It was a rainy Tuesday night when Captain America first asked to go down on her.
Not that he phrased it that way, he just sort of gestured toward her lower stomach and stuttered. And not that he was wearing the Cap getup at the time, though Angie wouldn’t have minded if he were. The white undershirt clinging to his body was better though. Everyone got to see the spangles, but it was only she and Peggy who knew what was underneath. Well, them and the Commandos, Angie guessed, since they’d shared close quarters and very little privacy, but she didn’t particularly want to consider that just now.
She hadn’t started the night with any thoughts of Steve asking to go down on her. It’d all been relatively innocent at first. She and Steve cooked dinner for Peggy. Then they ate together and smirked, Angie trying to keep track of who was playing footsie with her at any given moment.
Peg didn’t like movie theaters. Angie found this personally offensive, until she learned about the thing with Iowa and the gas that made everyone kill each other. Howard, bless his rich, crazy soul had a projector in one of the sitting rooms, and an impressive collection of films. After ruling out the dirty ones (for now) they decided (well, Angie did) that Steve needed to get caught up on all the Oscar fare he’d missed in the last couple years.
They were maybe halfway through Mildred Pierce when Peggy, a Brit, an adult, a spy, began to casually flick popcorn in her direction. And then, British adult spy that she was, Peggy blamed it on Steve. It turned into an ugly thing that required retaliation, which was how they ended up in bed together, with Steve asking to go down on her.
Angie froze, in more than one way. She felt entirely too naked, in more than one way. It really wasn’t fair. She’d lost everything somewhere between Millie and the bed, and Steve was almost fully dressed, only missing the shirt that’d been over the white undershirt. Peggy was somewhat more acceptable, if acceptable was the term for Peg in that black and red robe, with nothing underneath. It wasn’t the right word. Angie loved that robe so much it’d taken her an extra thirty seconds to realize Peg was trying to get rid of her that night at the Griffith, when Dottie first showed up.
Anyway, all of this wasn’t as important as Steve asking to go down on her. Angie supposed it was her mind’s way of buying time. The thing of it was, she wanted to say yes. She was nervous suddenly, but it was the alright kind of nervous, the kind that came just before attempting a new but well-practiced routine at an audition. The other thing of it was, it’d only ever been Peggy who did that to her.
She didn’t think of herself as a prude, not when she was in bed with two people at once, one of them a woman. There was just something about that part of things that seemed entirely too personal, left her too exposed. The few people she’d fooled around with before Peggy, two of them hadn’t offered, and the third was easy to decline and distract. Angie never imagined facing this “problem” again. Peggy was the only one she’d allowed to see her that way, and that was it, and it was fine, as it should be.
And then Steve came back.
She looked at Peggy, sitting near her on the bed. Steve was looking there too now. Maybe it wouldn’t matter, she wouldn’t have to make the call. Angie thought for a moment that it wouldn’t. Something flashed in Peggy’s eyes, too fast to be deciphered. Then it was gone and Peggy smiled and kissed her and spoke softly into her ear.
“Whatever you’re comfortable with, darling.”
Okay then. So much for the easy way out. It was ridiculous, really. He’d already been inside her. More than once. This shouldn’t be the thing that made her falter. And he was back to looking at her. Not impatiently, not with anything bad. She didn’t think he was capable of looking at her with anything bad, which was the only reason she kind of wanted to say yes.
There were other things she wanted to say. She wanted to tell him okay, to try it, but not to apologize over and over if she asked him to stop. He was still a little bad about that and the two of them, she and Steve, were still a little bad about asking for things like this. She wanted to tell him that this was her hang-up, that if it didn’t work he was still allowed to ask her for things. She wanted to tell him to be careful with her, or gentle, or something, but those were far too cliché and she knew he would be anyway. He was always gentle, unless she told him not to be.
There were a whole lot of things she wanted to say, important things. What she actually said was, “Well, you’ve already tasted my sacred manicotti recipe. You and I got no secrets.”
Angie didn’t know if he knew, knew how little experience she had in this area. Her guess would be no, but he’d figure it soon enough if she didn’t calm down. She nearly jumped when the bed shifted, when Peggy moved away from her. She shouldn’t have worried. English had only gone further up the bed, reclining against the pillows.
“Come here,” she murmured. “Lay down. Lay back against me.”
Well, fuck. With that voice, Peggy could tell her to lay herself across the train tracks at rush hour and Angie would do it without protest. With Peggy’s help, Angie scooted back into the space between her legs. It felt wrong and right both, her ass resting on the soft material of that robe. She almost wanted to say that the robe deserved better. Almost.
Steve smiled up at her, hands running lightly over her ankles, her calves, higher. He found a ticklish spot at the back of her knee (Angie couldn’t decide if this was accidental or not) and she giggled, shrinking back into Peggy, who pulled her into an embrace.
“Your heart’s racing,” Peggy said, rubbing soft circles over that place on Angie’s chest.
