[Oh, but what a pleasant turn that kiss turns out to be. Even before his mouth covers hers, Rip hears her curse, the feels the breath that carries with it sharp and surprised words inspired by, he can only assume, the way his fingers curl about her tie. And for a moment along with the taste of him, Peggy would feel the way he grins as Rip tucks that bit of intel tidily away in his mind--saved for another day, another occasion in which he might have opportunity to pull her nearer in such a fashion as he has.
And then, like Peggy, he commits himself to the present. Here and now and her, the hunger in her kiss matched by his own. It's quite tempting to forgo the shave entirely, at least for the time being, to instead delay that formality in favor of something far more indulgent and greedy. But Peggy herself draws the line, even when sparse seconds before everything about her screamed for more and more; when they're each left breathless and forced apart by the need to gasp quietly for air, she's quick to redirect Rip back to his original task.
Despite how clear it is in her voice that it's a difficult choice to make.
He watches as she steps back, green eyes darkened and sharp, more so when he feels the tie slip from his fingers. She dispatches it quickly after, sheds herself of what they both now know to be a weakness, a chink in her armor that Rip might well take advantage of when circumstances allow. But she busies herself with his whiskey after, and Rip returns to task: shedding the assorted layers he's donned for the trip outside, until he's left with a bared torso and he's kicked off his boots, at which point he goes for the shaving kit he's kept on a shelf ever since he found it as his door come Christmas. She need not have spoken her intentions for him to know that this is the razor he should use.
There's one final grin offered up to Peggy, an echo of her words (no more prevaricating) before Rip disappears into the bathroom, kit in hand. Worse, he closes the door behind him, but only partially--only enough to allow one to peek inside should they stand at just the right spot, and at the same time, only enough to prevent entry to one who doesn't seek it at all.
Although doubtless she would make quite the distraction to his efforts should she join him inside.]
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And then, like Peggy, he commits himself to the present. Here and now and her, the hunger in her kiss matched by his own. It's quite tempting to forgo the shave entirely, at least for the time being, to instead delay that formality in favor of something far more indulgent and greedy. But Peggy herself draws the line, even when sparse seconds before everything about her screamed for more and more; when they're each left breathless and forced apart by the need to gasp quietly for air, she's quick to redirect Rip back to his original task.
Despite how clear it is in her voice that it's a difficult choice to make.
He watches as she steps back, green eyes darkened and sharp, more so when he feels the tie slip from his fingers. She dispatches it quickly after, sheds herself of what they both now know to be a weakness, a chink in her armor that Rip might well take advantage of when circumstances allow. But she busies herself with his whiskey after, and Rip returns to task: shedding the assorted layers he's donned for the trip outside, until he's left with a bared torso and he's kicked off his boots, at which point he goes for the shaving kit he's kept on a shelf ever since he found it as his door come Christmas. She need not have spoken her intentions for him to know that this is the razor he should use.
There's one final grin offered up to Peggy, an echo of her words (no more prevaricating) before Rip disappears into the bathroom, kit in hand. Worse, he closes the door behind him, but only partially--only enough to allow one to peek inside should they stand at just the right spot, and at the same time, only enough to prevent entry to one who doesn't seek it at all.
Although doubtless she would make quite the distraction to his efforts should she join him inside.]