Work Text:
Director Carter straightened out her blazer, smoothing the creases in her skirt from sitting at her desk for so long. She could feel the tight knots in her back and shoulders from leaning over, signing and reading documents for what felt like centuries.
Being director wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
Sure, she enjoyed the charge and people actually listening to her, but no one told her there’d be so much paperwork.
Who knew the SSR would need so many documents, Peggy thought, rolling her eyes at herself.
Of course there were a lot of documents. Any organization of this scale and security clearance should require a lot of documents.
Come on, Peg. Just three more pages then you can take a break.
There was a lot of stress involved in running the SSR and Peggy could feel it flooding into her system and gathering at the base of her neck.
She rolled her shoulders in an effort to loosen the tension and groaned.
Admittedly there was more than just work to blame for the increasing tension pressing along her spine.
She and Angie had been arguing for two weeks now.
Most of the time, Peggy couldn’t even really remember what had started the arguments. Just that they ended with a lot of loud, Italian curse words (that Peggy was sure Angie didn’t know she completely understood) and the slamming of bedroom doors.
Rubbing her forehead, she sighed.
Maybe if she just pulled longer hours, she could avoid running into—
“MARGARET CARTER.”
Shit.
She closed her eyes tighter. She’d been signing so many papers that she must’ve imagined Angie was yelling at her right—
A hard shove against her shoulders made her eyes fly open where she was faced with a very angry, little Italian woman.
“YOU, MISS CARTER—“
“D-director.”
“EXCUSE ME?”
“At the office I’m referred to as Director—“
“I DON’T GIVE A RAT’S ASS WHAT THEY CALL YOU AT THE OFFICE—“
“Angie! Language. And why are you screaming at me in my office? What have I done now?”
“The question is, Peggy,” Angie muttered furiously, stepping into Peggy’s space, her face leaning dangerously close. “What haven’t you done?”
Angie got home from work, kicking off her shoes.
“Peg?”
“In the kitchen!”
She followed the sound of the other woman’s voice, wincing at the ache that shot through her feet with every step she took.
“Peg, I know you don’t do much cooking—“
Upon reaching the threshold of the kitchen, Angie was greeted with the sight of Peggy bent over, giving Angie a very welcome, full-view of her shapely backside.
Angie gulped, feeling every bit of moisture in her mouth relocate to somewhere… significantly lower.
Peggy stood slowly, stretching her arms high above her head, her shirt pulling tight across her chest as she turned to face, Angie.
Darkened eyes wandered up Peggy’s form, sliding up her stocking-clad calves, pausing to take in the edge of a garter. Angie bit her lip. Her gaze moved higher to take in her wide hips and slim waist.
Her throat tightened at the view of the other woman’s chest, eyes staying far too long on the strained pulling of the buttons to be passed off as just a friendly glance.
Angie briefly wondered if Peggy had ever accidentally popped a button or two stretching like that.
Peggy smiled softly, looking completely content and utterly relaxed.
And blissfully unaware of Angie’s current… situation.
“Sorry, I was looking for another towel to dry the dishes. I forgot Mr. Jarvis moved them to the hall closet.”
Angie nodded, feeling heat rise in her cheeks.
“Are you okay, darling?”
“F-fine. I’m fine.”
Angie felt a soft hand smooth over her cheek, another pressing firmly to her forehead.
“You look flushed. And you’re burning up.”
The cool palm pressed against her cheekbone made her breath catch as fingertips brushed along her jaw.
Angie’s hand gripped Peggy’s wrists, pushing her hands away.
“I’m fine, English.”
“If you’re sure—“
“Yes. I’m sure. Jesus!”
Peggy’s brow furrowed and she leaned back against the counter, resting her elbows on the cool tile. She picked up a glass of wine she must ‘ve poured before Angie got home and took a sip.
Angie’s eyes were once again drawn to the straining buttons of Peggy’s shirt.
“I… Need to go c-change. O-out of work clothes.”
Peggy nodded, shrugging cooly.
“Do whatever you need to do.”
Well there’s an idea.
Angie watched as Peggy took a long drink, watching her throat move with every sip of the deep, red liquid.
Clenching her fists at her sides, Angie stalked out of the room, muttering lowly in Italian.
Three days later, Angie pushed open the door, kicking off her shoes, just like any other day.
“Peggy? You home?”
Angie heard a faint call coming from upstairs.
She started pulling pins from her hair as she took the stairs, dropping the pins in the pocket of her apron as she went.
Her curls fell loosely around her shoulders and she winced at the soreness she felt in her scalp.
But beauty is pain, right?
Light streamed out of the crack in the bathroom door and the smell of rosewater met Angie in the hallway.
Her head started to swim as she stepped closer, the floral scent swirling around her, making her dizzy.
“Angie?”
“I’m in the hallway.”
“Come here.”
“I… O-okay.”
Angie pushed the door open, knees going weak at the vision before her.
Peggy had her hair pulled into a loose bun as she lounged in the bathtub, bubbles only just obscuring the surface of the water.
Droplets of water slid down the sides of her neck, gathering and pooling against her collarbones before falling back into the tub.
Angie could make out the distinct swell of her breasts, and smooth curves of her body beneath the cloudy surface.
“I--…”
“Angie, I seem to have forgotten a towel. And my toes are starting to take on a striking resemblance to raisins,” Peggy sighed, wiggling her toes above the surface.
Angie stood stock-still; her mouth agape as she tried desperately to look anywhere but at what lay beneath the surface of the water.
Her eyes greedily traced the shape of Peggy’s parted lips, following another drop down the side of the woman’s neck until it met the rest of the water.
Her hands started to tremble, sweat gathering at the back of her neck.
“Angie?”
“Yes?” she croaked in response.
“Would you mind getting me a towel? I’d prefer to get out of this bath looking young rather than with the skin of a woman twice my age,” Peggy grinned up at her, moving her legs around, letting her knees and calves tease the surface as she moved around in the bath.
Angie felt drunk on the smell of rosewater, her eyes fighting to roll back in her head at the thoughts racing through her head, her body responding to the phantom touches she desperately wished were real.
“Angie? Hello?”
“Sorry. Yes.”
Angie swiftly exited the room, stalking down the stairs with very little grace as her legs felt like they’d give out at any second.
How does she think it’s okay to do that?!
Maybe because she’s straight and doesn’t realize you’re a filthy lesbian.
I am not! There is nothing filthy about—
Well.
Scratch that.
Angie gritted her teeth as she reached for a towel.
"Dio dammi forza," she mumbled as she once again climbed the stairs.
She prayed that her white-knuckled grip on the towel wasn’t noticeable as she shakily held it out for Peggy.
Turning her blushing face away, she heard the water drip from Peggy’s toned, shapely body as the woman stood.
She fixed her eyes to the ceiling, her heart stuttering to a halt at the touch of fingertips brushing her wrist.
“Thank you, Angie,” Peggy hummed, leaving a lingering kiss on Angie’s cheek.
Angie’s cheeks flared red at the touch of soft lips and she did her best to nod and fought with herself to make some kind of vocal acknowledgement that Peggy had spoken.
It came out like a strangled croak but she tried.
Hearing Peggy’s door click shut, Angie’s knees gave out and she gripped the edge of the tub, trying to steady her breathing.
This woman is going to be the death of me.