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Getting Back The Girls
🕑 Added 2022-05-19 21:00:00 +0000 UTCKneeling in her mountain cabin, Wanda Maximoff’s mind reached through time and space, filtered through probability and impossibility. Whether because of the caprice of fate or the whims of her subconscious—it was remarkable how the two coincided—her thoughts drifted to Steve Rogers.
He’d been something of a surrogate brother to her after Pietro died, offering her the maturity and mentorship she’d always craved from an older brother… or from a parent. Pietro had never quite been able to give that to her, and though of course she would never have taken her friendship with Steve over what she’d had with her twin, she’d appreciated how he’d tried to look out for her. Not because of any blood relation, but simply due to who he was.
He was gone now. Ascended to his own private Valhalla, a split in the timeline that allowed him to be reunited with his beloved Peggy. At least, that was what she’d been told. Wanda decided to check in on him… see that he’d finally found the happiness he’d deserved… and so her meditations pushed her across the currents of the multiverse, from her own reality to another. Seeking a man who had once been out of time but now was out of space.
***
Peggy Carter plumped up her feather pillow for the seventh time that night. She’d already taken a Tuinal from its little glass bottle, but it wasn’t giving her the sleep it promised. Just a morose feeling and a tingle in her feet.
The clock broadcast a warning of how late it was every time she glanced at it. She couldn’t take another such attack, so she sat up in bed and flicked on the lamp on her nightstand. The first thing it illuminated was her lovingly framed photograph of Steve.
With a groan of disapproval at her own antics, she picked up the metal frame. The picture inside, already starting to fade, showed Steve standing on a railway platform, a huge train behind him. It had been taken in 1942 when Steve was between touring engagements. He looked so happy, so vibrant. Thinking he was doing his part and not yet knowing how much would be asked of him.
Peggy blinked back tears, bit the inside of her cheek, and set the picture down like she was returning Steve to his grave. That was ridiculous, of course. Steve wasn’t violated when she thought of him—she was only hurting herself.
What would her dear Steve think of her if he knew that she lay there, lonely and agonized, wanting another woman?
Peggy choked on a sob, covering her face with her fists, feeling a sweeping sense of remorse go through her. How easy it would be to go to Angie’s door and pound her fists against it until Angie let her in?
Her British pride screamed denial at her. She couldn’t go over there and embarrass herself so, not even with someone as forgiving of her oddities as Angie. But she was all Peggy had now; how could she give her up?
Yet she had to. Had to take another sleeping pill, count sheep until there were no more to count or she was finally asleep. She couldn’t, wouldn’t further humiliate herself.
The next pill slipped easily down her gullet and she turned off the light once more.
***
“Get in bed with me,” Angie cooed, almost pleadingly, but she was savvy enough to leaven her need with an alluring amount of desire. “Let me have some fun with you.”
Peggy was tempted—anyone would be—by the sight of Angie’s luscious body inside her nightie, the exquisite willingness that she gave to her with just her eyes and a few words. She rarely second-guessed herself and after the intrigues of the war—after how she’d bungled what she could’ve had with Steve—she couldn’t allow herself to be neurotic in something as silly as this. There were no lives at stake. It was just her and Angie.
She caressed Angie, eagerly, probingly, but it only took a few such touches for Angie to push her face down between Peggy’s legs.
“Open up,” Angie giggled. “Let me get it nice and close… God, English, you smell so damn good, it should be a crime…”
***
Lesbians, Peggy thought to herself as she slowly pushed her body up to a sitting position. She watched Angie getting dressed. Even with the most feminine bodies, they had the brains of men. Just like a man, she acted like nothing had happened the moment they’d gotten off.
“You look like a cat that has to share a room with a rocking chair,” Angie observed as she stood in the doorway, smiling at Peggy. “Two of them, even.”
“Please go, Ang. Before someone notices—“ Peggy began.
“Notices what? That we’re in the same room together? I haven’t checked the charter, but I don’t think that’s against the rules.”
“People will talk if we spend all our time together,” Peggy pleaded.
Angie quirked her lips like she’d bitten into something sour. “I don’t think we’re in danger of that with you hustling me out of here the way you are.”
“That’s the idea.”
“Yeah, that’s the idea,” Angie said sardonically, turning around and walking quickly out of the room.
Peggy closed the door as close to instantaneously as she could. She inhaled sharply. The smell of cunt still pervaded the air. Peggy ran to the pantry and grabbed a can of room deodorant. She sprayed the lemon scent around until it was all she could smell; nothing of what she’d just done with Angie.
Then she sighed and smiled, dropping dreamily onto the couch with the can held in her arms like a teddy bear. Not that her spike of panic was subsiding, it was easy to recall how good what they’d done had been.
