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It all starts at the first annual Avengers holiday party.
While not officially an Avenger, Peggy does happen to live with one, and so receives both an invitation to the party and a name for the Secret Santa exchange.
Whoever is organizing the exchange must have given some thought to the selection, because Peggy has drawn Pepper—also not an Avenger, and one of Peggy’s closest friends, making the matter of gift selection relatively simple. Peggy and Pepper are regular shopping companions and have fashion preferences that are, if not identical, definitely complementary.
The party is held at Stark Tower, and as is usually the case with Tony and Pepper’s parties, the décor is an interesting blend of the couple’s individual tastes. The lounge is, overall, elegantly decorated, with garlands of white lights, strategically placed candles, beautiful sprigs of real holly, and fresh pine wreaths. The entire room is dominated, however, by the enormous gold Christmas tree, festooned with red chrome ornaments.
After some milling about, Peggy winds up on one of the low sectionals, with Pepper beside her and Steve sitting kitty-corner.
Tony, his Santa hat set at a rakish angle, strolls around the room distributing the gifts. He hands Pepper a red gift bag with gold trim, and drops a silver box with blue ribbon in Peggy’s lap.
Pepper goes first, diving into the tissue paper with both hands to extract a black leather handbag. Pepper had pointed the bag out in passing while they were looking at fall scarves a few weeks ago; Peggy would have preferred it in red if it were her choice, but Pepper tends to gravitate towards an achromatic palette.
“I think I know who this is from,” she says, smiling.
“No guessing yet!” protests Tony, aiming an emphatic finger at Pepper. “Wait until everyone opens their gifts first!”
“Wow.” Pepper bats the finger away. “I know you’re excited, but can you please dial it down just a tiny bit, Santa?”
He waggles his eyebrows comically. “Come sit on my lap later and we’ll talk. About that, and anything else that comes up.”
Peggy rolls her eyes, but politely refrains from asking if Tony inherited his father’s collection of antique pickup lines.
Pepper pointedly ignores him and asks Peggy, “What did you get?”
Peggy slips off the blue ribbon and, with a bit of care, manages to remove the stylish paper without tearing it—despite Tony grousing that she’s “being a grandma” about it. She folds the paper neatly along the creases, and sets it aside.
The box is garish, the title 4TH OF J*U*L*Y stamped across it in square lettering. Her first impression is that someone’s given her a fancy and overly patriotic hand blender. It isn't until she reads the descriptive text on the back of the box that she realizes what the apparatus inside actually does.
By which time everyone around her has also realized what it does.
“Oh my God,” says Pepper under her breath, immediately ruling her out as the culprit. Not that Peggy really thought her friend could possibly be responsible for such a superlatively tacky gift.
There’s also no way it could have been Steve. She can’t imagine him giving her something like this in the privacy of their own home, let alone at a dinner party with their friends and colleagues. He has his phone out and is paying very close attention to it—to avoid making eye contact with his doppelganger, she suspects.
Natasha is, as always, a cipher, but Peggy doesn't think shock-value gifts are really her style.
Hill, over by the pool table, is a bit of a wild card; Peggy doesn't know her that well, so she can't be ruled out entirely.
This is only Peggy’s second time meeting Thor. He doesn’t seem particularly shy about discussing matters of the bedroom, and it’s possible that there’s some sort of Asgardian custom in play; however, she’s fairly certain that he’s responsible for Natasha’s gift, a sumptuous crimson robe embroidered with elaborate gold filigree.
Tony, looking curious but not particularly shocked, is a definite possibility—as is Barton, who has his head in his hands and is shaking with suppressed laughter.
According to the box, the Fourth of July guarantees ‘fireworks.’ The vibrator is billed as ‘super-strong and 100% American-made,’ which is mildly entertaining; also, ‘cold-resistant and completely submersible,’ which Peggy finds to be in rather poor taste.
Undaunted, she opens the box. The sleek, simplistic design of the object inside belies its lurid packaging: a curve of red and blue silicone, the familiar shield emblem embossed onto the silver on/off button.
