Angie jiggled the key in the lock. "It takes just a bit of—" the door opened. "Finesse," she finished.
Peggy stepped into Angie's apartment, curious to see if it at all matched what she'd learned of the woman so far. The door opened right into a tiny living room, filled to bursting with one couch, a wall of bookshelves, a small coffee table, and a tv on a small stand. The wall opposite the bookshelves was covered in pictures, but one stood out, slightly larger than the others. Peggy ran her finger over the wooden frame as she investigated it. A smiling Angie had one arm slung around a taller man in what looked like a cross between a park ranger's uniform and a military uniform. He had a beer in one hand and a similar look on his face, right on down to the laughter in his eyes. There was a crowd of people behind them, but they were too out of focus to determine anything distinct besides more uniform colors. "Your brother?" Peggy guessed. The expressions were too similar for anything else.
"Yeah," Angie said, her hands twisting her keychain back and forth despite her calm tone. "Army COE. Ma was relieved when he went that direction, thought he'd be safe at home, but he's off in Iraq with a Forward Engineer Support Team. Not technically a combat position, but women not serving on front lines doesn't stop them from being killed."
Peggy frantically racked her brain for a safe tangent. "Did he teach you how to build that?" she asked, gesturing over to where a model Spitfire sat on the coffee table. "My granddad flew those in the war."
"Him, teach me?" she snorted, picking the plane up. "More like the other way around. I was always fiddling with things as a kid, taking them apart, and he made me teach him. The paint job on this one's all him though. Don't have a stable enough hand for the fine detailing."
Peggy wanted to peer further down this line of conversation, genuinely curious what had turned Angie away from sharpening her natural interest into a real skill, but was wary of digging too deep. "You know those are getting rarer and rarer," she said, nodding over to the tv.
"One thing that streaming's not too good at is sports," Angie explained. She wrinkled her nose in disgusted frustration and added, "Not that the Mets are doing much worth watching these days."
"The Mets are...baseball?" Peggy ventured. She'd been living here for several years but she'd not yet gotten the hang of which logo went with which team or with which sport. Given Angie's shirt that was a safe choice though.
"Yep," Angie confirmed with a nod. "They play in the same division as DC's team, the Nationals, and if the Nationals hadn't been awful for so long and gotten so many high draft picks the Mets would be doing a lot better."
Peggy nodded in sympathy, not knowing enough to say otherwise.
"I'll have to drag you out to a game sometime," Angie told her. "Wouldn't be right of me to leave a friend of mine in the dark about baseball." She ducked into another room and returned with two towels. "In the mean time, bathroom's through the door right next to the kitchen," she said, pointing as she spoke. She handed Peggy the towels and added, "I'll dig out some clothes you can borrow in the meantime, but a word of warning—the knobs turn in the opposite direction from each other. Don't ask me why."
"I will make sure that I don't take too long," Peggy said, inclining her head in deferential gratefulness. "Thank you again, Angie."
Angie waved off Peggy's offer to be brief. "Take all the time you want, English," she told her. "I've got plenty enough to do out here, and you seem like you need it."
There it was, that nickname Angie had called her once or twice at the pawn shop. Peggy hadn't thought about it since then, but there was something about hearing it now that put a smile on her face.
The sound of insistent knocking burst through Peggy's consciousness. "Peggy?" Angie's voice called, her tone rising in alarm. "Peggy? Are you all right in there?"
"Hmm?" Peggy mumbled, still getting her bearings. One hand fell off the side of the tub, landing beside her with a splash. Ah. She was still in Angie's bathroom. "Everything's fine," she assured Angie. "I must have relaxed so much that I fell asleep."
"Good," Angie replied, all traces of distress vanishing from her voice. "Not good that you fell asleep, good that you're okay. Well, I guess it's good that you were relaxed?"
Peggy could almost see Angie's shrug through the closed door and bit back a laugh at the adorably confused expression she envisioned.
"Anyhow," Angie continued, "I'll just put these clothes right outside the door whenever you're done getting all pruney in there." Her footsteps retreated for a moment before she hurriedly called out, "Not that I'm imagining you in the tub or anything." Angie beat a hastier retreat without another word.
Peggy squirmed at the thought, her legs rubbing together of their own accord. "Right, getting dressed," she muttered, stepping out of the bath and drying off. She poked her head out and grabbed the clothes. "How very...orange," she said, unfolding the t-shirt. She shrugged and got dressed. Beggars couldn't be choosers and the bath had definitely been worth it.
Peggy emerged from the bathroom and caught sight of Angie in the kitchen. "Thank you so much for letting me impose," she told Angie. She handed back the towels, damp but neatly folded. "I can't imagine that a shower would have felt that refreshing," she added. "Though the accidental nap likely helped in that regard."
"Anytime," Angie replied, placing the towels on the counter. "I'm just sorry that I've been meaning to do my laundry for ages so all I had was that old Mets shirt." She let her gaze wander lazily up and down Peggy's outfit. "Looks good on you though."
Although Peggy prided herself on her observational skills, she had trouble reading Angie as well as she read suspects. Something in Angie's tone sounded more keen than sorry, but that could be nothing more than the product of an overworked brain.
"Well if you want to impose a little longer, would you like some tea?" Angie offered. She rummaged through a cupboard above the sink and pulled out two boxes. "Unless it's not English to have this bagged stuff. I've got some halfway decent coffee too. Or hot chocolate. No judgment." She snorted and shook her head at the mostly empty mug of tea she'd left out.
Peggy stood there waiting for the forthcoming explanation.
"It's something one of my friends always says," Angie told her. "You know those jokes that are kinda inappropriate so you don't want to laugh at them but you can't help it?" She looked up at Peggy for her nod of understanding. "Well it's one of those. I think it's from an old radio show."
