.  Some enhanced healing abilities, and, apparently, an aptitude for long periods in stasis.

By the time she woke, Steve had already laid waste to a good portion of SHIELD’s upper management, thrown the entire organization into disarray and disappeared into the wind.  Peggy did the only thing she could, she picked herself up and moved on, started again.  The world had changed, the fight had changed, but she still had a job to do.

She’d only seen him a handful of times.  He was the one who pulled her from beneath the pile of rubble after they finally managed to stop Loki.  He was the one who stopped Barnes from throttling her, and then dragged her out of the Potomac.  

Then, two weeks ago, there was an incident at the Tower.  A Hydra strike team, led by Steve.  It was chaos.  She tracked him down, specifically with the intention of ending him once and for all.  His physical strength defied logic.  She’d never stood a chance.  He pinned her to the floor and she thought that was it, he was going to put them both out of her misery.

But he’d just watched her, and then released her hands.  And to her eternal shame, rather than attacking him, she’d touched him, her fingertips against his cheekbone.  She thought he might laugh.  He didn’t.  She felt the shiver go through his frame and he pushed into the contact.

Then Natasha attacked him and the moment was gone.  Peggy and the team managed to fight them back, to stop them from making off with the tech they were after.

But she understood she had an advantage, if she chose to use it.   The only cost is the toll on her heart and soul.

They can’t fight Steve.  Not head on.  The idea of catching him, locking him up, is ridiculous, regardless of what Stark and Fury think.  Steve is too strong, too cunning, too erratic.  No one seems to know what he really wants, which makes him impossible to predict.

Except that Peggy knows.  She knows at least one thing he wants.  Her.

They need to kill Steve.  To end him completely.  

She knows she can’t do that.

But she can distract him, and give the team enough time to even the score with Hydra.

Steve scoops her into his arms and carries her to the bed.  He sets her down next to it and she shrugs out of her jacket before kicking away her shoes.  He does the same.  Then for a long moment, they simply stand there, looking at one another.

More than seventy years and they’re finally here.

He is the one to lean in, to hook his finger through her belt loop and pull her close.  She presses herself against him, opening her mouth as he kisses her.  Again, he is shockingly gentle, careful.  She knows he is taking note of her reactions, her response to him.  And to her eternal shame, she does respond to him.

She tugs at him, pulling him with her.  She scoots to the middle of the bed, watching as he follows.  Her stomach muscles tighten, as he stalks across the bed toward her on hands and knees.

His kisses this time are more demanding, more possessive and she loves it.  She threads her fingers through his hair, holding him close as she twines one of her legs with his.  He groans, arching against her, breathing faster.  She pulls at his shirt and he pushes himself up on his knees long enough to tug it off and toss it away.  He then grabs the hem of her shirt and she lets him do the same to her.

Immediately, he ducks his head, kissing and nipping at the curve of her breast not covered by her bra.  She arches her back, pressing into the contact and he growls in approval.  She shivers, pushing her hips against his, reaching for the waistband of his jeans.

He stills for a moment, looks up at her and then captures her lips in a searing kiss.  Then he’s pushing himself up on his knees and back.  He looks down at her and deliberately reaches for the button of her jeans.  She shifts restlessly on the bed as he pulls the button free and then tugs the material down.  She lifts her hips and then pulls her knees back, allowing him to skim the material down her legs and away.  She reaches for his jeans again but he shakes his head, leaning in and kissing her.  She returns the kiss, but she can feel him moving, shoving his jeans down his legs.

She moves her hand, skimming it over his shoulder, down his back and then to his hip.  She skims her knuckles lightly along his belly, feeling the muscles jump at her touch.  And then she’s cupping him through the material of his shorts.  He bites down on her bottom lip and arches into her hand, growling.

She sits up, pushing him back and then rising herself, so they’re both kneeling on the bed, chest to chest.  His hands coast down her back and then cup her ass, pulling her against him.  She breathes out, hard, and her fingertips bite into his shoulders.  “Yes,” she says, nipping at his jaw.

She has been so lonely for so long and the feel of his naked skin against hers is almost too much.  She has longed for this, spent years trying to find this feeling in another’s arms.  But all to no avail.  It’s him.  Steve.  His touch she craves above all others.  She groans, pressing her face against his neck, shivering at the feel of him in her arms.

He holds her close, presses nipping kisses along the tops of her shoulders.  He captures her lips again and when he feels the tears on her cheeks, something primal and possessive in him springs to life.  He pulls back far enough to skim push his shorts down his legs and then does the same with her panties.  She lets him, clinging to him as he strips them both.  His fingers graze over the bare skin between her legs and he stills for a moment.  She doesn’t have time to wonder at what that he might be thinking before before he lays her back on the bed, crouching over her.

He doesn’t kiss her like she expects.  Instead, he stays where he is, above her, not quite touching, though she can feel the heat of his body radiating.  He looks at her in the dim light and then reaches over with one hand and flicks on the bedside lamp.

She blinks against the sudden influx of light, but his gaze never wavers, watching her like a hawk.  Blinking up at him, she tentatively reaches up and touches his chest.  His eyes move to follow her hand and then back on her face.  He cups the side of her face with one hand, his thumb playing over the drying tears on her cheeks.  She has no idea what he thinks he sees there.

“You have rubbers?” he asks.

She manages to not roll her eyes.  Without taking her eyes from his, she reaches over and opens the drawer on her nightstand.  He glances over and then back to her face.  She can see the muscles in his jaw stand out and she knows that is not the response she wanted.  But she’s starting to understand.

“Why did you turn on the light?” she asks.

He blinks once, slowly. “I wanted to see you.”

It’s bullshit.  His eyesight is perfect, even in near darkness.  The light is for her benefit.  

