Sparks, Flames, Embers
Chapter 6: Set
Day 3…
9:27pm
Jack: Checked the boards. Not seeing a whole lot of Carter action
She had been waiting for his commentary on the day. Not quite checking it like an anxious school-girl, but she had been purposefully keeping her phone on hand, just for him. It was pathetic really. But she couldn't quite help herself.
Peggy: You're right. No, Carter action for you. You haven't won that bet.
Jack: Yet.
Jack: But you know what I mean
She did know, but her mind it seemed was perpetually in Smut Mode when it came to these exchanges with Jack. And she wasn't sure yet if she regretted that fact.
Peggy: I had classes today
Peggy: and in between I was dodging that psycho Otto
She half-expected for Jack to take the opportunity to needle her with some jab about not being able to handle both schoolwork and 'undercover' work.
Instead she got Territorial Jack.
Jack: WTF?
Jack: What's he doing going after you?
She thought about making some snarky comment like 'what? He didn't get the I-am-yours memo?' But she was afraid of giving him any ideas. She was not some tree to be pissed all over. It was bad enough that Underwood did it.
So instead, she merely replied: Well, he's not anymore. After Dottie offed him for the day, she made it pretty clear that he should stay gone.
Jack: I would send her thank you flowers, but I worry how much she has it out for you
Not knowing how to take his concern, she tapped out: like you?
Jack: now there is a hot image. Underwood and Carter lip action
Yeah, no. She was not going to entertain that fantasy of his tonight. But it did have possibilities…
Peggy: on that note, G'nite, perv
~A~
Day 4…
8:04pm
Peggy: tell me some good news
Jack had been a bit disturbed to see that he had a message from Carter so quickly after the game curfew started. He had thought that she was chomping at the bit to let him know that she had acquired his target info before he had hers. But with a message like that…?
Jack: why?
Peggy: it's been a shitty day
Before he could resolve his internal war of mounting concern and panic over the fact that he was genuinely concerned and not just wondering what he could get out of acting concerned, she appealed to the latter half.
Peggy: and the better the news is, the better the reward ;-)
Although his genuinely-concerned self was a bit disappointed that she was appealing more to his baser half, overall he was content that by giving her what she wanted both halves would be happy.
Jack: We cleaned out the Jr. Varsity SSR team
Peggy: you turned on your frat brothers. Um…Yay?
Jack: hey that's sweet-ass news for you, darlin'
Peggy: how so?
He could hear the skepticism as loudly as if she had spoken the words. And he could not smother the growing smirk on his face, even if it did creep out the girl on the elevator next to him.
Jack: Blackwell was Dottie's Assassin
Yeah, that's right, Marge. I am going to get Underwood, and then I am coming for you. Tremble in your sassy high-heeled boots.
She didn't, of course.
Peggy: So will it be you, Daniel, or Ramirez that goes after her?
Peggy: I know it won't be Li. Assassinated by a Freshman girl, was it?
Jack: pig-tail wearing 17 y.o. We're never going to let him live it down
Thank God, there was nowhere written in the bro-code that he had to defend Li under such circumstances. But he wasn't going to let her distract him that easily.
Jack: It will be me.
Jack: which means A) I get to be your knight in shining armor
Jack: and B) best of all, you will be MINE next
If he had a .gif of someone dropping the mike on his phone, he would have sent it then. It would have been perfect, as that staking of his claim had gotten him the last word earlier this week.
As soon as he heard his message alert ding! and opened it up, he knew it was not to be.
Peggy: for reason A…
And then there was a pic. And not just any pic.
It was an over the shoulder pic, that displayed the slope of her bare back. No top, no bra-straps, there was just beautiful creamy skin that ended at her enticing well-rounded ass, which clad in navy blue lace, teasingly blocked the view of what had to be garters ('Garters! Oh, please, dear God, let there be garters') that went with the dark blue lace-knit tights that adorned her saucily crisscrossed legs.
And the pièce de résistance to this tableau were the sexiest red high-heeled pumps he had ever seen – mostly because a pair of silver cuffs dangled from their stilettos.
Peggy: For reason B…
He waited expectantly for another tantalizing and salacious pic, but was sadly disappointed.
Peggy: Sweet dreams
Yeah, if he hadn't been creeping out the girl next to him before, his outraged snort, nervous shifting, and tented pants certainly were by now.
~A~
Day 5…
10:32pm
Peggy: rough day at the office, honey?
Jack: terrible. Don't gloat
He was not in the mood for yet another one of her victory dances – especially if there was no stripper pole involved.
All day today, he, Ramirez, and Daniel had been fending off attacks to steal their flags. They had needed to resort to transferring Keepers, and were in the middle of doing so, when they had been ambushed and Ramirez was killed for the day. By Dottie.
Dottie Underwood who was supposed to have been going after Carter had ambushed them.
Dottie Underwood, whom he was supposed to have been Assassinating so that he could get to Carter and all her booty (stolen-flag-wise and lace-clad-wise), had re-stolen the Arena Club pin.
And then to top it all off, he got to hear from Stark about he had struck a deal with his good friend Manfredi to turn on Frost so that Carter could Assassinate her and Capture their flag of black silly string.