She’s tempted, just for a moment, to turn it on, but refrains out of courtesy to Steve, who is quietly dying of embarrassment a thousand times over.
Tony is sporting a cheeky grin as he inquires, “What'd you get, Aunt Peggy?”
“From the look of things, an expensive doorstop.”
“The box says personal massager,” says Barton helpfully.
“Oh, stuff it,” Peggy retorts.
“Are you telling me that, or reading the instructions?”
Peggy deliberately gives the device an indifferent once-over before tucking it back into its box, without further comment, and placing it under the coffee table. Out of sight, out of mind.
*
No one takes credit for the gift, and several drinks later, Peggy stops trying to narrow it down and just assumes Tony is responsible.
Pepper confirms that this is a likely theory. “Though I don’t have any hard evidence,” she adds. “No pun intended.”
Peggy snorts into her wine glass in a very unladylike manner. It’s probably high time she was cut off; however, one of the many advantages of dating Steve is that she is rarely without a designated driver. Another advantage, one she is currently enjoying, is being able to ogle him openly: he’s showing Thor how to play pool, leaning across the table in a very appealing manner. She’s glad that she talked him into wearing his new jeans, rather than the high-waisted chinos he tends to favour.
On the other side of Pepper, Natasha is nursing a bourbon and looking enviably cosy in her new robe. Seen up close, the embroidery pattern is actually a series of tiny cobwebs, interspersed with what Peggy supposes is the Asgardian interpretation of a spider.
“I don’t suppose you fancy a swap?” Peggy inquires, holding up the box.
Natasha leans in to take a closer look. “Is that the Fourth of July?”
“I didn’t realize its reputation preceded it.”
“It’s part of a series. Actually, they contacted the guys and asked if they’d be willing to provide measurements.”
“I remember that.” Pepper rolls her eyes. “Tony considered it.”
Steve obviously didn’t, but Peggy isn’t quite drunk enough to make the comparison aloud.
“Cap’s model got the best reviews on Amazon.” Natasha snuggles deeper into her robe. “Pepper might trade you.”
“Thanks, but no.” Pepper clutches her new handbag protectively. “Anyhow, we have a rule about the number of gadgets allowed in the bedroom at one time.” She pinks adorably, and puts her glass of port on the coffee table. “God. Take this away from me. Seriously.”
Peggy turns the box over in her hands. “I’m just not entirely sure why Tony thought I might appreciate a patriotic sex toy.”
“Especially when you already have one,” Natasha deadpans.
Peggy is still laughing when Steve comes over to ask if he can get her another drink.
*
Peggy isn’t quite hung over the next morning, but she isn’t exactly in fighting form, either. She drifts awake to the smell of coffee brewing, and the slight dip of the mattress as Steve slips back into bed beside her.
They’re both early risers by nature, but Steve and his super-powered body clock have her beat every time. He’s the one who gets up to start the coffee in the mornings—which would be lovely, if Steve’s coffee wasn’t guaranteed to give a normal person a series of heart attacks.
“You know,” she murmurs, “if we had one with a timer, you could stay here and keep my toes warm.”
He snuggles up to her obligingly, rubbing her feet with his. “Well, Christmas is coming.”
“Oh, how romantic. ‘I love you with all my heart, darling—and, as an expression of my devotion, here's an appliance we will both use.’”
“Hey, that could be romantic.” She can hear the smile in his voice.
“I suppose so. Depending on the appliance.”
“Did you ever find out who gave you that thing?”
“Not yet. I think the smart money’s on Tony at this point.”
He makes a noise of agreement, then asks, “You threw it out, right?”
“It was a gift.”
An incredulous silence from Steve.
“It was a gift,” she repeats firmly. “And it was expensive. Maybe he can still return it.”
“I don’t think they allow returns on that kind of thing.”
“Oh, and you’d know, would you?”
“You bet. I did all your Christmas shopping at that store. Three words: jewelled nipple clamps. How’s that for romance?”
