uprightness | ɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀᴄᴛ

What do you think?

[ -- her hips shift. testing what space she has for movement, and how firm he's allowed himself to be. there are about nine different tactics she could try on for size, and most of them would work against an opponent equal in steve's size but it's the strength that spoils her calculations. in the back of her mind there's the uneasy understanding that she needs to get better at this: at fighting a person well beyond her usual capabilities. without a doubt, she knows romanoff has. in the end, maybe that's all it is: a question of training.

peggy looks him in his eyes. there's a flush in her cheeks. her lips part. much more softly, now, she coaxes him: ] Lean down. C'mere.

[ no mistletoe in sight. no surrender, either, so she's not certain he'll even fall for such an obvious ruse. ]

[ it's almost sweet, the shift in the mood, her voice lowers and he follows it for a split second before arching an eyebrow.

he seems to have remembered just who he's dealing with, here. ]

-- you're going to try to punch me, aren't you?

[ and for some reason, it makes him smile. ]

I'm not falling for that, Peggy.

Of course. [ she's going to punch him. ] But not until after. You'll have to decide whether it's worth the risk.

[ not falling for it, maybe, but she hasn't given up. he's got a grip on her wrists but if she pushes outwards with just enough strength, it might stretch his arms and force him to dip lower.

so she tries. ]

That's not fair.

[ it's an obvious bait but he took it even before she offered it. worth the risk, honestly. it's fighting dirty, that's what it is. he sighs, watches her for a moment and leans in. ]

Just for the record, it's always worth it.

[ it won't distract her for long but he's hoping for a moment or two, a short reverie as he presses his lips to her, coaxes her closer. ]

[ of course it isn't fair, she wants to tell him. but he kisses her and she only has so long to savor the moment before she needs to seize the offensive once again. peggy slides the instep of her shoe against his ankle -- angling her foot between his legs in a fit of apparent affection.

she lifts her shoulders off the mat; the kiss gives her a little more room to maneuver, after all. but it makes her vulnerable, too, because he'll be able to feel the slight tensing of her body before she hooks his leg with hers and shoves up- and leftwards to attempt to roll him over. things will go smoother, she suspects, if she can manage to get on top of him.

it's merely a question of whether he's prepared to stop her. peggy can't predict the answer. ]

[ he can't even complain she didn't warn him. only, for someone who was warned, he manages to still be distracted long enough for her to push against him. there's nothing but soft laughter when his back meets the mat. ]

You know, we should do this more often.

[ and then he tries to push away from the mat, a ( rather halfhearted ) attempt to throw her off. ]

I don't disagree.

[ not least of all because she should learn to counter and weave when stacked up against someone unbelievably more powerful than herself. the knock-out lipstick alone isn't enough to keep herself safe in this new, wider world. peggy sits low on his hips -- ever so suspicious that he might try and gain footing with his heels against the mat. otherwise, she leans forward and pins his wrists in place. the longer she sits like this, the more precarious it becomes. the quicker he'll suss out the best way to topple her again.

even now, though his attempt is only half-meant, she has to adjust her weight just to keep him down. ]

I don't disagree one bit.

[ it's more than a bit distracting on its own. he watches her with open interest and perhaps a shade of something more calculating. Distracting or not, there's a Christmas day on the line. She made good work immobilizing him, sitting close enough to his knees to make sure he can't maneuver himself back to his feet.

standing up is still out of the question. sitting up, however -

most of her weight and strength focuses on keeping him from standing. he pushes his shoulders up, keeps her hands in his even as he moves them to her shoulders and lifts his upper body from the mat.

it's a battle of wills, who keeps the other locked down long enough to win the match. Steve tries to push her shoulders and make her tumble sideways and back onto the mat. ]

Does this count as a date, by the way?

[ it is him and her, alone. rolling on top of another, of all things. ]

[ -- honestly, it shouldn't be such a ruddy turn-on. but it is. not merely the strength alone (because it's never really about the strength) but the sheer tenacity, even now, when faced with an easy win. it's almost as though he wants to stay challenged, even if it means putting further restrictions on himself to do so. he doesn't shove; he doesn't sprain. he uses his power slowly and steadily and peggy's helpless in the face of such bizarrely titanic tenderness.

ah, well. she huffs. she's going sideways (that much is inevitable) but she at least lifts her body up just far enough to free her legs and wrap them firmly around his waist. that way, when she hits the mat, she can at least jack-knife her torso away from the ground and possibly push him straight off of her. ]

-- Maybe, [ she answers, breathless. ]

Maybe?

