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It’s deep red rubies and bright diamonds, woven together in an intricate design. It looks dangerous. It looks foreign on her neck, dark elegance settled around her throat. Peggy thinks she could be wearing a snake around her neck and it would be less exotic.She sneaks up on her- she always does, footsteps silent, a skill befitting a spy of her caliber. Dottie Underwood walks like the shadows she lives in.“Aw, Peggy! You look positively delicious," Dottie says, playful lilt to her voice.Dottie’s a dream of her own, lithe muscles and graceful movements, a weapon wrapped in black silk. She looks like she’s about to swan into a ballroom.Peggy, by contrast, is in a robe so thin it might as well be see-through. The vulnerability has her continuously relaxing so as not to stiffen up.Dottie’s eyes sparkle. She likes the juxtaposition- they both do.Her breath is warm on the back of Peggy’s neck. “I did say I’d get you a choker one day.”“I suppose you did. I’m a woman who can appreciate a follow through.” Peggy rests a hand on her stomach, right where the cinch of a belt would be. Habit. Reassurance.Dottie’s smile gets a little sharper. “I’d rather you were only wearing my gift.”“That could be arranged,” Peggy says, turning in her arms.Her fingers are cold again her pulse point. The Motherland's touch, Dottie says. Personally, Peggy thinks she's full of it.It sends shivers up her spine every time. Heat too, and not just to counter Dottie’s cool temperature. Peggy gets a little dizzy with it, even after months of collaboration in both their professional and private lives.The kiss is everything but cold. Most people miss Dottie’s passion, swept up in her cut-throat smile and laser focus on the mission. Everything contained, controlled. Peggy has been able to see through it since the first time Dottie kissed her, blond curls and cardigan deception. The kiss was fury and jealousy and lust. For weeks after, Peggy would find herself running her fingers over her lips, remembering the intoxicating mix of confusion and betrayal with a vividity that surprised even her.Peggy always had a great memory- it’s practically an entry level requirement in spycraft. But it wasn’t like her to dwell. She compartmentalized Michael’s death and she compartmentalized the war and she compartmentalized every little indignity since. It vexed her then, that Dottie had wormed her way past her defenses like in such a manner.It wasn’t the woman thing- Peggy had known her tastes ran rather diverse from a young age. An all-girls boarding school meant childhood experimentation was just another wild thing they did sometimes.Steve knew. They never discussed it, per se, but he saw the way her gaze lingered on the U.S.O girls. He never begrudged her it. She saw the way his eyes lit up when Sargent Barnes entered the room- she wondered, but she didn’t begrudge him either, so what was the point?She used to think that Steve was the only one who would really see her. The competent agent and the wretched daughter and the lonely woman. Until Dorothy Underwood flayed her open with a kiss and a lie and a furious truth.So it wasn’t a gender issue. It was an ethical issue. Dottie was the enemy. She was everything Peggy hates and pities in equal measure. There was no logical reason to want her. She still woke, gasping and desperate, shoving a hand under the blanket, mind looping half-formed dreams of Dottie’s punishing kiss.Dottie’s reluctant turn to the side of justice opened new doors for both of them. Peggy knew her career change was at least partially fueled by her obsession with Peggy. Maybe that should have bothered her, but it didn’t.There are worse motivations.She considered the possibility of a trap, a long con, an overarching evil scheme cooked up by Leviathan. She decided to take the chance.It was a risk she would take a thousand times again because it led to this-Dottie drags her hand through the seam of Peggy’s legs, smearing slick wetness onto her thigh. The uncaring facade is at odds with her intent eyes. She presses two fingers into her. Peggy throws her head back, bites her lip hard enough that she tastes blood.It’s drawn out in the way only Dottie can do, achingly slow and smoldering. By the end of it, her legs are shaking and she’s leaning on Dottie for support.“My turn,” Dottie says. She tugs the choker playfully and Peggy flushes red at the moan that escapes her.Dottie raises an eyebrow.“I let you bring knives to bed,” Peggy says defensively.“Yes, you do.” Dottie’s eyes gleam in smug recall. “My knives and my necklace.” She tugs again and Peggy goes shocky- skin tingling, clenching around nothing. She’s exposed, so Dottie catches the movement. “I said my turn,” she snaps, and if that doesn’t do it for Peggy too.She closes her eyes to center herself, but that just closes her input to the sensations she can feel. The silk plastered to her back. The slick slide of her thighs rubbing together. Dottie’s hand on her throat.“Bedroom?” she croaks. Peggy Carter has weathered torture and interrogation most men would crumble at. But every person has a breaking point and she fears she’s about to find hers.Dottie’s grin widens. She lets go of the choker, lets go of Peggy, and is in the bedroom in an instant. Peggy takes a long steadying breath before she follows.She’s had time to position herself- Dottie’s leaned back on the bed, eyes on Peggy where she’s frozen in the doorframe. Dottie’s dress has slits up the sides and she’s just now realizing how high up they go. The fabric is pulled up, bunched around her hips. She’s not wearing underwear. Peggy swallows.“Well?” Dottie asks coolly- her position makes it clear what she expects. Peggy stumbles to the bed. She always feels clumsy and brutish around Dottie. She’s so used to being the very picture of classy and refined that to be made human like this is-Overwhelming is not quite the right word. It’s being stripped bare in more ways than one. It’s deliciously, marvelously raw.She climbs onto the bed and flattens herself to it, lying in between Dottie’s legs. Hell of a view. Peggy’s hands go to her thighs, holding tighter than she probably should, thumbs rubbing care. Dottie likes to mess up Peggy’s hair when it’s all made up. She wraps it around her fist and Peggy pretends it’s not sparking waves of lust.Peggy loves this too- tongue near cramping, mouth soaked, the sporadic tensing of Dottie’s thighs around her head. Even more, somehow, than the sting of pain in her scalp as Dottie begins to get properly lost in pleasure. It hurts and it lights her up. Peggy can’t help rubbing her thighs together to try to get a little relief. Thankfully, Dottie’s too preoccupied to notice.Dottie’s come twice before she lets Peggy go. She tries to wipe the wetness off the lower half of her face with her wrist, and fails utterly. Dottie doesn’t mind, yanking her up and on top of her. This is no less consuming. Dottie shoves three fingers into her and Peggy’s legs give out. She crashes down on all of Dottie’s sharp edges.This time, she doesn’t even try to suppress the moans. They pour out of her, and Peggy’s so focused on the orgasm she can sense on the horizon that she’s not even embarrassed. Dottie leans up and bites, hard, hard enough to leave a mark, right next to the collar- and just like that Peggy goes over the cliff, hips twitching uncontrollably.The afterglow is panting and sweaty and marvelous.“Did you like my gift?” Dottie asks, hushed. She traces the lines of it with her sticky fingers.Peggy smiles. “Very much so.” It’s the truth- honesty is so novel for them. She thinks she’ll never tire of it. The truth is in her words, under her fingernails, wrapped around her neck.She never wants to take it off.