Part II
The wine is champagne, a Vallée de la Vesle that's almost ten years old. It has a charred label and a thrilling story she thinks the boys will appreciate, something involving a vicious Heerespfarrer and a hundred stone of high explosives. The neck of the bottle is cool in her grip as the door drags open against thick carpet, the room beyond draped in warm darkness and flickering candlelight.
The hotel's air of opulence is tattered but still intact here, glints of gold and the rich red hue of the bedlinens, ceilings arching away into paintings of starry nights and Greek myth. Peggy doubts she'd ever set foot in such a place had it not been for the war, but now, she sets the bottle on an antique armoire, kicks off her shoes, and wiggles her sore toes into the deep pile without shame.
"Well," she murmurs as she starts on the buttons of her jacket, eyes on the mirror above the armoire, "aren't you two a sight for sore eyes."
The ornate frame of the mirror curls lush and lovely around the picture they make, a decadent, inviting sprawl of limbs. "Peggy," Steve says on a sigh, head falling back against James' shoulder. His eyes drift open, unfocused but warm. "Waited for you."
James grins at her, a lazy, playful gleam in his eyes. "Glad you made it," he says. "I got your message, by the way."
"I can see that," she says, unable to keep a smile from her face. "Tell me you haven't been in here all day. For shame."
"Not all day," James says, pulling Steve back a little closer to his chest. The man looks near-insensate, thighs spread wide around James' knees, eyes closed and body relaxed as James nudges into him in tiny hitches of his hips. James has a hand splayed over his heart. "Not even most of it."
"Feels like it," Steve murmurs, and bites his lower lip as James' hand slides south. "Bucky made me wait."
"Such a good boy," she tells him with a soft laugh, draping her blouse over the back of a chair and shimmying out of her regulation skirt. "I'm so sorry to have kept you."
"Would've waited longer," James says, turning his face into Steve's neck.
"Would've waited forever," Steve says dreamily. When she turns, down to her slip and underthings, she sees he's actually trembling, a fine tremor in the arch of his back and through his arms where they clutch at James'.
"Really fucking glad we don't have to," James adds, eyes on her as he lays a soft, lingering kiss on Steve's jaw. "C'mere already, can't you tell Steve's dying for it?"
"Oh, is he," she says, amused, and lets her brasserie fall to the floor. "We shouldn't keep him waiting."
"No ma'am," James says, gaze dark.
The room is cold, and her nipples peak and ache as she pads towards the bed, James watching her every step, the roll of her hips, the sway of her body as she moves. Steve's eyes open as she comes closer, and he smiles, so obviously thrilled to see her she feels her knees go a little weak. How fortunate the bed is there, that her knees sink into feather comforters and quilts as she takes his chin in her hand, sneaking a little rub between her legs as she pulls his head up and kisses him in sweet hello.
Steve's breath catches and he shudders, shudders, shudders, mouth lax and open under hers as he sighs out an incredulous, "Oh." Peggy opens her eyes in time to see James' squeeze shut as his thrusts go abruptly choppy, then slowly ease back to a low, constant roll while Steve sags between them.
"Darling, did you just…?" she asks Steve, who makes a small noise of denial and drops his head to hide his face in her breasts. He's warm, so warm, and there's wet in the sheets between them, just touching her knees.
"That's nothing," James says, still moving, voice rougher even though he's still wearing that easy grin. His cheeks are red, as red as Steve's, and his eyes are going glassy as he tries to keep his rhythm. "Should have been here for the first few."
Steve's nuzzling into her skin, hands on the bed on either side of her, and Peggy threads her fingers through his hair, cupping the back of his neck to hold him there. "I'm impressed, Sergeant," she says. "Though I do hope you left enough to go around."
James chuckles, low and a little mean. "Oh, that ain't a problem. Right, Stevie?"
Steve shakes his head, but looses a defeated little groan as James starts to pick up the pace, rocking Steve into her, one of his hands slipping between them to give Steve a soft pull. Steve makes a noise of protest and squirms, but spreads his knees easily in the sheets, bow of his spine deepening. "Give him a minute, good as new," James laughs, and when Peggy crooks her finger he obligingly tilts his face up so she can taste him, too.
James is a little more guarded than Steve, giving her the barest hint of his teeth, sharp where Steve has never been. Peggy molds herself to his edges until he softens under her, and kisses him until his lips are parted and his mouth is warm and giving. Steve turns his head, tries to nose into the kiss like a hungry puppy and James laughs again, softer. He leaves Peggy with a last suckle to the bottom lip and settles his mouth on the wing of Steve's shoulder blade instead. Peggy is content to trade molasses-slow kisses back and forth with Steve until he's melting against her like wax from the candles on the desk.
Deeper, longer kisses, and though his eyes are glazed and his movements clumsy, Steve seems to have an idea of where he wants her. His nudges push her onto her heels, then her back, with her legs on either side of his trim waist. Steve gives her another heavy-lidded smile as he rubs his cheek against the mound of her belly, hands sliding down her sides with intent. Behind him, James adjusts to the new position, his own hands gripping Steve's hips and hitching them higher.
"And you?" Peggy asks him, scratching lightly at Steve's scalp. She draws one leg up to settle him more firmly between her thighs, enjoying the heat of his skin on more tender parts, and cups her own breast to pluck and roll at a nipple. "Surely you're ready to burst."
