Work Text:
Daniel stepped inside the house, Peggy close behind. It was a long day filled with meetings about SHIELD’s budget, the final culminating in a heated but successful meeting with the Vice President. He couldn't remember the last time he was so happy to be home.
He pulled the tie loose and off, then unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. He lowered himself onto the couch, but before his back could hit the cushions, she was straddling his lap.
“Well, hello,” he said, his hands immediately going to her waist.
“Hello.”
She leaned her head toward his and brought him into a long, deep kiss. Her hands settled at his collarbone, fingers finding and fumbling with the third button on his shirt. She worked and worked but the little bugger wouldn't open!
She huffed against his lips as she continued her battle with the button. “Why must you wear such inaccessible clothing?”
“Well, I wasn’t thinking, ‘I’m meeting with the Vice President today and need to wear something I can get off quickly.’”
She smiled as she successfully got the button undone, then promptly started on the next.
“It’s the fingernails,” he said. “They get in the way.”
“You love these fingernails.” Her hands left the shirt to settle on his head. “In your hair. Scratching down your bare back.”
She bit back a smile at his sudden intake of breath.
“You make a good point,” he said, his hands pulling down the zipper on her dress. “Your clothes aren’t exactly easy to get into, either.”
“You don’t seem to have a problem.”
“I have patience.”
She huffed again, then went back to the buttons, setting up a rhythm that worked through them as efficiently as possible. Pushing the shirt down his arms, she scowled when the shirt would not go past his wrists.
“More bloody buttons!”
“I've got them,” he said, popping open the buttons in a few seconds and slipping off the shirt.
She made short order of his undershirt, then hummed her approval. Finally, she had what she wanted: Warm, firm, unencumbered skin. She dipped her head, tasting the tang of his sweat, the musk of the subtle cologne that is Daniel Sousa. The sound of his moan vibrated under her lips.
His hands weren't idle; the zipper of the dress was down as far as it could go. She lifted her arms and let him pull the dress over her head. She immediately rid herself of her slip and brassiere as well, then went back to kissing every inch of his chest.
He groaned, but managed to get out, “I thought you were hungry.”
“Later,” she said, her voice muffled against his skin. “I'm busy. Important job to do.”
He settled back against the couch, letting her have her way with him. Who was he to interrupt her work?