She sits up, pushing on one of his shoulders, urging him to roll over onto his back.  He does as she wishes, settling against the pillows, but his eyes are still narrowed and his jaw is still tight.

She straddles him, her knees on either side of his hips as she looms over him.  Making sure he’s looking her in the eye, she reaches behind herself and releases the clasp on her bra.  She pulls the material away slowly, taking note of how he drops his gaze to her breasts.  The harshness in his expression fades, replaced by hunger.

His hands trace up her thighs and torso and then cup her breasts.  They both suck in a quick breath and she moans, pushing against his hands.  Carefully, she lowers herself against him, rubbing against him.  She’s so wet, especially now.  Her eyes flutter shut as she arches against him, his stiff cock trapped between his own body and her wetness.  She hears the harshness of his breath and she opens her eyes, looking down at him.

She laughs mirthlessly and his eyes narrow dangerously, his entire body going still.  She leans in, still rocking her hips against his.  “I don’t need the lamp.  I don’t need a reminder of what I’m doing and who I’m doing it with.”  She takes a deep breath.  “I don’t think about other men when I’m with you, Steve,” she says bluntly.  “I think about you when I’m with them.”

She can see the pleasure warring with irritation on his face.  Irritation presumably because he doesn’t want her with other men.  The same irritation at the fact that she has a drawer full of rubbers next to her bed.  She has no idea what that means.  The serum warped him so completely.   She has no idea if he’s capable of loving anything, let alone her.  But it doesn’t shock her that he’s possessive.

One of his hands leaves her breast, trailing down her torso to touch gently between her legs.  She shudders and moves against his questing fingers.  His brows pinch together, looking at her like she’s a puzzle to solve.

“Natasha said I should try going bare at least once,” she offers, knowing he’s not going to ask.  He looks up and meets her gaze.  She arches an eyebrow.  “You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that,” he says so quickly and with such vehemence that she has to bite back a smile.  His brow furrows again.  “I just wasn’t expecting it.”  He rubs her again, coating his fingers with her wetness, stroking gently against her sex.

She moans, grinding against his hand.  She can feel him chuckle.  “So why does Natasha recommend this?” he asks.

“More sensitive,” she manages, then bites down on her bottom lip, rolling her hips against his questing fingers.

“And was she right?” he teases.

She nods helplessly.

He shifts, rolling her over onto her back, immediately scooting down the bed.  He pushes her thighs apart and then his mouth is there, licking and kissing.  Her back arches and she grabs the back of his head, holding him against her.

He shakes off her hand and then catches it in his own, pinning it to the bed as his other arm wraps around her thigh, holding her hips in place.  His shoulders are so broad, forcing her thighs apart and there’s nothing she can do but give over to this delicious torment.  

He toys with her, bringing her right to the edge before backing her off again.  She knows she’s making noise, begging.  The second time he pulls away, she kicks at him, cursing, trying to scratch at him.  He holds her down more firmly, but seems to take the hint.  This time when she begins to crest the wave of pleasure, he sees her firmly over it.

She still fighting for breath as he moves over her.  He captures her lips at the same time he pushes into her and she gasps.  He pushes forward until he’s as deep inside her as he can go and they’re both breathing hard.  Fuck.  Seventy years of longing and she finally has him right where she wants him.

He seems to agree.  He presses hard kisses to her lips and then along her jaw.  He says her name, his breath hot against her skin.  She holds him, fighting back the tears that burn her eyes.  She wishes so desperately that there was some way to save him, some way to bring back the man she first fell in love with.  But he’s gone.  And she knows it.

He kisses her again, harder, as if seeming to read her thoughts.  She already knows he hates the thought of her imagining another man in his place.  That apparently holds true even if the other man is himself.

He rocks against her and she gasps, her fingers biting into his back.  He sets a steady pace and she nips at his earlobe, whispering to him.  How good he feels inside her, how hard.  She tells him how she imagines him when she brings herself off.  He’s close, she knows.  She tells him how many nights she’s spent aching for him, wanting only him.  She tells him how she said his name when she came on Rumlow’s cock.

His body goes taut above her and he shudders, slamming his hips against hers a final time.  She holds him close, fingers sifting through his hair.  He releases a quick breath and turns his head, capturing her lips in a hard, possessive kiss.  He pulls back and looks into her eyes.  She wonders how long it will be before they find Rumlow’s body.  Not long, she imagines.

It’s late.  Peggy visits the loo.  She opens the medicine cabinet and takes one of the emergency contraceptive pills.  Despite their discussion of rubbers, they didn’t actually use one.  It’s a rookie mistake.  She cups her hand under the water and swallows the pill.  She tries not to look at herself in the mirror.

He’s still in bed when she leaves the bathroom.  She wondered if he might sneak away, try and wreak as much havoc as possible with Fury.  But he’s apparently decided to make good on his word to stay the night.  Naked, she crosses the room, kicking their clothes into a pile.  She notices the way he watches her.  She finally turns off the lamp and urges him to scoot over.  He does, but as soon as she’s under the covers, he pulls her close, his hands roaming over her body possessively.

He touches between her legs again, more curious than intent.  “Did it hurt?” he asks.

She’s exhausted, already half asleep.  “It wasn’t pleasant.”

He makes a noise.

“Do you prefer it like this?” she asks out of curiosity.

He shrugs and then punches the pillow into shape before laying down and once again pulling her back against his body.  “As long as you let me fuck you, I don’t care what you do with your personal grooming, Peg.”

She waits a moment.  “But it was pretty fucking hot.”

“It was incredibly fucking hot,” he agrees, cupping a breast as he pushes his nose against the nape of her neck.

“Don’t get used to it,”she says.