Author's Note: I did a tiny bit of research for this chapter, but most of it is made up. I apologise to all the scotch aficionados out there in advance :)
Don was waiting at the bar when Peggy found him, and he immediately stood up and looked her up and down appreciatively.
"Is that a new dress?" He asked.
"Yes, picked out by Joan herself." She replied, and she consciously rubbed her hands along the silken body.
"You make the dress look beautiful." He reached for her waist and pulled her in, planting a soft kiss on her red lips. She smiled widely as he let her go. This was the charming Don Draper that women fell in love with, and she could understand why. She felt like she was at the epicentre of everything fascinating and beautiful with just a glance from him, and she couldn't remember anyone else ever having made her feel that way.
"I have a big night planned for us." Don stated.
"That sounds intimidating on a Thursday night." He grinned.
"We'll see how you do." He turned to the bar, and Peggy saw that, neatly lined up in in two rows of eight were 16 shot glasses. Her eyes widened.
"What is this for?" Don grinned again.
"I told you that if you knew your scotch, I would give you my prized, 65 year old bottle. I'm putting you to the test."
"Well." She sat down on the bar stool, hanging her purse on the hook and looking at Don expectantly. "Are you ready to lose it?"
"We'll see." He took the first set of shot glasses, and placed on in front of Peggy. He raised his, and Peggy clinked their glasses, and they both swallowed the contents.
"Thoughts?" He asked.
"It's a young scotch. It tastes... a little green. Like when you walk in the woods." Don raised an eyebrow and nodded.
"Good. It's Johnny Walker White, with overtones of peat moss."
"We don't have this around the office." She stated. Don shook his head.
"That one isn't going to put hair on your chest. Or keep you awake for a nine o'clock meeting." He reached for the second set of shot glasses. They repeated their ritual, and Don looked at his date expectantly.
"Older than the first. Kind of sweet. Flowery almost." Don nodded again.
"It's Glenfiddich, aged 12 years. They tend to be a bit sweeter than the Walker label." Peggy nodded, and grinned triumphantly.
"Are you nervous?"
"You still have 6 shots to go. You have to make astute observations about all of them to get the bottle." One by one, they downed the shots, and by the fifth scotch, Peggy was definitely feeling the effects.
"How old do you think it is?" Don asked by the sixth one. She closed her eyes for a moment as the room tilted slightly.
"18 years?" She guessed. Don smirked.
"I put this one out of order. It's the 40 year old. What label?"
"Magenta. Magenta with zebra stripes." Don chuckled.
"It's Glenfiddich again, and I believe you just lost."
"That's not fair." Peggy whined. "My palate is all mixed up. I need a cleanser. I need to suck on some coffee beans or something."
"This isn't perfume, Peggy." She leaned over the bar and laid her head on the table. Don frowned.
"What did you have for dinner?" He asked. She shook her head.
"I thought we were having dinner here."
"That... is a good idea." He caught the bartender's eye and asked for a couple of menus. "Sit up, sweetheart." She groggily sat upright, swaying slightly, and Don held her arms on either side. She had a sloppy grin on her face, and Don couldn't help but smile back. "I think you're in over your head."
"I think you're in over your head. You don't know what kind of woman I am when I am drunk."
"You might be right about that." The bartender returned with some menus, and Don stood up and wrapped his arm around Peggy from behind. She moaned contentedly, and he opened up one menu for them to read together.
"We should get the lobster." She pointed drunkenly.
"Only if it comes with steak."
"Don't you like seafood?" She pouted. Don shook his head into the back of her hair.
"I didn't have seafood growing up. I never acquired the taste for it."
"It is really good." She said stubbornly.
"I'll have a bite of yours." He assured her, and grabbed the bartender's attention again.
"One lobster tail, and a steak, rare." The bartender nodded and took their menus away, and Don held Peggy gently, lightly swaying to the music and breathing in the scent of her hair. He felt good, in a pure, unbridled and unencumbered way that he hadn't felt in a long time.
"We haven't finished the shots." Peggy pouted again. Don chuckled, and gave her small waist a squeeze.
"I don't think you need the rest of those."
"That's not very gentlemanly. Aren't you supposed to do whatever the lady wants on a date?"
"I don't know." Don nuzzled his nose on the top of her hair. "Is this a date?"
"I think it's a little," Peggy hiccupped. "inconsiderate to take a beautiful woman, get her very drunk, and ask if this is a date." Don stopped his swaying and wrapped his arms tighter, feeling like if he held her gently she would evaporate like the fumes from the scotch.
"Peggy... do you want this?" There was a pause, and he felt like his head might explode from the tension, and he wondered if it had been the right thing to say.
"I do, Don." She finally said softly, with a great gravity. "I really do." He bent his head down, swept her hair to the side, and laid a trail of kisses from the ear down to the back of her neck. She closed her eyes and moaned softly.
"That isn't just the alcohol talking, is it?" She took one of his hands and placed it in her lap, pressing his large palm forcefully against her pubic bone.