Angie nearly laughed again. She was between Peggy Carter’s thighs, with Steve Rogers hovering between hers. The robe was still closed (and why the hell was that?) but Angie could feel Peg’s nipples through the silk, their hardness against her back. They were all lucky Angie hadn’t had some kind of episode already.
She was distantly aware of Steve lingering, going no higher than her raised knees. He rubbed and kissed there, but made no move to spread them apart, get the space he needed. Angie tried, really tried, really wanted to open up for him, but her body and brain were having some kind of disagreement. As stage fright went, this was not a good time.
Peggy nuzzled her cheek, kissed her ear before whispering into it. “Relax,” she said, fingers kneading gently into the muscles of Angie’s arms, then up to her shoulders “Relax, relax, relax.”
Angie didn’t know how her voice could go any softer, any more soothing than it already was, but it happened with each repetition. Peggy breathed deep, long, calm inhales that Angie followed without thought. She let her body sink further down and back so Peggy was taking more of her weight.
With an agreeable noise from deep in her throat, Peggy dropped kisses to Angie’s neck, her hairline. “That’s it. There you are.” She paused, speaking directly into Angie’s ear again, so quiet that Steve may not have caught it. “You’re safe here, you know. You’re always safe here.”
Peggy’s arms tightened around her. Angie smiled to herself. Of course she knew that. She’d always known that, even when Peg was going on and on about how dangerous it was, how bad it could get for Angie if they did anything about their feelings. Even when she shouldn’t have, when she knew Peggy was lying through her teeth, it hadn’t mattered. On some instinctive level, Angie always knew that she and Peggy could be each other’s safety. In her darkest, most doubtful moments, she’d known deep down that Peg would never hurt her, not willingly. Now, now Peggy could tell her that the A-bomb was going to blow in their living room, but if Peggy also told her not to fret, that everything would be fine, then Angie wouldn’t fret.
Much.
It didn’t make sense, but there was something terrifying about feeling that safe with someone, having that much faith. Angie hadn’t reached that point with Steve, but was getting closer every second. And wasn’t that doubly scary, loving two people that much. Scary and safe all at once, and God was it confusing, but it didn’t matter because Peg was holding her and Peg was warmth and protection, and nothing bad would happen as long as Peg was holding her. Peg was still kissing her too, lavishing attention on a weak spot just above her collarbone. Angie let her neck fall to the side, losing the worst of her inhibitions at the same time. Her legs spread apart, leaving her bare and open to whatever Steve wanted to do.
She always tried not to compare them, but it was difficult. They both kissed along her inner thighs, but Steve’s route was a bit more erratic. He was hesitant, despite being the one to ask for this. Peggy had always been careful, but never hesitant, never unsure. Also, Peg’s nails would rake along her skin, light scratches marking her path. Steve’s nails were shorter. He rubbed and massaged instead of scratching. He didn’t bite that place at the apex of her left thigh that Peg sometimes focused on. It was different, but good. So good.
For a minute.
The lingering nerves that Peggy hadn’t been able to chase away came back with a vengeance when Steve’s mouth hovered right above her. His breath felt good there, she was already warmed up from what they’d started earlier, but she was also terribly aware of the fine hairs between her legs. That they might not be fine enough, that Steve might see some fundamental difference between her and Peggy, that he wouldn’t approve. Not that she needed his approval, she just wanted it, and maybe she’d screwed up with this. Maybe-
“Hey.”
Steve’s voice was deeper than usual. He held her gaze, kissed her belly. The involuntary jump of muscle under his mouth made Angie squirm.
“You’re perfect. Completely perfect.”
Angie felt his smile against her skin, a contrast to the earnestness of his voice. She breathed deep again, without Peggy’s help this time. She wasn’t rough on the eyes, she knew that much. Steve and Peggy though, they were something else. It was hard to believe two people who looked that good could even exist, never mind that they would find each other and combine their perfection. Never-never mind that they could tear themselves away from each other long enough to stare at her like she was something special. Except they did, all the time, and maybe someday, in a decade or two, Angie would get used to it. For now, she angled her head to catch Peggy’s mouth in a brief kiss, then smiled at Steve, nodding. She was okay, she was ready.
And of course that was when Steve decided he wasn’t.
“Tell me what feels right,” he said, mouth still too high, but low enough to make her crazy.
Shaking her head, Angie reached down to ruffle his hair, skim her fingers over his cheek. “Always worrying about what’s right, aren’t you, Soldier?”
“Right now? Definitely.”
Angie urged him up wordlessly, hand at the back of his neck. She kissed him, ruffled his hair more, enough that she might’ve laughed in other circumstances. She didn’t laugh now. She bit his bottom lip teasingly, said something about how she’d never send a good soldier into unfamiliar territory without proper marching orders, then ordered him to get to it.
Steve listened.
He kissed her lightly, low on her body, that place that’d only been Peg’s for so long. It was all gentle, soft, like Angie expected, but it was so, so much, and it pulled raw, needy sounds from deep in Angie’s belly.