She slaps him on the leg. “You needn’t worry you’re being replaced.”
“I’m not worried.” He’s smug. “There’s plenty I can do that it can’t.” As if to demonstrate, he pulls her closer, and kisses the back of her neck lightly.
Peggy gives a pleased hum and leans into him, but can’t resist having the last word: “I hope, for your sake, that it can’t pick up its own socks.”
*
Steve gets the call the day after Christmas. A diplomatic errand—and that’s all he’s allowed to say, unfortunately. A black Range Rover comes whisks him off to the airport that evening.
Peggy learns, through Pepper, that Steve is being flown to Wakanda to attend the royal coronation on behalf of the United States government. Pepper knows this because Tony has also been invited, and is congenitally unable to keep a secret. Stark Industries had some dealings with the Wakandans during the war, which was how Howard acquired most of the vibranium used in Steve’s shield.
The shield is, most likely, the reason Steve is being sent—it serves as a visual reminder of the diplomatic ties between the United States and Wakanda. But as a metaphor, it’s problematic; she can’t imagine the Wakandans are thrilled about their most valuable national resource being used as an emblem of American nationalism. Steve won’t have an easy time of it.
Peggy keeps herself busy in the days that follow: she and Barton take an easy extraction assignment, and she braves the post-Christmas sales with Pepper. She puts the Christmas decorations away in their ridiculously tiny hall cupboard, which is when she happens upon the Fourth of July. She vaguely remembers Steve stashing it there in a moment of pique, after she’d insisted yet again that it would be rude to throw it away.
Her curiosity gets the better of her: she takes it out of the box and turns it on. The noise makes her jump—it’s much louder than she expected, to the point of being distracting. She fiddles with the settings until she finds the lowest one, and even that seems far too strong. She can’t imagine letting this jackhammer anywhere near the more sensitive regions of her body, let alone actually attempting to pleasure herself with it.
She places it back in the box, tosses the box back in the cupboard, and then she goes into the bedroom and employs the more traditional, low-tech method of relieving her stress.
*
Days pass before she gets a promising text from Steve. He has an unexpected break in his schedule later, of about forty-five minutes, and wants to know if she has time for a video call.
Peggy absolutely does have time.
She also has a plan.
She reschedules that afternoon’s sparring date with Natasha. Instead, she goes straight home from work, mixes herself a gin and tonic, and takes a hot bath. She puts on a silky nightgown, loosely curls her hair, and adds a touch of mascara and her signature lipstick. The intended effect is one of casual, effortless beauty; nothing can look staged.
After determining that the bedroom has the best opportunities for lighting, she sets up her laptop by the bed and arranges the pillows strategically. It isn’t easy, but she manages to work out a few flattering angles. She refreshes her drink, reclines gracefully on the bed with a book, and waits for the call.
And waits.
And waits.
It becomes apparent, after an hour or so, that Steve must have missed his window. She puts the laptop away, changes into her comfy pajamas, and tries not to feel too terribly put out.
She is in a bit of a state, though, and something compels her to go to the hall cupboard. The Fourth of July is where she left it, behind the Christmas decorations. She shakes it free of its box, and goes back to the bedroom with determination in her stride.
Sitting on the bed, she switches it on, surprised to note that her heart is racing a little. The device is still tuned to the gentlest setting. She experiments—putting it against her arm, the back of her knee, her stomach. It’s… interesting, which is about all she can say.
When she rests the pulsing toy against her thigh, though, she feels a pleasant little tingle. She moves it up the inside of her leg, then presses it gently against herself, through the fabric of her pajama pants. The muted vibrations are enough to fan the flames of her arousal.
She reclines on the bed, clutching the toy with her thighs—past the point of embarrassment now, chasing the delicious friction. Her eyes drift closed; she grasps the comforter tightly with one hand, rucking up her tank top with the other.
The motion is different, but the sparks feel the same as when Steve curls his fingers, just so. She imagines him there: his scent, his skin against hers, the warm weight of him pressing her into the mattress. Her release is quick, and more potent than she’d expected.
