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Title: A Glass Of Bubbles
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Peggy/Angie
Rating: NC-17
Words: 942
Timeline: Post-Agent Carter Season One
Notes: For Femslash Friday, and [community profile] pbam, prompts "bubble bath, champagne".
Summary: Champagne and bubble bath and Angie beside her. What more could Peggy need?



Howard Stark’s preference for luxury tends to be a little … ostentatious for Peggy’s tastes, but she can’t deny her appreciation for the tub in the master bathroom of the penthouse he’s letting her and Angie stay in. The tub is ridiculously large, (Peggy dreads to think how many women Howard’s managed to cram in there at once), wonderfully deep, with curved edges and sunken seats and taps that she has a terrible suspicion are gilded with real gold.

The bath is showy and unnecessary and Peggy loves it.

She doesn’t open her eyes when the bathroom door clicks open, too relaxed with her hair pinned up and her head leaning back against the porcelain edge and the radio crooning softly in the corner. She listens to the quiet pad of Angie’s footsteps, can practically hear Angie cocking her hip and smirking.

“Got enough bubbles there, English?” Angie teases fondly. “Because I’ve got some more here, if you fancy them.”

Peggy cracks open one eye at that. Angie’s holding two champagne glasses, a bottle of something no doubt painfully expensive tucked under her arm. “Don’t worry, Howard won’t miss it,” she grins, holding a glass out to Peggy. “He’s got twenty of the damn things.”

“Well,” Peggy muses, her mouth twitching, “if he has twenty…” She takes the offered glass, and then the offered kiss when Angie leans down towards her.

Angie’s mouth tastes like champagne and lipstick, and Peggy sighs against her lips. “Join me,” she murmurs, and Angie’s eyes sparkle, setting the glass and bottle down on the tiled bench that runs around the tub to start shimmying out of her uniform.

Peggy sips her champagne, (it really is quite delicious), and enjoys the show, nylons and cotton and finally Angie’s skin revealed to her, fair and smooth and unmarred except for a set of fingernail scratches down one side.

Peggy supposes she should feel guilty about those, but honestly she just feels proud.

Proud and hungry, licking champagne bubbles from her upper lip as Angie lowers herself into the water, doing it slowly with that twinkle in her smile that means she’s showing off for Peggy’s benefit. She ducks into the water, then rises up a little, water streaming down her shoulders, her chest, droplets running between her breasts.

Jeez, Peg,” Angie laughs, scooping up a handful of frothing bubbles. “I wasn’t kidding about you going heavy on the bubble bath.” She blows into the cup of her palm and the bubbles spray out around them before slowly sinking through the air.

Peggy gives an exaggerated sniff, her foot rising beneath the water to settle against Angie’s knee. “I’ll have you know I had the perfect amount of bubbles before you started mucking about with them.”

Angie grins, a wicked edge to it. “Well then,” she murmurs. “I guess if I’ve deprived you of these bubbles, I’ll have to give you some more.” And then she’s sinking down in the gloriously deep tub, head disappearing beneath the water as she goes to her knees. Hands push Peggy’s knees apart - she feels the tickle of Angie’s hair floating against her inner thighs, and suddenly the bubbles aren’t so welcome after all because they keep her from being able to see Angie move.

The first touch between her legs makes her moan. She knows it’s Angie’s mouth from the shape of her lips, although she can’t feel the heat of it through the already too-warm water. But the pressure is familiar, and Peggy’s back arches into it, legs spreading further, her hand tightening around the stem of the champagne glass.

And then she barks out a laugh as Angie proceeds to blow a mouthful of bubbles directly against her labia, the act absurd but the sensation wonderful, and she’s still laughing when Angie comes up for air.

Her champagne glass is awkwardly balanced on the side of the tub, a good deal of its contents spilled in the water with them. Angie straddles her lap, and Peggy brings her off with a thumb rubbing slowly against her clitoris and a finger pressed against the raised nub of silky flesh just inside of her. Angie groans and writhes and giggles against her, and there are bubbles everywhere, and afterwards Angie ducks beneath the water again and blows against Peggy’s cunt, water and bubbles and heat rushing against her, until Peggy’s swearing and squirming, until she pulls Angie up by her hair for a hard and frantic kiss.

She winds up perched on the edge of the bathtub, her feet pressed against the seats in the water and her back and arse cold against the tiles, but Angie’s mouth is more than hot enough to distract her. Peggy squeezes her eyes shut and Angie’s name echoes off the walls when she comes, her voice ragged and husky.

And then, of course, it’s the simplest thing to slide back down into the water, using the excuse of cleaning up as they cuddle together, Peggy’s arm around Angie’s waist, Angie’s head on her shoulder. The water’s deep enough that it’ll take a long time to cool, and both their glasses have been knocked over so they take it in turns to drink from the bottle.

“We’re getting our own place eventually, right?” Angie asks, her nose pressed to Peggy’s neck.

“We are,” Peggy agrees. Howard’s generosity is appreciated, but they can’t stay in the penthouse forever. And she rather likes the idea of finding their own place together, somewhere that suits them both, somewhere they can make home.

Angie hums softly. “Can we bring the tub?”

Peggy laughs and takes another swig of champagne.

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