uprightness | ɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀᴄᴛ

Probably that I've never really met a woman who could punch a fella to the ground like you did.

[ she has more than a bit of a temper but hell if that wasn't the first thing Steve loved about her. ]

There are more of us than you know. [ dry-like. she refuses to think there's anything special about her willingness to punch stupidity its guffawing mouth. ] Just follow the trail of Howard's dalliances. Plenty of those girls have strong hitting arms.

[ which, in the end, only proves that howard quite possibly suffers from the same masochistic affliction as poor steve rogers. ]

No, thank you. I'd like to think one woman with a temper in my life is more than enough.

[ just saying. ]

Smart man. [ ... ] Smarter, still, if you surrendered here and now.

No can do.

[ and that will surprise no one. Steve Rogers could never compute the concept of surrender and who knows it better than his present company. ]

Too much at stake.

[ she smiles. almost shyly. it's as if the anticipation of their sparring match is considerably deepened by his refusal to back down -- however playfully suggested. peggy jams a thumb against the button that opens the shuttle bay doors. they part with a soft hiss. ]

Good. I think I would have been sorely disappointed if you had -- smart move or not.

I usually make an active effort not to.

[ disappoint her. Most days it works except for odd times when she's far too close and he babbles nonsense about her honor.

But that is thankfully behind them. ]

Rules?

I have no issues with fighting 'dirty' -- [ if only because she expects he'll not bring himself to get too underhanded in his tactics. in theory, he'd never have to. the only dispensation she might ask for is that he not knock her out cold. but she suspects he won't do that, either. ]

But I will say I'd rather not spend the next few weeks bedridden once again.

Wouldn't dream about it.

[ she was right to assume there's a paradox, him sparring with a woman he never wants to see hurt. A middle ground will have to be found. He takes off his jacket, adjusts the sleeves of his t-shirt. ]

Alright then.

[ she begins by rolling up her sleeves. she's in trousers, today, instead of a skirt; that'll help. ]

I should have worn my lipstick, [ she teases. ] Could have cinched my victory back beneath the mistletoe.

You really could have, you know

[ he watches her carefully, analyzing everything from her posture to what she's wearing. He's grateful for every hour of sparring time with Natasha. He'll need the lessons she taught him of he's going to win this quickly.

The heart of the matter is that Steve isn't willing to hurt her and Peggy likes winning. This might spell a bit of trouble for him. ]

We'll have to save that for next time.

Next time? [ she rolls her shoulders. by all accounts, she's utterly calm. ] Next time, when I apply a coat and then chase you around trying to steal a kiss while you try very hard not to be kissed? Oh. Yes. I'm sure you'll be aces at that. We'd both be so bloody dignified.

[ and then that calm breaks. peggy isn't a fighter with fine techniques like natasha. although such precision isn't outside of her wheelhouse, it simply also isn't her preferred mode. instead, she fights much like he fights. hard, gutter-worthy motions. the first punch thrown is to his gut while she tries to wrap her off-arm around his elbow. it's a bit of a throw-away tactic; she needs to feel his strength, first, and judge it for herself. ]

[ he realizes what she's about to do a split second before she does it. He manages to dodge that punch but not the arm that snakes around his elbow. He aims for her legs, tries to shake her balance. ]

Not sure I can really try not to be kissed by you.

[ -- a brief grunt (possibly a non-verbal shut up) punctuated her missed punch. peggy yanks hard on his arm, thrusting it back from his side. whatever misgivings he feels about hurting her, she clearly doesn't share them -- but only because she realizes it would take a monumental effort for her to inflict anything he couldn't simply soak.

his foot catches her ankle. she wobbles for a moment, but recovers. side-steps, still with her arm locked in his. cliched, perhaps, but she attempts to drive his elbow towards the middle of his back. ]

[ it doesn't come as a surprise, the ferocity of her attacks. he wasn't expecting anything less. one thing he knows, the key to a quick victory is getting her on the mat. Once there, it'll just be a matter of keeping her down.