She thinks at first that her ears are ringing with the sheer force of it—but no, it’s her phone, which is… somewhere on the bed. She fumbles in the sheets, trying to find the phone and turn off the vibrator at the same time, and manages to do both at the absolute last second.
“Hello?”
“Hey.” As usual, Steve has the worst possible timing. “I couldn’t get the video chat to work. I’m glad I didn’t miss you, though.”
“Yes, good,” she says vaguely.
“Am I interrupting?”
“I’m just—I’m in bed.”
“In bed? You sound a little out of breath.”
“Yes, well.” She’s feeling far too relaxed just now to be at all self-conscious. “I was waiting for a call. I had to entertain myself somehow.”
“…you didn’t.”
“Oh, but I did.”
Steve groans feelingly. “That isn’t fair. You use your Christmas gift?”
“Mm-hmm.”
A distinctly unimpressed noise.
“It was very nice,” she continues, low and enticing. “But not as nice as you would have been.”
“I’m sorry I missed it.”
“I miss your hands,” she purrs.
“They miss you too. They say hello, by the way.”
Peggy gives up trying to be seductive, since it clearly isn’t having any effect. “Long day, darling?”
“You have no idea. And here I thought my dancing monkey days were over.”
“I’m proud of you, you know.” It surprises her, even as she’s saying it. It’s true, of course, but it’s not the sort of thing she finds it easy to just come out and say.
“Thanks.” His voice is soft, and she wonders if he’s falling asleep. She can’t be bothered to do the math, but she knows it’s late there. She misses it very keenly, in that moment—dozing off in the shelter of his body, solid as a house.
“What will you do now?”
“Take a long shower, I guess.”
“And think about me?” she teases.
“Uh huh. You and your little battery-operated pal.”
Which is an opening, if Peggy ever heard one.
Before she can lose her nerve, she suggests, “You could think about me now, Steve. I’m right here.”
A pause. “Thought you took care of yourself already.”
“I did. Let me take care of you, though.”
“You…”
For a moment, she thinks he’s going to come out with you don’t have to, which is Steve’s automatic response whenever she tries to do anything in bed that isn’t completely reciprocal. He must be desperate, though, because he stops himself before he can complete the thought.
Then she hears him say, “Okay.”
“Are you lying down?”
“Yeah.”
“Trousers off?”
She hears some rustling in the background. “They are now.”
“Yes, good. All right. Er…” Peggy belatedly realizes that she has absolutely no idea what she should say next. What has she gotten herself into?
“Do you want me to touch myself?”
God, how she loves him in that moment. Because he clearly feels just as ridiculous about this as she does, but he’s committed to making it work.
“Yes, I think you should.”
“Tell me about earlier,” he prompts, his voice rougher now.
“Well, I didn’t actually use it properly. I was already so on edge, waiting for you to call. All I had to do was turn it on and… rub myself with it, a little. It happened very fast.”
He makes a soft sound. She can picture him: alone on his enormous hotel bed, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, working himself quickly with one large hand. It’s an appealing image.
“I thought about you.” She doesn’t have to feign the hitch in her voice. “I thought about your fingers. I wish they were inside me now, actually. Mine are so much smaller.”
“God—Peggy—”
“I wish you could feel how ready I am for you, Steve. How much I want you inside me.” And it’s true, she does. She’s aching to ride him with abandon.
He doesn’t speak, but she can hear him breathing on the line—which is par for the course. She’s always been the talkative one.
She appeals to his competitive streak: “I’ll bet I can finish myself off before you can.”
Steve exhales hard, whining a little at the end. “You just lost,” he tells her, breathlessly.
She chuckles. “Well, turnabout is fair play.”
“Do you need me to…”
“Oh, no. That’s all right, I only said that for you.”
“I can.” There’s an endearing shyness in his voice. “I want to.” She imagines him blushing, all the way down. The beautiful, eternal contradiction of him: so hard and so soft, all at once.