It was surreal, looking down and seeing shorter, blonde hair. Angie was so used to Peggy’s curls, Peggy’s mouth, lined with that sinful red lipstick. It would be jarring, too much, if Peg weren’t still holding her, rolling the weight of her breasts between her fingers, pinching Angie’s nipples until they were hard and ready and demanding the attention Peggy gave. But it wasn’t just that. Peg remained in her ear, telling her how beautiful she looked, how lovely, how lovely she and Steve were together. It was an assault from all fronts, Peggy from above, Steve from below. And oh God, it was so nice, so perfect.
Not unrealistically so though. Angie would, occasionally, give Steve those orders that he requested and she promised. He was working off what he’d learned with Peggy, and while the basics were more or less the same, Angie didn’t mind telling him that she needed more pressure on one side than the other, that Peg liked it a little faster than she did. He never stopped or apologized, just adjusted.
Keeping her eyes open was hard, but every time Angie managed it, Steve’s eyes were there, watching her. She remembered suddenly, a story of Steve glancing at some Hydra map while the world fell down around him. A quick look, supposedly, but he’d memorized everything about it, in an instant.
Angie realized then, belatedly, that Steve was doing the same to her. Memorizing every twitch, every change in sound or expression, cataloguing it all in that super serum brain of his. Memorizing everything that worked for her, that made her cry out, that made her feel good.
Angie half-moaned, half-sobbed with this new understanding, rocking down and into and against Steve’s mouth.
“Oh God. Oh God.”
It’d started so slow, so careful and easy, that Angie got lost in it, nearly forgot that they were building toward something. She remembered now, sudden and sharp and clear. Her body jerked up without her permission, and Steve put a hand to her belly, keeping her something like still with just that one hand. It could’ve been scary, terrifying even, but it wasn’t, not at all.
She’d been playing with his hair for some unknown length of time, still fascinated by the difference in length, in texture. She let go, distantly aware that she’d held too tight, probably taken some of those golden strands with her. Probably, she would’ve hurt anyone else with that grip. But she let go now, grabbing at his shoulder, then at nothing, wildly searching for some grounding force.
Steve caught her hand in his, the one that wasn’t splayed along her stomach, holding her against the mattress. He caught it and squeezed just hard enough to be reassuring, and Angie saw the smile, the plea, the anticipation in his eyes.
Her free arm hooked around Peggy’s neck, and Angie turned enough to meet Peg’s lips, needy and desperate. “Coming,” she gasped, tight and urgent into Peggy’s mouth. “Coming.”
Peggy caught Angie’s other hand, held it in place against her cheek. “Good girl,” she murmured, free hand alternating between Angie’s breasts, pinching and squeezing and sending jolts of pleasure straight down to where Steve was. “Good, Angie. Let go, darling, let go. We have you.”
They did. It was crazy and amazing and perfect, and they held her together and made her fall apart all at once. And Angie’s last wild, ridiculous scrap of a thought was that she was about to come right into Captain America’s mouth, and wouldn’t that kill his squeaky clean image good and dead?
Then it happened, and she stopped thinking.
The moments that followed were long, blissful and confusing. Angie could barely keep track of who was doing what to her, and quickly stopped trying, just allowed herself to be coaxed through it. The first thing that caught her attention in any lasting way was the feeling of Peggy shifting underneath her. When she opened her eyes, pleased and panting, Steve was hovering over her, his weight balanced on one arm, kissing Peggy.
“Sorry,” Peggy said once they’d separated, not sounding it at all. “I’m afraid I got a bit jealous near the end, quite needed to taste you.”
Angie mumbled something about jealousy being a horrible, horrible quality before lazily pulling Steve down by his undershirt. “You got somethin,” she said, referring to the hint of Peg’s lipstick that now stained his mouth. She kissed it off.
“So do you,” he said with a grin, thumb running the length of her mouth and coming back with a faint smear of red.
“Eh,” Angie said with a shrug, looking Steve over. The grin stayed in place, he seemed quite pleased with himself. She vowed to change that expression soon enough, could feel him straining through his pants. For now, she reached up to hold him, let herself be pulled into a hug.
“You’re perfect,” he said again. “You were perfect.”
Angie kissed his shoulder, did nothing more than hang on for a moment. Then she pulled back enough to look at him. “So. Now that you and I really and truly got no secrets.”
“Yeah?”
“Which tastes better, my top secret manicotti, or me?”
Angie could hear it in Peggy’s voice, the eye roll. “Don’t you dare say a word. There’s no answer that won’t start another war.”
“Shut up, English, wasn’t askin you.”
It didn’t matter though. That smug little grin (Angie still didn’t know how the man could be so terribly shy and such a smartass asshole all at once) was gone, replaced with a look of suppressed panic.
Firmly in possession of the upper hand, Angie smirked and threw herself into the task of getting Steve properly undressed.