[ he manages just as he claims another momentarily success. he locks both his elbows on the mat, presses down as she tries to push him off. lord knows what a by-stander will make of this - and to think, they had a conversation about intimacy on the other week.

this was obviously a good idea. ]

Why maybe?

Because -- [ her voice is strained as she tries to shove him up, and off of her. difficult, really, with her legs locked around his waist. just now would be an opportune moment for a headbutt, but she suspects that would give her far more of a headache that it would him. (on account of his thick skull, surely!) ] Because you and I live on the same bloody ship. We eat together. We travel together. We -- we can't go calling every different hour a different date.

[ dates are dates, certainly. but they also co-habitated. a distinction must be made. ]

Can't we?

[ is he teasing, it's hard to say. fighting to keep her in place, he takes a deep breath, arches both eyebrows at her. ]

Says who?

[ it's a dare of a sort and it fits, given the situation at hand. ]

[ for a moment, her struggle stops.

calmly: ] If this is a date, I'm afraid you're not being at all gentleman-like.

[ it's an ultimatum: let it be a sparring session, and he's clear to win -- but if it's a date? well, maybe he ought to back down. by all accounts, it's not a very sportsmanlike ultimatum, but peggy isn't trying to be fair.

she's only trying to win. ]

I think I'm being very gentleman-like.

[ is he arguing a point, locked against her like this? it would seem that he is. ]

Once you yield, I promise I'll make you a nice cup of tea. There should still be cake somewhere from yesterday's dinner.

[ take out, but still. ]

[ sharp: ] Not until you tell me exactly what I've locked myself into if I do yield.

[ she manages to keep her cool, despite how heady it is to try and decide which she prefers more: being above him, with him trapped below -- or the opposite, as she finds herself now currently locked beneath him. she exhales, and tries to appear at least a little in control of her faculties. ]

You want to hear the terms of our Christmas Day?

[ he tilts his head at her. it won't take much, just a different angle and a dip of a chin and he could kiss her and let that be an explanation and be done with it. this used to be a little easier, having semi-professional-semi-flirtatious conversations with her; though in his defense, they never really had them with her legs locked around him. ]

That's what it'll take?

I want to hear the terms of our Christmas Day -- [ she echoes. and to her credit, her breath doesn't hitch. but peggy betrays a bit of her affection when her fingers go slack against his hand. instead of prying at him, she runs the pad of her thumb gently across the back of his palm.

but really, she might as well have said i want to hear the terms of my surrender. ]

Right - so we're negotiating.

[ he could comment that this was never part of their deal but he did say something about being a gentleman. he hums, half in thought and half as a response to her touch. he considers it for a moment. ]

I meant what I've said about that tea and after alla that, I could use some coffee.

[ he watches her with a little smile. ]

And then, just this.

[ him and her and this comfortable proximity. that's more than enough. ]

You gotta admit, it's not a bad deal.

[ caroling isn't even included. ]

[ her head bounces lightly off the mat when she lowers her head. ] It's not the worst deal, no. [ her legs go slack, too. she hums. ]

Just this? [ she watches him. ] You and me. No silly jumpers? No singing?

You and me.

[ he affirms and presses their lips together, gentle and lingering. ]

No silly jumpers, no singing.

[ and with that kiss, the fight leaves her. peggy's lines soften, and she shakes off his grip only so she can cup his cheek with the same right hand that she'd used to punch him. ]

Fine. Consider my white flag waved. This time.

Until next time.

[ he agrees, leans towards her touch. They've come a long way, him and her, since their stolen kisses, brief and secretive. It feels more natural, loving her more openly. ]

That's a deal.

[ it certainly takes the sting from losing. ]

Next time, I think you'll have to give the chance to learn a thing or two.

If you'd like.

[ what an odd way to have a conversation, he finally seems to realize, with them still pressed together like this after she had already waved her white flag. somewhat regretfully, he shifts, offer her a hand. ]

That sounds good.

[ very good, actually. maybe it's been too long for him, too. ]

[ he moves. she exhales -- feeling maybe as though she'd been holding her breath for longer than she had. if pressed, she might even have to admit that her head's feeling a little dizzy.

and when she puts her hand in his, it's warm. ] So long as you're not quite as monstrous as your drill sergeant was.

[ her smile is edged. toying. ]

ɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀᴄᴛ

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