“All right.” She puts him on speakerphone, lies back on the pillows, and closes her eyes.
There’s a long, thoughtful silence on the line. For a moment, she wonders if he’ll be able to go through with it. But then his voice is in her ear, deep and mellow:
“I think you meant it when you said you were ready.”
“I did.”
“And that you wanted me inside you.”
“Yes,” she whispers. “Please, yes.”
“I wish I could, Peg. But… it’s okay if you need a little help to pretend.”
It’s not a suggestion he has to make more than once.
She doesn’t want the vibration this time—just the hard length. She grabs for the device, kicking off her pajama pants and underpants in a frantic, uncoordinated scramble, then sighs in relief as it finally breaches her.
It isn’t what she’s craving, not quite, but it’s a reasonable enough substitute that she gives a gasp when it bottoms out. “Oh, God, oh, Steve.”
“Feels all right?”
“Yes, yes, you feel wonderful.”
“That’s right. Yeah.”
He keeps talking in a low murmur—describing what he’s doing, expounding at length on what he will be doing, all of it delightfully filthy. She can’t remember him ever speaking like this to her before. It’s incredibly exciting, and it isn’t long before she’s teetering on the brink.
“I need you to come,” he urges. “Come on. You’re close, I can tell. Come for me, Peg.”
She does, abruptly, like a dam breaking. It’s so good, so close to what she’s been missing, that she almost sobs.
Afterwards, all she can do at first is lie still, and breathe.
“You still with me?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“That sounded like a lot of fun. How do you feel?”
She feels so many things: dazed, euphoric, a bit sore, slightly bashful, and rather loved. “Good God, Steve,” she says, which seems to cover all of it.
“Didn’t know I had it in me, did you?” She can tell he’s quite pleased with himself, as well he ought to be.
“My darling,” she says fondly. “I don’t believe there’s a thing in the world you couldn’t do, if you put your mind to it.”
“I wish that was true. I’d put my mind to being home with you right now.”
“That would be splendid. I can’t work out which button will get the vibrator to make my coffee in the mornings.”
“You really want that thing stirring your coffee?”
She yawns. “You may have a point there.”
“And it can’t keep your feet warm.”
“Hmm.”
“You falling asleep?”
She pulls the comforter up around herself. “I’m just resting my eyes.”
“Okay.”
Neither of them hangs up, and eventually she drifts off to the sound of his slow, deep breathing.
*
The following afternoon, Peggy meets Natasha at the Stark Tower gym for their rescheduled sparring session.
Peggy feels more relaxed and focused than she has in days, and manages to take Natasha to the mat four times out of five.
“You really did need an afternoon off,” observes Natasha, after finally managing to throw Peggy on the fifth attempt.
It’s been a particularly gruelling match, and Peggy takes a moment to catch her breath before replying, “You have no idea.”
“Did you treat yourself? A little personal massage?”
“Don’t be juvenile.” Seeing Natasha already planted on the mat again, Peggy holds up a hand. “Half a minute. I want a drink of water first.”
Natasha stands down, heading for her own gym bag. “You never did figure out who your Secret Santa was, did you?”
There’s nothing in her face or voice that gives her away, but Peggy has worked with Natasha long enough to know when she’s being given a hint.
“Pepper was certain it was Tony.”
“Was she?” Natasha grins.
Peggy can’t help but be impressed that her friends managed to dupe her so thoroughly. Still, she can’t help observing, “It’s an expensive joke.”
“It wasn’t a joke.” Natasha pats at her face and throat with a towel. “I think the best gifts are things a person wouldn’t buy for themselves. If you still don’t want it, though, I can take it back.”
Peggy puts her water back and checks her phone. “I don’t believe they accept returns on that sort of thing.” Her tone is careless, but she can tell Natasha isn’t fooled.
“Probably not.”
She has a text from Steve. It reads, Let’s talk again tonight. I still have lots to say. Bring your friend.
“I suppose,” says Peggy, putting the phone away with a secretive smile, “I’ll find some use for it eventually.”