Work Text:
How to touch myself to pretend you're there
Your hands were on my hips, your name is on my lips
Over and over again like my only prayer
Obsession. That's what it's called. It was a definition she would have given herself a couple of years ago. The younger her would have been quick to diagnose it and sent herself off to some mental institution in horror. It was unlikely that the Peggy from the past would have been so horrified by her feelings for another woman, after all she wasn't a prude or religious where she would have been instructed to be wary of same-sex relationships. But this wasn't about simple love for a simple woman. It wasn't like that. "It" was about affection, about mania, about insane desire for a Russian assassin forged by the Red Room. So that Carter, who had followed her ideals and been an unflinching agent, could more than ever make things right. Reason and heal, one might even say save. But she had faded into oblivion, left behind where yellow-haired Steve was alive and the war was to be feared, not herself. And the current Peggy was defenceless against herself, against thoughts of Dorothy, against the blonde herself. Something clicked in her head and the agent froze, unable to fight back - not with words, not with gestures, not with her body. And Underwood like a predator cornering its victim, took advantage of it like a woman who'd finally achieved what she'd wanted all her life: freedom.
This Peggy can only deny and beg herself not to think about the girl every second she's out of sight. Just don't think about anything to do with Dottie - not about the lipstick in her pocket which the blonde used in one of her attempts to kill Carter (one of her favourite attempts, if you ask Peggy), or the bruise on her thigh left three days ago in Munich on another mission to catch the criminal (on the top of the list of "favourite encounters", if you ask Dorothy).
And between all these old and new versions of the same person, there is one constant - a tired Peggy, bored to death by life, melancholy and unlike the earlier one, and unlike the later one absolutely unable to deny the obvious, resigned. She just wants sleep and for her body not to ache from any careless movement, and she also wants Underwood. To take her and brand her as her own. Wants to whisper her name out loud and praise her when she does something really good. She wants to whisper her name out loud and praise her when she does something really good. She wants her/girl's name to fly off the lips and that's something neither of the "Peggys" allowed themselves to think about before. But she's exhausted, she's broke and she's just going to make herself feel good, what's wrong with that? Can't she just let go of that perennial control for once?
She puts her hand on her hip and closes her eyes, half an hour and she'll go downstairs and have a couple of glasses of whisky with Howard, half an hour and she'll never think of it again or allow anything like it. Half an hour of no struggle with her thoughts.
Dottie runs cold fingers along her knee while her other hand tucks away strands of hair that fell over Carter's eyes as she laid on the bed. As her hand moves higher her skirt creases gather at her wrist.
"Peggy" the widow whispers and her scent is so close to the agent's face that she almost instinctively reaches forward for a kiss, causing the woman to grin "oh, so pliable. "
Underwood draws patterns on her thigh and kisses Carter's face - everything but her lips, after all she's a villain, not a Saint. Yes even if she were a saint, and she could the brunette has been praying for her favour for over a year now, still wouldn't kiss her lips - she's only an illusion, a ghost of Peggy's excellent imagination.
Dottie's mouth drops lower, never touching the other woman's desired point as her fingers find it from beneath and enter at once without generosity or delay - she has only half an hour or less if Howard decides to call her personally for aperitif.
She no longer watches her hands, preferring to surrender control to the ethereal Underwood, whose name flies off her lips, mixed with quiet sighs. The fingers inside her move fast, the thumb outside her even faster. She needs release, she needs to stop thinking about that damn woman and she almost succeeds between another moan of "Dottie" leaving her mouth every other heartbeat, as if she's saying a prayer consisting only of the killer's name.
With another "Dottie" she freezes, as she does whenever she comes face to face with her. It's no longer clear which is the effect and which is the cause. The presence of a blonde makes her freeze or goosebumps with increased heartbeat and inability to move herald the appearance of the widow. And to cope with the first is still possible, somehow, someday, what about the second, the orgasm feels quite like this or Peggy just slowly goes mad because opening her eyes because of a sudden feeling of unease is confronted with a future sea of eyes opposite.
"Dorothy?" escapes her lips again, just as it did a couple of minutes ago when pleasure overtook her
The silhouette doesn't move, the slight glow of the streetlight illuminating a face that expresses some great or many mixed emotions at once. Something the agent can't quite read because the first thought, lust, seems too desirable and therefore impossible. There are unfortunate goosebumps running down Peggy's skin after all and it seems to hit Dottie even harder. The air between them feels cold and tense, as if they were in winter in the widow's homeland rather than midsummer in California. The half-hour clock signals its end, but not thinking about the blonde seems impossible, as does seeing her in front of her. In another situation, Carter would be proud that she could make this woman feel everything the brunette feels when she meets her. But in this situation, she awkwardly adjusts her skirt, still not sure if Dottie heard as she moaned her name or not.
"Dottie" she tries again, because the silence is worse, because it's like it provokes even more of Peggy's body reactions of fear and awe from the woman
"Peggy" purrs so quietly that Carter isn't sure a single sound has left the assassin's lips
"Dottie, what are you doing here?" asks the first thing that pops into her head, even as the question worries at the corner of her mind - did you hear everything?
"I- Peggy" her gaze seems more focused as she continues, catching the agent's eyes "Did you whisper my name?" it sounds more unsure than the tone she's heard from her normally, and if she believes what she's heard - hope - it's probably going to get even worse in the eyes of herself, not having lost Steve yet.
"Dottie" as if in confirmation Peggy repeats the five letters for the hundredth time that night "What are you doing here?" unlike the widow, her question sounds more confident
"I was curious as to why you didn't shoot me in Munich" she mutters too quickly and simply (when did she get away with communicating only in hints?)
She falls silent, avoiding looking at the girl. Her eyes slide over the swampy green bedspread and jump to the wall, the same colour. It reminds her of her first mission at six years old - the uniform was the same colour. And of what she hoped would be her last, in Germany. How she'd wanted to be killed by that woman. Dottie is compromised by her affection and wouldn't it be better to be killed by her hand and not by some Tovarish.
"I think I understand now," she says before she realises she's said anything.
"I- Dottie" and it seems it's Peggy's turn to be speechless, she's back to her usual roles - Underwood scares, Carter gets scared
Peggy isn't thinking about anything as she stares into the eyes of her enemy, Dottie is thinking about how much the temperature in the room resembles a typical winter in Siberia's largest city. She waits for a strong wind to blow in from the river and sweep away all the tension between them.
But the last time she was in Novosibirsk was twenty years ago, still just getting into the Red Room and there is no Siberian wind in the hostile country. There is only Carter sitting on her bed, hugging her knees. Peggy shielding herself from her with her ankles and with a face as guilty as if she had just told her husband about the affair.
"Peg" she whispers coming closer, placing warm palms on the brunette's cheeks "Peggy" she urges not to avert her gaze
The physical contact seems to relieve some of the tension, relaxing agent's shoulders and warming her at the same time.
Peggy can smell the widow's flavor close again and is drawn to it again, like a moth to a flame. But this time her lips are instantly taken over by other lips. Heat spreads through her body and both their fingers tangle in the other's hair. Everything around them seems to die down at once, the room is illuminated by headlights through an unlit window and something falls downstairs in the kitchen. Perfectly applied lipstick smudges and each feels as if she's living. They break off to fill their lungs with air.
"If I'd known sooner, Peggy, we'd have been married by now" she looks so straight ahead that Carter's heart sinks
"Knew what?" snaps the girl nervously.
"That you like me too" weightlessly descends on the room, forever shifting the boundaries and fatally changing their positions