Angie’s hand had felt fantastic between her legs, her tongue even better on Peggy’s lips. It had been so long since someone had kissed her like that and no one but Angie had ever fucked her like that—if that’s what they had done. Peggy didn’t know. She was sure plenty of their disapproving neighbors would consider it sex if it ever got out; equally sure that her own yearning loins didn’t consider it nearly enough. Not to sate all her raging desires. They were truly growing out of control when her needs overwhelmed her good sense and made Peggy compromise herself this way with a liaison she should’ve avoided.
If only she’d had this with Steve: then at least she’d have the memories of their lovemaking to console her. But Steve couldn’t do for her what Angie did for her. She’d lost out on him like the all of the world had; only she felt his absence more keenly than the rest of humanity ever could.
***
“I want your clothes off.” Angie finger’s shook with excitement—she tried to unbutton Peggy’s blouse in half the time it could possibly be done.
“Slowly, slowly!” Peggy half-chuckled, trying to help.
“But it’s better fast,” Angie panted.
Peggy slid her blouse off her shoulders and reached back to undo her bra. “You haven’t tried it slow,” she whispered. “As slow as we can bear.”
“I can’t bear slow, English. I want it fast, sudden, before we change our minds.”
“I won’t. You won’t. If I can’t, you can’t. Bloody hell, you are lovely…”
She watched Angie’s eyes bulge as the bra straps came down her arms and her breasts were revealed. Angie reached out to touch them and then her eyes shut to savor their feel.
***
Peggy sat alone at her desk. She was all alone, her co-workers gone for the day. Hearing someone enter the otherwise deserted squad room, she flushed deeply—she knew from the footsteps that this wasn’t the janitorial staff. She tried to appear busy with the papers in front of her. Then he strode up to her.
“Steve, what are you doing here?” she jabbered out at the sight of him. It felt to her like he was a stowaway, stealing out of her dreams and memories, into her waking life. Immediately, she tried to sound as businesslike as possible to hide her nerves. “What happened to you? Were you captured? Is it even you? Prove to me it’s you, right now!”
For years she’d wondered how she would react if the impossible happened and he ever did come back. Now she knew. She was as self-conscious and neurotic as his absence had ever made her. But what was worse was that she was excited. The rush of happiness that she knew would come could only make her overlook things she should be suspicious of. Right now, she could be as ghoulishly overcome as Howard had been thanks to Ivchenko.
“Peggy, you know it’s me,” he said. He sounded as chilled as he could be while still being bashful Steve Rogers, a 98-pound weakling with muscles strapped onto him like a suit of armor. “I didn’t come here for some plot or because I need your help. I just wanted to see you. I know it’s been a long time for you—it’s been a lot longer for me. And I’m pretty sure you haven’t been able to get me out of your head any more than I’ve been able to get rid of you.”
Peggy blushed. “This is crazy! People don’t come back from the dead. We don’t get do-overs, second chances. When we lose things, they’re lost.”
“Says who?” Steve grinned. “Maybe if two people want something bad enough, then no matter how far apart they are—the universe just has to get out of the way.”
He moved around the desk to stand before her, close enough to touch her, close enough for her to touch him. But Peggy couldn’t bear to have that final confirmation of his reality. She simply stared up at him. Her fingers tightly gripped her pen; she didn’t write anything.
“If you’re anything but him… if a fraction of you isn’t real… I couldn’t bear it,” she said.
“And you know that I would never hurt you that way.”
He reached out to touch her shoulder; Peggy felt like an electric charge passed through his hand and into her. Unthinking, she wiggled up from her chair and began picking up casefiles from the corner of her desk. She made a pile of the folders, held them to her chest, and made a beeline for the storage closet at the back of the squad room.
What am I doing? She asked herself, but whatever it was, it was easier to do than confronting… him.
He followed her, actually getting the door for her and then sliding into the room after her. The door clicked shut behind them both and Peggy finally admitted the absurdity of her actions. The stack of folders went fluttering to the ground.
***
Breathless with passion, Angie slid down Peggy’s quaking body. She tore at the belt of Peggy’s skirt, then reached around and unzipped it.
“I want all of you, Peg. Everything,” she moaned. “Hell with fast, I want it now!”
She peeled Peggy’s skirt and panties down in the same rapid movement. Peggy was left completely naked, quivering with anticipation. Trying to regulate the trembling of her body, she watched Angie take off her bathroom. All she wore then was lacy panties and she modeled them for Peggy, showing off how they rode high on her tawny thighs.
“You look exquisite, Angie.”
“Darn how I look, how do I feel?”
Then they were both moaning, linked by the same flow of pleasure while their smooth, supple bodies pooled together… as close as two wines poured into the same glass.
Comments
Shendude
Oooh, a Steggy Cartinelli fic, you haven't done one of these in awhile. Interesting to see how this one goes