Personally, he didn't think it was that big of a feat. The woman was constantly turning on her teammates, costing them points, just so she could keep Carter from winning. Really, what kind of strategy was that?
Peggy: Not gloating. I left you a pick-me-up present
Jack entered his room and saw that his window to the fire-escape was not quite shut. So yes, she had been here. But he did not see any bags with bows or boxes with ribbon. There wasn't even an insulting bottle of little blue pills.
He was about to text her 'where?', when he spotted Them.
Red lacy things. A lot like the ones that had been in The Pic. Lying on his bed.
He went over to them and picked them up, and he immediately noticed two things – they were musky and damp.
Fuck. She had sat here and… and…
He glanced down and saw that Junior was on the rise. Pick-me-up present indeed.
Jack: tease
Peggy: not today. Consider them a calling card
Peggy: I have my roommate's key to the music dept's sound-proof practice booths…?
Jack racked his brain for a music major frat brother and then sent: be there in 20.
~.~
He got there in 18.
She was waiting for him in the piano practice booth.
He hadn't really known what to expect when he got there. Perhaps, there had been a vague notion of her dressed in the clichéd trench coat and nothing but.
But she wasn't. No, she stood there in the dim lighting, leaning casually against the grand piano, dressed in loose dark pants, a zipped up bomber jacket, and those sinful red heels.
In the dim lighting, he could also see that there were two glasses of whiskey on the rocks just at her shoulders on the grand piano, and as soon as he shut the door, she slid one down towards the keys and instructed, "Play me something."
He was about to ask how she knew that he played, when he remembered that sometime during the night of the frat party, he had bragged about how clever his fingers were – in more ways than one.
So instead of challenging her, he took a swig of the offered whiskey and began to demonstrate his skill, never taking his eyes off of her.
The jazzy tune with its sensual bass must have done something for her, because her dark brown eyes became black and hooded as she stared back at him. And to the rhythm of that bass she began to slink along the piano towards him, unzipping her jacket, shrugging out of her jacket, and revealing…
A creamy see-through top that did nothing to conceal the lacy blue bra underneath…
And red suspenders that held up those loose pants like some retro throwback to the 1940's.
He didn't know which was sexier – the lacy blue bra that had to match the briefs in The Pic or the suspenders that made him think of garters.
He did know that she was the sexiest view now and ever though.
When he faltered in his playing at the sight of her, she leaned back and coolly began sipping at her whiskey, as if she had all the time and care in the world. So he did what any sane man (or at least a well-trained man) would do – he resumed playing.
The whiskey glass was set aside, and as she rounded the piano to join him at the keyboard, the suspenders came off – pop! pop! – and the pants slid down her legs with each step. Then she was stepping out of them, and then she was sliding between his hands and standing before him in all her navy-lace clad glory.
He had been right. There were garters to go with those stockings. And gods, he had never wanted a woman more.
She had no objections when he stopped playing this time. In fact, after he had lifted her up to sit her on top of the piano, she had wrapped those legs of hers around him, pressing her red spiky heels into the small of his back, so that she could draw him in closer, and then she leaned back willingly as he slid her silky top up her body, allowing him full access to trail kisses over each inch of skin that was revealed.
Once the top was off, she was sprawled across the top of the piano, a feast waiting to be devoured.
His lips trailed down her body again, ghosting over her neck, across her collar bone, down the valley of her breasts. His hands caressed up and down her sides. His thumbs grazed across her nipples, circling them once, twice, and then he flicked them as he went ever lower.
His rough calloused hands ran up and down her stocking covered legs, stopping to tease the patches of skin that peeked through the lacy holes with feather-light touches, while his lips grazed along the tops of them, up along the thin ribbon slings, and ever closer to her lush ripe center.
During all of this, her silence had been broken by occasional hums of pleasure and breathy gasps and moans, but when his tongue proved to be just as quite as clever as his fingers had been over the black-and-white keys…
She sang.
It was a beautiful litany of curses, that rose and fell with her bucks and arches, that he did little to stop – mostly because one of his hands was busy stroking himself in time to her body's siren song.
And when her aria crescendoed with her climax, he found his own ending groan to be in harmony with hers.
They must have painted quite the debauched tableau with her sprawled across the piano, her perspiration dripping onto its glossy walnut surface, with his face buried in her stomach, his spunk dripping onto the floor, and with both of them panting raggedly and chuckling breathlessly as they tried to recover.
Eventually, Peggy sat up just enough to disentangle herself from him and slide off the instrument. While she slithered back into her clothes, he tucked himself back up, wiped up their mess, and finished off his whiskey.
When he lowered the glass, he saw Peggy eyeing him hungrily once again. Before he could tease her about not getting enough, she was on him, pulling the glass away from his mouth so that she could fuse hers to his.
She licked and she sucked and her tongue plunged and tasted, and he knew that she was doing so just because she wanted to taste herself on him.
At that thought he found himself becoming aroused once again.
But she pulled away, collected her glass along with his, and whispered huskily, "How's your day now?"
"Shit, Carter," he gasped. "That gives a whole new meaning to 'a kiss to make it better'."
"I'll say," she smirked, as she sensuously stretched and groaned in satisfaction, and then she was gone.