if his Christmas day is going to go as planned, he can't spend this match playing defense. he struggles against her grip and instead of freeing his arm by shaking her off, he leans forward, roots himself and pushes back against her grip, aims to send both his elbow and her arm towards her middle, take the hit or let go, seems to be the message. ]

[ considering her odds, peggy takes the hit. he shoves back into her sternum and there's a second grunt (exertion; not pain -- not precisely). paradoxically, her sigh is a happy one. she feels good about being challenged. feels even better about tightening her grip on his elbow. she's a bit winded, granted, but she's scrappy.

peggy shoves a foot between his calves and tries to snag his ankle. he tried to topple her backwards; she tries to topple him forwards. ]

[ they have different advantages over each other. she's quicker than him to initiate offenses , leaving him obligated to respond to her own before he has a chance to go through with his. if he's not careful, one of those might take him by surprise and that will be the end of it.

he sways for a flicker of a second before balancing himself again, pressing his weight down on his feet and moves both hands to her hips and it could have been the beginning of a dance if it weren't for him trying to turn her, to wrap an arm securely around her middle and immobilize the next attack. ]

You know, this isn't what most people do with their girlfriends on Christmas morning.

[ he manages, all the while. trying to get a good grip of her. ]

[ he easily gets his arm around her. a little too easily, maybe, though she counts on him assuming that it's always easy when trying to snag his arms around someone without superpowers. facing away from him -- pulled hard against his front -- she fills her lungs with air. ]

No? What's expected, then, of most people's girlfriends on a Christmas morning? [ sharp. sardonic, certainly. and a little suggestive, perhaps, as she quickly pivots at her waist and tries to toss him over her shoulder -- let his own weight throw him down, so to speak. ]

Don't know -

[ he strains against her, manages to keep his grip on her waist. ]

Cookies, maybe a bit of that tea -

[ and then she shifts and he loses balance altogether; she sends him over towards the mat and instincts guide him into a roll that ends with a quick jump onto his feet again. ]

Definitely more of that mistletoe.

[ she straightens -- lighter on her feet, now, than she is when merely striding through the starstruck's halls. for now, they're only testing each other's boundaries. he's been grappling and shoving and wrapping his arms around her but he hasn't been hitting. not really.

peggy comes at him again. right hook swinging. ] The mistletoe's merely an excuse.

[ suggesting -- with a half-smile as she throws her punch -- that he's welcome to kiss her without it at any time. ]

Yeah.

the first priority is dodging that fist. he may not know everything about her tactics in hand-to-hand combat but he knows her right hook is vicious. his own is directed at her shoulder. ]

but it's a damn good excuse, all in all.

[ she drops her shoulder -- his punch catches her high. not so squarely in the joint, perhaps, but it still hurts like hell. a pained huff, but she's still on her feet. peggy uses the lingering momentum of forward movement to shove herself bodily against his chest. like a footballer, charging forward for the tackle.

all her tactics suggest one thing: she wants him on the ground. clearly, she suspects she'll have some advantage there that isn't afforded to her as long as steve still has his feet. ]

[ he anticipates another punch, not her wrestling him to the mat. there is a sudden huff of air as he tumbles, catching her by the waist and dragging her own with him as he does. he ends up on his back, trying to roll and trap her beneath him while also reaching for her hands, trying to catch her wrists before she sends another punch his way. ]

[ funny, really, how things work out. as intimacy goes, this is perhaps as spirited and as lively as they've gotten. adrenaline courses. her pulse is up. if pressed, she'd deny it but there's something devilishly alluring about expending so much energy with him.

it doesn't cause her to take her eyes off the prize, however, and she's quick to wriggle at least one wrist free from his grip. peggy shoves at his chest with a hard elbow, trying to balance above him and resist his attempt to roll her.

it works -- for about seven seconds, and then she finds herself thrust suddenly onto her back. flat against the mat. there's no time for surprise: she cocks her knee and drives it into his stomach -- only aiming higher than his groin at the last possible second. she harbours some mercy, after all. ]

[ there's a grunt when her knee meets his stomach but he forces himself to take it without moving, framing her hips with his knees. he tries to lock himself in this position, keep her down long enough to catch his breath. ]

Ready to yield, yet?

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