"I'm fine," James says, watching her hands, "just fucking dandy," and his next exhale is long and uneven. He's starting to move erratically, hair falling into his eyes, sweat at his temples and the hollow of his throat.
"You can come now," she says, as Steve's open mouth skims down her belly and he breathes into her curls.
"Oh, can I?" James says. It comes out a little strangled, eyes moving from Steve's head to hers, flicking between them.
"Oh, good boy," she whispers to Steve, dragging her nails up the back of his neck as he starts to lick, so hot and slick against the edges of her, the shallow stroke so good and not quite enough. She tugs at the hair at the base of Steve's skull and feels more than hears his moan. She keeps her gaze on James, though her eyelids flutter at the first touch of Steve's tongue past her labia. "You can come now, dearest, or wait a bit and let us take care of you. Judging by the state of Steve, I think you worked very hard today."
"Yeah?" he asks. "What are thinking?" He's not laughing now, just watching her, lips parted and breath coming faster.
Peggy pretends to think, tapping a finger to her chin while Steve gently suckles at her, fingers dimpling the flesh of her thighs. "Would you like my mouth, James? I could freshen my lipstick, leave a perfect ring of it around the base of your cock."
He would, she can tell, his eyes fixed on her lips as she runs her tongue in a luxurious circle over them. Oh, Steve is going to be the death of her, quick little laps against the seam of her vulva and just the occasional lave to her clit, not enough, not nearly enough. Peggy shifts restlessly, bringing both hands down to Steve's head to urge him on.
"Steve will help me, won't you, darling?" she says. Steve makes a low noise of assent that has her clutching at his shoulders and her back arching. "Ah, he has such a lovely, yes, such a lovely mouth. Oh, Steve, that's perfect, you're perfect, there, there, oh—"
Peggy succumbs with Steve's tongue piercing her, so deeply buried in her that when she pulls him away his face is wet, lips and chin gleaming in the low light. He's still licking the taste of her off his lips when James makes a tortured sound and pulls away, tugging frantically at the base of the army-issue condom and tying it off with fumbling fingers.
Her legs are jelly, small aftershocks still rippling through her as Steve's fingers stray and slip into her. "Ooo, no you don't," she says on an breathless laugh, wriggling away from him and sitting up on the bed. "James, we'll take care of it later. Come here."
"I was promised lipstick," he says, or tries to say, as Peggy kneels up and crawls to him, smoothes her hands up from his ankles to strong calves, muscled thighs, the thin hair rough against her palms.
"I could stop and fetch it," she offers, speaking with her lips close enough to his reddened, swollen cockhead that he must feel her breath. It makes him twitch, visibly.
"That's okay, that's— oh, Christ Almighty," he swears, as Steve slides in beside her. She shifts to one side, so they're both braced over a leg, and James seems to realize he's trapped at the same time she turns and catches Steve's eye, leaning in a split second after he does. "Oh sweet Jesus, Peggy, Steve."
She has a mouth full of cock and Steve's tongue, twined with hers over the width of James' throbbing shaft, or she might have been tempted to tease him about the blasphemy. As it is, they're rather too much for him, and James suffers all of a minute caught between them before he's crying out and spilling. Steve milks it from him with his lips stretched lewdly around James' sack, cheeks hollowing with rhythmic pressure and his fingers quite busy behind, while Peggy is happy to fit her mouth just as far down his cock as she'd threatened and swallow around him, silky flesh rubbing against her palate and the very back of her throat. If she had been wearing lipstick, it would be smudged wildly over the skin at the apex of his pelvis.
"Shit," he whines, trying to buck under them. "That's enough, that's— ah, fuck, too much, Peggy please, I can't— Steve—"
When his cock has given up its last weak pulse and James is clawing at the linens, head thrown back and his voice hoarse and shaking, Peggy lets him slip from her sore throat and sits back, pushing her hair back from her face where it's fallen from its pins. Steve pulls one last gasp from James before he sits up as well, and catches her mouth with his own.
"Steve," she whispers when they break apart, a little hoarse herself. "The champagne?"
"Good idea," he murmurs, pressing one last, chaste little peck to the corner of her mouth. His lips are the color of bruised cherries.
They drink it all from the bottle, little drips and drabs of it spilled onto skin and licked up where it falls while Peggy tells them about Reims, about the art they've salvaged and the news from the eastern lines where the Soviets press steadily inwards. James manages a sip or two before all but passing out between them, curled on his side and unresponsive when they prod him. That makes sleeping arrangements easy, Steve fitting himself to James' chest while Peggy sets the bottle on the floor and appropriates his back as a heater. It is quite chilly, now that she's not otherwise occupied.
"Here, let me get the—" Steve starts, and the next moment the thick down coverlet settles over them.
Peggy tucks it in around her with a pleased sigh, then pokes him in the foot with her toe. "You'll have reveille duty, captain."
There's shifting under the coverlet, and Steve pokes her back. "I thought it was Bucky's turn?"
"Do you really think this man," she says, slipping an arm around James' waist, "is going to be up at sunrise tomorrow? You've practically ruined him."
"Sh'up," James grumbles, fingers finding hers and squeezing. "'m ready to do the jitterbug, say the word."
"You helped some," Steve accuses, and then sighs, "Fine. But next time it's definitely Bucky's."
"You'll have to try not to tire him out so much, then," Peggy muses, eyes closing.
Steve makes a very noncommittal sound. Under her forehead, James' back briefly quakes with a silent laugh.