Peggy let the expectant silence linger for a moment before prompting, "So what is it?"
Angie's face turned bright red. "Oh Peg," she said, busying herself with filling the kettle. "I'm sure you don't want to hear a dirty joke."
Out of those lips? "You might be surprised at that," Peggy replied, a hint of a growl slipping into her voice.
"Huh?" Angie replied, turning around.
Peggy's eyes darted to the stove, glad that Angie hadn't started the gas yet. "I said," she repeated, her voice deepening in anticipation, "That you might be surprised." She leaned into Angie, brushing her lips with her own. At Angie's response Peggy deepened the kiss, tasting lingering notes of orange and licorice when her tongue teased Angie's mouth. Peggy pushed Angie back against the counter as she hungrily pressed for more. Her hands grabbed for Angie's hips, itching to reach under her shirt but reluctantly settling for stroking the bared skin above the waistband of her jeans. Suddenly she backed off. "Good?" she asked, her strained voice gasping for breath while she had the chance. Was that good? Are we good to keep going?
"Better," Angie replied, unable to keep her wandering hands off of Peggy.
Peggy cocked her head in confusion. "Does that mean—"
"English, you talk too much," Angie declared. The playful nip she gave Peggy's bottom lip silenced her protest. "Just." She dropped a kiss on her lips. "Enjoy." She let a kiss linger against Peggy's neck. "It." Angie grabbed Peggy's ass, pulling her back to her.
Peggy moaned at the feeling of Angie's mouth hitting just the right spot on her neck. "Of that there was never any doubt," she murmured.
It took a full three minutes and one discarded shirt for them to stumble the short distance to Angie's bedroom. Peggy was glad that Angie had loaned her a pair of workout pants as they were easy to shuck off in favor of helping Angie out of her jeans. Peggy couldn't resist slipping a finger beneath Angie's underwear, eliciting a moan from the other woman.
"Cheater," Angie complained, her breath still shallow with pleasure.
"Should I stop then?" Peggy asked, raising her hands in a gesture of helpless innocence.
"Don't you dare," Angie replied, tugging at Peggy's shirt.
"That's what I thought," Peggy said with a smirk, reaching out to divest Angie of her last scrap of clothing.
The moment she was free Angie pounced, pushing Peggy back to lie on the bed. "Have to say, I think that orange looks much better off you," she proclaimed. She captured Peggy's mouth in hers as she thrust their bodies together.
Peggy's groan at the bad joke turned into a moan of delight at the contact. It had been ages since she'd let herself feel anything real for someone, and the way that Angie seemed to know just what would get a reaction out of her? That was the cherry on top.
Her mind was thrown sharply back to the present at the feeling of Angie kissing her way down Peggy's torso. Her hands grabbed the sheets as her body lifted up into the touch of Angie's lips. It was never quite enough until—"Yes," she exhaled breathlessly when Angie's tongue found what it had been searching for.
Her soft whimpers of pleasure turned into deeper and louder moans under Angie's ministrations. As much as she wanted to savor it, she found herself urging Angie to move faster and faster with each panting breath. She reached one arm down to Angie's head, desperate to have as much contact with her as possible.
"You alright there?" Angie asked, looking up at Peggy with a devilish grin that said she knew exactly how Peggy was feeling.
"Bloody fucking hell!" Peggy exclaimed, the swear slipping out without a second thought. So fucking close.
Angie smirked and lowered her head again, bringing Peggy to her peak moments later.
Peggy's back arced up off the bed as the wave of pleasure ran through her, her limbs still quivering as she relaxed back down on the sheets. Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly, still trapped in a trembling shout.
"I wouldn't have picked you for a noisy one," Angie joked, watching as Peggy came back down to earth.
"Noisy?" Peggy echoed, her mind still hazy. "I didn't realize."
"Not your usual m.o.?" Angie guessed, crawling up to lay beside Peggy. "Glad I could bring it out of you then." She gave a dramatic waggle of her eyebrows, eliciting a throaty chuckle from Peggy.
"Mmm, so am I," Peggy told her, bringing Angie's face to her for a gentle kiss, equal parts affection and curiosity about her own taste. "Just give me a moment and I'll show you how glad I am."
"It's not a barter system," Angie said, rolling her eyes at Peggy's sense of fair play. "Though I wouldn't mind seeing what else your voice can do to me."
There was only one thing still nagging Peggy's brain. "You know the joke that you were talking about earlier?" she asked, rolling over to face Angie without a care that the sheet didn't follow her.
"Mm hmm," Angie replied, dropping a kiss to Peggy's collar bone.
"You never told me the actual joke," Peggy replied. She arched into Angie's touch as her tongue swirled around one nipple.
"Geez, English," Angie said, pulling back to look at her. "You'd rather me use my tongue for that right now?"
Peggy sniffed haughtily. "You can get right back to that once you finish your story," she declared, running her hand over a particularly sensitive spot that she'd discovered earlier on Angie's hip.
"Fine," Angie replied, her breath catching at Peggy's touch. "So you know how some places serve warm cider in the winter? The non-alcoholic kind I mean. At coffee shops and the like. Well my friend's fiance used to blush real easy so when we'd go out for coffee he'd often suggest a 'hot Dickens cider.' I do have cider in the fridge, so I thought about offering it."
Hot Dickens cider? What did Charles Dickens have to do with—oh. Peggy couldn't help but snort in chagrined amusement when she got it. "I'm fine thank you very much," she said, grabbing Angie's hand. She dragged it down over Angie's stomach, grinning at Angie's moan of anticipation as their fingers inched below her waist. "This will do nicely."