"There are a few different parts of me talking right now. But they all want the same thing."
"Then I consider myself a very lucky man." Peggy reached over to the bar, and took two of the remaining shots and took one after another. "You are going to be ill before the end of the night."
"And you'll get to clean it up!" She said cheerfully, and broke out of Don's embrace to grab the remaining two shots. She offered them up to him, and he followed Peggy's lead, and downed them one after the other.
"I don't feel so good." Peggy moaned as she leaned into Don. "I think the lobster was a bad idea."
"I think two whiskey sours after 8 shots was a bad idea." He corrected her.
"Let's not do that again." She briefly tripped over her own feet, but Don held her upright.
"I don't know. I think I like you like this."
"Horny and without inhibition?" She asked.
"There's that. Although don't think that just because you poured a couple of drinks in me that I'm yours for the taking. I'm not just some easy man that will go home with you at the drop of a hat."
"What about at the drop of my panties?" She teased. He raised an eyebrow.
"That might work." She giggled as they entered the lobby of his building, and he was thankful that there was a different doorman from the one who had seen them together previously. He nodded towards the man, and he and Peggy got on the elevator. He held her close and she melted into him as they wordlessly rose to the Penthouse. When they went inside, Peggy immediately sprawled out on the couch. Don smiled and sat down beside her head, putting her in a sitting position so he could take her coat and purse and hang them up.
"The last time I was here – I mean, before the last, last time, was for your birthday." Peggy said thoughtfully. "Megan was singing that French song about Scooby Doo." Don immediately winced at the memory.
"Thank you for bringing that up. I had almost managed to forget about it." He went and sat down by Peggy again, but she unsteadily rose and stood before him.
"I think we need a repeat performance. But more... modern this time." She threw her head back, accidentally stumbling back a few feet, and started on with her best overwrought Robert Plant impression.
"You need cccccooooooolllinnnn', baby I ain't fffoooooooooolllllin. Imma seeeeend yeaaaahhhhh back to schhhooooooolllllliiinnnn'..." Don put his head in his hands and started to giggle helplessly. Peggy continued belting out the lyrics and in a mockery of seductiveness, slinked over to Don and started to undo her dress.
"Waaay down inside, uh hunny you neeeeeeeeedddd it. I'm gonna give you my love, every inch of my loooovvveee!" Don grabbed her around the waist and threw her onto the couch, where they both dissolved into fits of laughter.
"I don't think that was meant for a woman to sing." He smiled.
"Oh no." She replied in mock concern. "I guess you'll have to show me why."
Don was very slow and methodical in his love making this time, much to Peggy's annoyance. She was drunk and impatient, almost child-like in her enthusiasm, but he wouldn't rush over an inch of her skin. He reverently kissed his way from her neck through the valley between her breasts and down to her belly button, making frequent detours and side trips. She knew him in a way that no one else did, and Don wanted to return the favour and map every crevice and unexplored territory that no one else had taken the time to before. He ignored her protests – he figured she would be too drunk to remember the rest of the night, so he focused on what he wanted. He wanted to see her gasp when he hooked his fingers inside of her a certain way, and see her squirm with delight when he kissed a particularly sensitive area. He wanted to watch her face when he was inside of her, and crush her lips against his when he felt his end coming. And so he did.
Friday morning, Don and Peggy woke up in his bed, both hungover to a certain extent. The sun streamed in through the window, and Peggy wasn't entirely certain, but she thought that once she got over her excruciating headache, she would find that she was happy.
"What time is it?" She muttered.
"8." Don replied, planting a kiss between her shoulder blades. "How are you feeling?"
"Aspirin." With a grunt, Don got up and paddled to his bathroom to get a glass of water and some medication.
"Are we going to stop by your place to find you a different outfit?" He asked. Peggy groaned as she took a gulp of water and a pill, and then shook her head.
"You go in first. Tell them I had a breakfast meeting with... someone. I don't know. Someone important sounding. I'll make myself pretty at home."
"So we're not going to let the office know?" He tried to sound neutral, but Peggy knew that he was disappointed.
"Don," she looked at him softly, or as softly as she could through squinted eyes. "I can't be Megan. I need us to be able to maintain our work integrity." He sighed.
"Peggy..."
"You don't know Don. You've never been a working woman. It's different for us."
"It isn't the 60s anymore." He argued. "Times have changed. McCann has an entire harem of female copywriters now."
"How many of them are in management? How many of them will ever climb higher than they already have? Not everyone has you looking out for them, Don, and if word gets out that you are looking at me in any way that isn't professional, no one is going to believe that my work gets your approval because of its quality." She got out of bed, and started putting her clothes back on. Don sighed.
"Fine. But that means that you can only enjoy my 65 year old bottle of scotch while you're in my apartment."
"There are some sacrifices a woman has to make." She replied dryly. She bent over to look for her bra, but squinted and toppled back over on the bed.
"Jesus, close the blinds, will ya?"
